Age 11 — Two Weeks After Millbrook
The argument starts over tea.
This seems significant in retrospect, but at the moment, it's just Lysara, Kaela, and me sitting in the library's study area, reviewing patrol reports and void corruption data. It's a quiet afternoon. Master Dren gave us the day off from training to help the scouts coordinate their routes more effectively.
Lysara is buried in her research, cross-referencing corruption patterns with settlement locations. Kaela is pacing, reviewing the patrol routes they've assigned to different scout teams.
"We should increase patrols in the eastern territories," Kaela says, marking something on the map. "The corruption is accelerating there. We need more eyes on the situation."
"We have adequate patrols," Lysara responds without looking up. "Adding more scouts just stretches our resources thinner and increases casualty risk."
"The whole point of patrols is to catch threats early," Kaela argues. "If we're not being aggressive about monitoring—"
"Aggressive is how the Millbrook guard died," Lysara says sharply. "Aggressive is how scouts get consumed by void corruption they don't understand."
I watch this exchange with the careful attention of someone who's learned to recognize danger. The tone is casual, but underneath it, something more serious is brewing.
"Understanding void corruption is exactly why we need more patrols," Kaela presses. "Your research shows it's following patterns. If we're monitoring carefully, we can catch those patterns earlier, maybe prevent another Millbrook."
"My research shows the corruption is deliberately constructed," Lysara corrects, finally looking up from her work. "Which means patrols won't prevent it. Vigilance won't prevent it. The only way to prevent it is to understand the mechanism and develop a counter-strategy."
"And while you're researching the mechanism, how many more settlements get consumed?" Kaela asks.
"Better to lose settlements than lose scouts making contact with void entities they're unprepared for," Lysara responds coldly.
Kaela stops pacing. I feel the moment the conversation shifts from discussion into something more confrontational.
"You want to stop going on missions," Kaela says, and it's not a question.
"I want to stop wasting lives on missions that don't accomplish anything strategic," Lysara corrects, and her voice is sharp now—her tsundere nature emerging as defense. "We investigate. We find corruption. We report back. And then what? We wait for the next settlement to be consumed while I research and you feel productive."
"Feeling productive?" Kaela's voice rises. "Is that what you think this is about? I want to help people, Lysara. I want to do something that actually matters instead of hiding in the library behind—"
"Behind what?" Lysara stands now, her composure cracking. "Behind analysis? Behind actually trying to understand the threat instead of just charging into danger like a warrior who thinks her blade can solve everything?"
The words land like strikes. Kaela's face hardens.
"That's not fair," Kaela says quietly, which somehow sounds more dangerous than if she'd shouted.
"Fair has nothing to do with it," Lysara responds. "What's fair is getting killed because you want to feel like you're doing something important. What's fair is watching more people die because you need to feel like a hero."
"I never said I needed to feel like a hero—"
"You don't have to say it. It's obvious." Lysara's silver eyes are blazing now. "Every time there's a mission, you volunteer first. Every time there's danger, you put yourself in front of it. You're not protecting people, Kaela. You're performing heroism. And it's going to get you killed."
Kaela's hand moves to her sword hilt, and I recognize the gesture as warning. When Kaela reaches for her weapon during an argument, the argument is about to become physical.
I stand. "Both of you, stop."
Neither of them stops.
"You know what I think?" Kaela says, her voice cold with controlled fury. "I think you're scared. I think the Millbrook mission scared you, and now you're hiding behind research because it's safer. Because research doesn't involve actual risk. And you're trying to pull me away from the missions because misery loves company."
Lysara's face goes pale. "That's not—"
"Isn't it?" Kaela presses. "You want everyone to sit in the library with you, analyzing data, because then you don't have to face the fact that your analysis can't prevent everything. That sometimes no matter how smart you are, people still die."
"And you want everyone to rush into combat because you think if you punch something hard enough, it solves the problem," Lysara fires back. "You don't understand strategy. You don't understand planning. You understand violence, and you think violence is the answer to everything."
