Several days had passed since the memorial evening and the incident with the etheric creature. I spent my time sorting through inheritance paperwork, forced to frequent crowded places where snippets of conversation about the Academy attack reached my ears. At first, the rumors held some semblance of truth, but with each retelling, they grew more fantastical. The latest version claimed a band of heretics had assaulted the Academy, summoning an entire horde of etherics, barely held back by a full Inquisition platoon.
When Olivia's dinner invitation arrived, I accepted it against my better judgment. The maître d'hôtel led me to their table, where Olivia and Alexander were already seated. The officer rose as I approached, pulling out my chair with polished courtesy.
"I was just telling Alexander about how we used to hide in the laboratory rooms after hours," Olivia said, swirling her wine. "Reading forbidden books and rummaging through cabinets like a pair of little anarchists."
"I hope you haven't gotten to the shamanic herbs part yet," I muttered, recalling the time we when along with a few other reckless friends we had procured hallucinogenic plants. The experience had cured me of any curiosity about mind-altering substances: my visions of cities sprouting from carpets and hundreds of tiny lives flashing by in an instant had been so apocalyptic, it took me weeks to recover.
"We haven't reached that chapter," Olivia laughed.
"So only harmless confessions so far, huh?" I said, turning to Kiron. "Officer, how do you feel about your fiancée's criminal past?"
"Perhaps I should review the marriage contract more carefully," he replied, smiling in a way that made my skin prickle. "Wouldn't want to accidentally inherit a debt to the school library."
"Our little chest of secrets holds many stories, though not all are meant to be shared," Olivia laughed, taking a sip from her glass.
"Let's hope they're all equally harmless," Kiron replied, his smile unwavering while his eyes remained cold.
I need to avoid these dinners in the future, I decided. The less opportunity he had to scrutinize me, the better.
"Officer Kiron," I pressed, "surely even you indulged in some youthful mischief? Something you'd blush to admit now?"
"The military academy was full of such exploits, but those tales aren't fit for ladies' company."
Olivia giggled, utterly charmed. The arrival of my meal provided a welcome distraction. As we ate, the conversation drifted to lighter anecdotes, such as school pranks and embarrassing mishaps. Against my better judgment, I began to relax. Olivia gazed at Kiron as if he'd hung the moon, her adoration so intense, a treacherous thought crossed my mind: has he enchanted her?
"Miss Demare," Kiron inquired as our conversation turned to academic struggles, "what was your specialization at the Academy?"
"Healing arts. Although my father insisted I study substance theory and fundamental force dynamics."
His knife scraped the plate as he cut into his steak. "Why refuse an Academy position then? With your name, you'd have an exceptional career."
Precisely why I refused. "I have no interest in academia," I said, feeling the weight of his probing gaze.
"You don't wish to continue your family's legacy?" He didn't flinch at my sharpening tone.
"No. And I'd prefer to drop the subject."
"A pity." He shrugged. "Your talents could've advanced science significantly."
"Perhaps I've no desire to advance science."
"Anna, darling, don't be cross," Olivia interjected sweetly.
I remained silent.
"Excuse me, I'll be just a moment," Olivia said, rising to visit the ladies' room. Kiron stood as she left, the perfect gentleman.
"Do questions about your parents or their work upset you?" he asked upon sitting back down.
"What upsets me," I said, still refusing to meet his eyes, "is unsolicited advice."
"My apologies."
An awkward silence stretched between us until Olivia finally reappeared at the far end of the dining room. Kiron began to rise and a jagged sense of dread suddenly spiked through me. My gaze darted across the hall: diners at nearby tables laughed over their meals, waiters wove through the room with trays held high, new guests shed coats at the cloakroom. Nothin out of ordinary. Then, a man in a long overcoat strode toward the center of the room.
A heartbeat later, he flung open his coat. His fingers slashed a fiery circle in the air. Glass vials strapped to his chest bubbled violently, then shattered in a deafening explosion.
The ringing in my ears was deafening, disorienting. I blinked through the haze. Dust and chemical mist swirled thick in the air, each breath searing my lungs. Nearby, a waiter traced a shimmering blue alchemical circle in the air. When he released the energy, wind surged forth, dispersing the smoke in violent gusts.
I checked myself for wounds, nothing critical, then searched frantically for Olivia.
