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Rain fell softly over Orario.
At the edge of the city walls, where sound faded completely, a woman stood facing outward.
Silver hair, black dress.
Alfia didn’t turn when she spoke.
“You followed me.”
Her voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the rain.
“You noticed.”
Leon stepped out from the archway behind her. His footsteps barely made a sound against the wet stone as he stopped a few steps away instead of closing the distance.
He didn’t say anything right away.
Below them, Orario had begun to quiet for the night. Most stalls were already shut, lanterns swaying faintly as the last few people moved through the streets.
Alfia glanced over her shoulder just enough to see him.
“You’re persistent.”
“And you’re hard to find.”
“That was intentional.”
She looked away again.
Leon managed a smile, the kind that always seemed too calm for how little effort he put into anything.
“I figured.”
A short silence settled between them.
Rain ticked lightly against stone and fabric.
“You smile too much,” she said.
“Do I? Then please forgive me.”
Most people didn’t stay near her for long; they usually didn’t make it past the first minute. Although Leon didn’t seem in any hurry to leave, he actually spent time looking for her. That alone was irritating, yet she never once asked him to leave.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said after a moment, adjusting his stance slightly. “It’s cold.”
Alfia almost scowled.
“I didn’t ask.”
“I know.”
He reached into his cloak and pulled it off his shoulders, holding it out without stepping closer.
She looked at it for a second.
A brief pause, then a flicker of confusion, quickly replaced by understanding.
“I don’t need it.”
Her answer came immediately, almost reflexively. Even so, her eyes lingered on the cloak a moment longer than necessary, then shifted back to him as if refusing to acknowledge it further would make it go away.
Leon tilted his head slightly, still holding it out.
“You’re shivering.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
The same tone, same certainty, as if the conversation had already ended in his head.
“…I’ll kill you.”
That earned a small lift of his brow.
“Four times this week.”
Her eye twitched.
“…It was five.”
“That’s worse.”
There it was again, that mirth in his voice, restrained just enough to be annoying instead of obvious. That was what made her click her tongue and take the cloak, snatching it with more force than necessary and draping it over her shoulders.
Damn it, it was warm, annoyingly so. Why does it smell so nice while it’s raining?
“…You are annoying,” she muttered, softer than intended.
Leon glanced at her from the side.
“I’ve heard that already.”
He moved to lean against the stone wall beside her instead of standing behind her.
“…Why are you out here?” he asked.
Alfia didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze stayed on the city below.
“…Thinking.”
“About what?”
“…Nothing specific.”
He was content to give a small nod and let the quiet return.
They remained there for a while. Leon didn’t mind the silence; he was used to it, more than most people.
It was Alfia who broke it.
“…Do you ever think about stopping?” she asked.
Leon’s eyes stayed forward.
“Stopping what?”
“All of it,” Alfia said quietly, “the Dungeon, and advancing towards that abomination in the north.”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. He did not expect her to open up so quickly; he wasn’t sure if he should be flattered if she trusts him this much, or worried about her mental health.
His hands rested against the stone as he looked out over Orario, expression distant in a way that didn’t match his usual ease.
The rain had almost fully stopped now.
“No.”
Alfia’s gaze subtly shifted toward him.
“Why not?”
He stayed quiet a moment longer, courtesy of never having to put his drive into words, nor ever needing to explain it out loud. Alfia is a smart woman; even if he attempts to be cryptic, she might still figure out who exactly gave him his conviction.
“…Because I saw a hero once.”
That made her pause. She never expected him, of all people, to believe in heroes. She herself had lost faith after her familia and Zeus’s were massacred.
“A hero.”
“Mhm.”
Leon tilted his head back slightly, eyes tracing the horizon beyond Orario.
“It was during the Leviathan campaign, when I was still angry at everything,” a small, almost absent curve touched his mouth.
Alfia didn’t interrupt.
“The sea was chaotic, giant waves, magic everywhere, people screaming just to be heard over it,” his fingers tapped once against the stone, “I remember thinking the world was about to break apart.”
His voice slowed.
“And then there was this light.”
Alfia went still.
Leon didn’t look at her.
“It was bright, it pierced through everything, the waves, the noise, even my fear.” his gaze stayed fixed on something far beyond the city. “By the end, I could barely see anything clearly; I was losing consciousness.”
She opened her eyes, gray and green, to look right at him.
Leon paused mid-thought, just for a fraction of a second. He didn’t often catch her looking at him like that. He exhaled slowly, letting the memory settle back into place before he continued.
“I thought I was dead for a second.”
“…Hmph.”
“But even then, I remember what it felt like, when it ended, all I could hear was cheers, I remember thinking, if something like that existed, then the world wasn’t completely lost.”
Alfia said nothing.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the cloak. She had realized what, or who, he was talking about.
Leon finally glanced toward her. A small smile crossed his face; it was different from his previous ones. The way he looked at her somehow made it difficult for her to look away.
“I think that’s when it started.”
“What?”
“I stopped hating heroes,” he said, “and started thinking I should make sure they don’t disappear, and nurture more talented individuals to become heroes.”
Alfia didn’t respond right away; she found it hard to.
“…How sentimental,” she said at last.
Leon let out a small breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.
“I have been called worse in the past.”
“…Heroes,” she repeated under her breath.
“Yes, I suppose I had found my own.”
He didn’t clarify who. He didn’t need to, and that made her feel something she wasn’t sure she wanted to name.
The wind moved lightly along the wall, carrying the last of the rain.