"Violence is all the void understands!" Kaela shouts. "You can research all you want, but at some point, someone has to stand between the void and the people it's trying to consume. Someone has to fight. And while you're sitting here calculating percentages, that someone is going to be me and Ren and scouts who aren't ready because their leader is too scared to admit that sometimes you have to act before you have all the data."
"I'm not scared," Lysara says, but her hands are shaking.
"Yes, you are," Kaela says, and her voice is softer now—more cruel in its accuracy. "You're terrified. You're terrified that you're not smart enough. That your research won't matter. That no amount of preparation will prevent people from dying. And instead of dealing with that fear, you're trying to shut down the missions so you don't have to watch it happen."
Lysara doesn't respond. Instead, she turns and walks out of the library, moving quickly toward the archive section. Kaela stands there, breathing hard, her hand still near her sword, and I can see the moment she realizes what she's said.
The anger drains from her face, replaced by something that looks like regret.
"I didn't mean—" Kaela starts.
"I know," I say quietly. "But she's gone."
Kaela sits down heavily. "That was bad."
"Yes."
"I said horrible things."
"Yes."
"She said horrible things too."
"Yes," I agree. "But that doesn't make what you said less true or less harmful."
Kaela covers her face with her hands. "What do I do?"
"Give her space," I suggest. "She needs to process. And honestly, so do you. You both said things you meant, even if you wish you hadn't. That's the worst kind of argument—when there's truth underneath the cruelty."
Kaela looks at me through her fingers. "You're not going to take sides?"
"No. Because you're both right and both wrong. The missions are important. The research is important. And both of you are scared—you're just scared of different things."
That Night — Finding Lysara
I find her on the roof of the archive building, the highest point in Verdwood. She's sitting with her knees drawn up, staring at the void corruption data spread out beside her.
I settle next to her without asking permission.
"I am scared," Lysara says without preamble. "Kaela was right about that."
"I know."
"But she's wrong that I'm using research as an excuse to avoid reality." Lysara's voice is small—smaller than I've ever heard it. "I'm using research because it's the only thing I can control. I can't control the void. I can't control cult operatives. I can't control whether settlements are consumed. But I can control my research. I can make sure the data is accurate. I can develop theories. I can try to understand."
"That's a valid approach," I say carefully.
"Except it doesn't matter," Lysara continues bitterly. "Kaela's right about that too. I can have the perfect research, the perfect analysis, the perfect understanding of void mechanics, and it still won't prevent people from dying. It still won't save settlements. All it does is let me feel productive while people suffer."
"You also develop stabilization techniques," I point out. "You discovered the corruption pattern. Your research has directly contributed to keeping me alive. That matters."
"Does it?" Lysara looks at me with red-rimmed eyes. "Or am I just fooling myself into thinking I'm useful when actually I'm just—"
"You're useful," I say firmly. "But you're also scared. And that's okay. Fear is okay. But using fear as an excuse to stop engaging with reality isn't okay."
"So Kaela was right."
"Partially. But she's also scared. She's scared of becoming powerless, of watching threats she can't fight destroy people she cares about. So she fights everything, even problems that can't be solved through combat." I pause. "You're both right. You're both wrong. You're both scared. And you're both taking that fear out on each other."
Lysara is quiet for a long moment. Then she says, "I don't know how to fix this."
"You don't fix it tonight," I say. "You give each other space. Let the anger cool. Then you talk about what you actually believe, not just the fear underneath."
The Next Day — The Tension
Kaela and Lysara don't speak to each other for a week.
They coordinate on missions but with cold professionalism. They attend training but arrive and leave separately. The easy affection they've developed over the past months—the hand-holding, the shoulder brushes, the shared inside jokes—vanishes.
And everyone notices.
The scout corps feels the strain. Word spreads that the three of us, the recognized leaders, are in conflict. Some scouts take Kaela's side, arguing that more aggressive patrols are necessary. Others support Lysara's strategic approach. Factions begin forming subtly—nothing open, but the tension is palpable.
Master Dren notices and doesn't comment, but I catch him watching us with concern.
Miren asks if everything is okay. I don't have a good answer.