"Olivia!" My voice sounded distant, muffled beneath the groans and cries around us. "Liv!"
"Here!" She stumbled toward me through the wreckage of overturned tables and splintered chairs.
"Are you hurt?" My vision swam; a throbbing ache pulsed behind my temples. I pressed trembling fingers to my brow, tracing a pain-relief sigil. The pressure eased, just enough to focus.
"I was far from the blast, just a bit stunned. But you and Alexander were right there!" Olivia babbled, her voice rising in panic. "Where is he?!"
Then I remembered. In the split second before the explosion, Kiron had lunged toward me, shoving me aside and taking the full force of the blast himself. I rushed to where our table had been. Kiron lay face down, his body dusted white with debris, a pool of blood spreading rapidly beneath him.
"Alexander! Alexander!" Olivia screamed, collapsing to her knees beside him. "No! No, please, don't die!"
"Help me turn him over," I ordered. "We need to stop the bleeding."
Sobbing, Olivia gripped his left arm, and together we rolled him onto his back. His dark uniform hid the worst of the damage – every soaked fold of fabric was glistening crimson. I yanked the jacket open and buttons scattered as torn fabric gave way.
Blood seeped from everywhere. I peeled back the remnants of his shirt. His chest and arms were a mess of shredded flesh. Olivia let out a strangled wail, her body shaking with renewed tears.
"Please help him," Olivia begged, her voice breaking. "If he dies..."
"No one is dying today."
I focused on the alchemical circles etched into Kiron's body, all standard Inquisition enhancements for combat efficiency. Most were mangled beyond recognition by his wounds.
"Olivia, look for the regeneration sigil," I ordered. It should have been kickstarting his healing already.
She sniffled but obeyed, scanning his chest while I checked his left arm. There it was, the sigil etched in black, but a deep gash had severed its lines, rendering it useless. Time was running out. Rolling up my sleeves, I got to work. Over his chest, I traced a series of fresh circles. First, slowing pulse and blood flow. The sigil flared, buying us precious minutes. Second, cleansing wounds. One more circle hissed as it purged debris and foreign magic from his flesh. Third, coagulation. Blood thickened at the edges of each laceration. And finally, reconstruction, the delicate part. My fingers trembled as I coaxed shredded tissue to knit itself back together with the help of my energy.
"Liv, I need you." I guided her hand to his neck. "Monitor his pulse. If it drops below fifty, tell me immediately."
I guided Olivia's fingers to Kiron's carotid artery and returned to the wounds. The smaller lacerations sealed shut quickly and were no longer life-threatening. But three remained: deep gashes across his abdomen and shoulder. The shoulder wound refused to close, resisting every healing sigil I attempted.
Desperation clawed at me. Without a solution, Kiron wouldn't survive long enough for help to arrive, if help was even coming at all. A glance around confirmed the chaos, everyone was too consumed by their own survival to spare us a second glance. So I made a choice. One my mother would have never approved of. But one she had, ironically, taught me.bI dipped my fingers into the blood welling from a cut on my own arm and, with meticulous precision, traced a fresh circle over Kiron's chest. The lines glowed faintly.
"What are you doing?!" Olivia whispered, her voice trembling.
"Count his pulse," I ordered, my tone leaving no room for argument.
She muttered something too faint to hear, but the fear in her eyes was unmistakable. If Kiron was to discover how I'd saved him, his professional curiosity could turn lethal. I steadied my breathing and began the ritual. Blood was a conduit, a bridge between living energies, capable of redistributing life itself. It could heal or steal, depending on the caster's will. No wonder the Inquisition forbade it. Power stones couldn't replicate this.
Closing my eyes, I focused on the circle. My life force seeped into the lines, flowing into Kiron's broken body. The sigil flared brighter. Dizziness hit first, then a creeping exhaustion. I gritted my teeth and reactivated the standard healing circles. The wounds finally began to close.
"It's working!" Olivia exhaled. "His pulse is stronger."
"Good sign," I muttered as the gash on his shoulder finally knit together and the abdominal wounds ceased their relentless bleeding. Kiron stirred with a groan, his body tensing as consciousness returned.
I hadn't warned Olivia to restrain him in time. Pain like his could make even trained soldiers lash out. I leaned closer, just as he jerked upright with a sharp gasp, his hands locking around my wrist and neck like a vice.
