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"What is the plan, General?"
Taarosh's voice reverberated through the hot Shuriman air. The sun was setting, signaling the end of this gruesome day.
"We go back and FIGHT!"
Rhaast butted in, frustration seeping out of him like the blood currently leaking out of his wound, dark and crimson. As a result, he was forced to lean on Joraal for support. He had definitely seen worse days, but that doesn't mean he hadn't seen better ones.
"Fight?! Your sorry ass can't even stand right now!"
Naafiri snarled at him, acting like she wasn't also being carried by Ibaaros on his back. The silent giant merely sighed and adjusted his grip on the fussing woman.
"ENOUGH."
Aatrox raised his voice before the two's bickering could continue any further, turning to his companions. He was faring similar to them. His skin bruised and armor stained with blood. His sword in need of urgent maintenance. His eyes full of anger but look resolute.
"We are going to Xolan. We need to rest and resupply. Then we can fight again."
No one disobeyed the general's words.
"The Blade of Icathia. I didn't think I would see you here ever again."
Xolaani walked into the washroom as she adjusted her bloodied sleeves, observing the man's back.
Blood and dirt poured into the sink, washing away the mistakes of today. They barely survived. It was only thanks to Horazi's and Praa's recon they managed to dodge the worst of the swarm. If only he had been better.
"How are they?"
"They will live. They are tougher than you think. Rhaast is already causing unrest in the infirmary room."
Aatrox scoffed and diligently continued washing his armor, refusing to look at her. He left Xolan years ago. Honor and duty called, asking him to leave everyone behind, and he answered. Xolaani disagreed. Words were exchanged, bitter and ugly, and then they parted ways.
Soft steps echoed in the room, stopping right behind Aatrox. His past walking up to him and with it the time to face it. The healer merely touched his shoulder, turning the general towards her, and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. Their eyes met, unspoken conversations and apologies flickering between them as she spoke, quietly healing the marks littering his body.
"You love them."
"Love? They are my soldiers and it is my duty to lead and protect them."
"Hah. Still married to your duty, I see."
The silence stretched on, accusing and cold, yet Aatrox didn't answer. Couldn't. Xolaani was right and there was nothing he could do about it.
Her hand, along with her eyes slid down to his chest, a flicker of sadness glazing them as she let go, turning to walk away. She stopped in the doorway, sending one last glance at the man over her shoulder.
"There is a festival happening in the city today. You should take them there."
And with that, she finally left.
The streets were bustling with music and decorations, stands full of delicious food and people adorned with colorful cloths and accessories. They called it the Festival of Love, or at least that's what the locals told them.
"What are you thinking about?"
Aatrox was torn out of his thoughts by Varus sitting down next to him, a drink in his hand and one of those necklaces with blue and green gemstones glittering on his neck.
"About love."
The drink got stuck in the archer's throat, sending him into a little coughing fit. His eyebrow rose at the bluntness of his general.
"What about it?"
"I don't know what it is." Aatrox said, swirling his own drink in hand. "I never felt it, never had a need for it. Yet this festival is all about it. And I understand nothing."
"Then what about them?" Varus hummed after a while, downing the rest of his drink and nodding to the ongoing festival.
Aatrox turned around to what his friend was pointing to and saw the rest of their companions scattered throughout the square, enjoying the festivities.
Anaakca, Praa and Horazi were occupying a loveseat together, limbs tangled as they shared a hookah. Styraatu was sitting nearby, perched at the edge of a fountain, strumming songs on their harp as festival goers joined in and people danced around them. Among those dancers was a visibly flustered Joraal, who almost a little clumsily held onto Baalkux as they swayed their hips to the rhythm in front of him. Taarosh's boisterous laugh could be heard over the sounds as him, Naganeka and Ibaaros raised their glasses in cheers to the duo. Meanwhile Rhaast and Naafiri were locked in an arm wrestling contest with the crowd placing bets on who would win. They seemed to be even.
The general looked back at his archer as he repeated himself the second time that day.
"They are my soldiers. It is my duty to lead and protect you."
"But that is also love, no?"
That statement caught him off guard.
Surely, it's not that simple. Right?
"Both you and Zaahen are terrible." Varus laughed as he stood up from his seat. "Thinking too much about unnecessary things. I do wish he was here with us though, so you could brood in your corner together."
That brought out a laugh from the general as he cannot disagree with that. They are both very stubborn and full of honor.
"Now come, General. Your soldiers are waiting for you."
Varus outstretched his hand to Aatrox and together, they made their way into the center of the celebrations and joined everyone with their heart, mind and body. They enjoyed their love while they still could.