Toren suggests I talk to Kaela. I tell him I'm trying to give them both space.
Elder Stoneheart observes the dynamic and makes a note in his records. I'm not supposed to see it, but I do—he writes: "Trio fracturing. Monitor."
By the seventh day, I'm exhausted by the tension.
I find Kaela alone in the training yard, working through combat forms with dangerous precision. Each movement is aggressive, controlled, furious.
"You need to talk to her," I say.
"She needs to talk to me," Kaela responds without stopping.
"Neither of you is going to. So someone has to break this stalemate."
Kaela finishes her sequence and finally turns to me. "I can't apologize for saying she was scared. Because I was right. But I can apologize for saying she was hiding. That was cruel."
"Tell her that, not me."
"She won't listen."
"She will," I say. "Because underneath everything, she cares about you. And you care about her. The argument didn't change that."
Kaela looks away. "What if it did? What if I broke something?"
"You didn't. But waiting longer will."
I leave before she can respond, hoping the message lands.
That Evening — The Reconciliation
I don't know exactly what happens between them. I just know that Kaela appears at the archive building as Lysara is leaving for the day, and they stand in the courtyard having a conversation I can't hear.
It's quiet. There's no shouting. There's also no physical contact, which concerns me slightly.
But then Lysara reaches out and takes Kaela's hand.
They stand like that for a long moment, just holding hands, and then they walk together toward the rooftop—our usual spot.
I follow at a distance, giving them space but close enough to monitor that nothing escalates into a second argument.
When I reach the roof, they're sitting close together, not quite touching but near enough that the distance feels significant. Lysara is talking, and Kaela is listening.
"I was scared," Lysara is saying. "And I took it out on you. That was unfair."
"I was scared too," Kaela admits. "And I was cruel about pointing out your fear as if mine was somehow more valid."
They sit in silence for a moment.
"You're right that missions matter," Lysara says quietly. "And I was wrong to suggest we stop. My research only matters if it's applied to actual situations. Theoretical understanding without practical application is just privilege."
"And you're right that I need to think more strategically," Kaela says. "I can't solve everything by fighting. I need to trust your analysis, even when it's scary to wait instead of act."
"So what do we do?" Lysara asks. "How do we move forward when we fundamentally disagree on approach?"
"We compromise," Kaela suggests. "We continue missions, but we do them strategically based on your research rather than just responding to threats. We prepare carefully. We move cautiously. But we still move."
Lysara considers this. "We need established protocols. Clear decision-making frameworks. Risk assessment parameters."
"Lysara," Kaela says gently. "You're overcomplicating it. We just need to listen to each other and trust that we're both trying to do the right thing, even if we disagree on how."
Lysara nods slowly. Then, after a hesitation, she reaches over and takes Kaela's hand.
They sit like that as darkness falls, holding hands, watching ley lines emerge overhead.
I step back quietly and leave them alone.
Later — The Three of Us
When they find me later that night, Lysara and Kaela are together, their earlier tension replaced by something more settled. Not completely healed—healing takes longer than one day—but present.
"We're sorry," Kaela says when they reach me. "For bringing you into the middle of our argument."
"For making you feel like you had to mediate," Lysara adds.
"That's not necessary," I say. "You're allowed to argue. You're allowed to disagree. You're allowed to be scared and express it badly sometimes. That's normal."
"But we took it too far," Kaela says. "And we let it hurt all of us."
I pull them both close, and we stand together under the stars. The trio is still intact, still holding together, but changed by the argument in ways that feel permanent.
"Next time," I say, "maybe argue with each other instead of to each other?"
"That's fair," Lysara agrees.
"And more often," Kaela adds. "Better to argue than let it build up until we explode."
We stand together as the night deepens, the three of us holding hands on the rooftop, our bond strained but not broken.
Below us, Verdwood settles into sleep. But I realize something has shifted. The tension taught me that our trio isn't invincible. That we have real disagreements. That love doesn't mean automatic agreement on everything.
And somehow, that makes our bond feel more real. More earned. More worth protecting.