"Easy," I whispered, prying his fingers loose. "It'll pass."
With my free hand, I traced a pain-suppression sigil over his brow. His grip slackened; his arm dropped limply to the floor.
"Hold his hands," I ordered. "Almost done."
Olivia obeyed, clamping down on his wrists with surprising strength. I turned back to the wounds on his abdomen. They'd begun bleeding again, darker and thicker now. The pain relief wouldn't last long, and it was weak to begin with, every shred of my energy funneled into sustaining the blood circle. Exhaustion weighed my limbs like lead. A warm trickle of blood escaped my nose. Time's up.
With the last dregs of my strength, I forced the remaining gashes to close, the flesh knitting slower now, stubborn. When the final wound sealed, I severed the connection, scrubbing the blood sigil from his chest with a trembling hand, and then collapsed onto the floor, barely avoiding face-planting into the wreckage.
Olivia's whispered gratitude washed over me as she cradled Kiron's face, her tears dripping onto his newly healed skin. He stirred, eyelids fluttering, lips moving in a soundless murmur. Alive. Then the world tipped sideways, and I surrendered to the waiting dark.
The sound of hurried footsteps and raised voices dragged me from the depths of unconsciousness. I blinked my eyes open to find myself on a stretcher outside the bombed building, surrounded by teams of healers tending to the wounded. As I'd later learn, no one but the bomber had died, though Kiron and a man at a nearby table, both caught in the blast's direct path, had suffered the worst injuries. The other victim had been stabilized by the arriving medics.
I tried to sit up, but the stout elderly woman fussing over me fixed me with a stern glare.
"I'm not seriously injured," I insisted.
"Let me be the judge of that."
I sank back onto the stretcher with a sigh, too drained to argue, and watched absently as the healers worked. I flinched when Kiron suddenly appeared in my line of sight. He looked remarkably restored all freshly dressed and composed, a far cry from the bloodied corpse-like figure he'd been mere hours ago.
"What you did was... extraordinary," he said quietly. "Olivia told me you pulled me back from the brink. Thank you."
"Not quite the brink..."
I studied his face, searching for any hint of suspicion. How much had Olivia revealed about my methods?
"Where is she?" I asked.
"She wanted to stay with you, but her distress became... unmanageable." His jaw tightened. "I sent her home. Promised I'd ensure you received proper care."
"I see," I replied, the words laced with quiet wariness.
Kiron thanked me once more before stepping away to confer with another Inquisition officer. I was left to wonder just how much he truly knew or understood.
The healer assigned to me returned with a glass of murky liquid and ordered me to drink it. The concoction tasted like chicken broth mixed with strong tea and dirty socks. Despite the revolting flavor, its effects were undeniably revitalizing. I felt a surge of energy coursed through me within minutes. I was ready to leap off the stretcher and slip away when an Inquisition interrogator intercepted me, firing questions about the incident. I recounted everything I remembered, carefully omitting details about Kiron's treatment. The officer took notes, thanked me, and departed.
The healer reappeared, gave me a final once-over, and finally, after extracting my promise to seek help if complications arose, declared me free to go. I lingered on the stretcher, gathering my strength. Nearby, carriages stood ready to transport the wounded. I climbed into one, gave the driver my address, and slumped against the seat as we rattled away.
The crowd around the blast site thinned as we rolled through the streets, but the city itself buzzed with uneasy chatter. Lulled by the carriage's rhythm, I dozed off, only to jerk awake when the driver announced our arrival.
I slumped against the door, sliding to the floor in the entryway, and sat there for what felt like hours before mustering the strength to move. The bathroom was icy. I pressed a hand to the water heater, channeling energy until warmth began to seep into the tub. Peeling off my ruined clothes. Everything was destined for the trash. Then, I froze.
My bracelet was gone.
The realization hit like a bucket of ice water. How long had it been missing? Had anyone noticed? Did Kiron see? Nausea surged, and I barely made it to the toilet before retching.
"I need to get out of this damned city," I rasped, collapsing onto the cold tiles.
The bath steamed, offering fleeting comfort. My reflection in the mirror horrified me. I was pale as ash, dark hollows under my eyes, blood streaked across my neck and arms. I scrubbed until my skin burned, trying to erase the day. Exhaustion won. I stumbled to bed and fell into a black, dreamless sleep.