When Nyra woke, the fever had dulled, but not vanished. Her head still felt heavy, and her limbs ached with every small movement. The morning sun filtered weakly through the cracks of the cave's narrow entrance, casting pale light across the stone walls. Birds chirped softly in the distance, an unfamiliar sound that made her think, for a second, that she had wandered into someone else's dream.
She blinked, dry-eyed and sore. Her mouth tasted of ash and old blood. But she was warm.
A blanket, thick, rough wool, had been draped over her body. She hadn't had anything like this since... before. Since Korr-Vira. Since home. Since fire.
For a moment, she just lay there, breathing slowly. Then she turned her head.
Next to her, folded neatly, was a bundle of clean clothes.
Her heart clenched.
A simple shirt. A tunic. Breeches. A pair of soft, well-worn boots. Slightly too big and stitched with care. These weren't scraps. These were someone's clothes.
These were his.
Siegfried.
She sat up slowly, grimacing at the sudden pull of healing wounds. Her arm and leg were wrapped in fresh bandages. The swelling had gone down. The purple heat of infection had cooled into soreness.
The herbs had worked.
He'd come back again. Maybe more than once.
Nyra dressed, fumbling through the process with stiff, shaking fingers. Each movement sent flares of pain through her side and limbs but she refused to lie still. She needed to feel alive or at least something close.
By the time she finished pulling on the boots, her breaths came in short, shallow gasps. But she did it. She was clothed. Alive. Upright.
Then... footsteps.
She froze.
A shadow appeared at the mouth of the cave, silhouetted against the morning light. Her hand reached instinctively for a rock near her bedroll.
But it was him.
Siegfried ducked inside, holding a cloth bundle under one arm and a wooden canteen strapped to his hip. His blond hair was messy and windswept. His cheeks were flushed from the cold.
When his eyes found her awake and dressed, they widened. A breath of relief escaped him.
"You're up."
Nyra said nothing. Her fingers tightened slightly around the rock before she let it fall beside her.
Siegfried stepped closer, his steps careful. He knelt near her and unwrapped the cloth. Inside were two rolls of bread, a strip of salted meat and a small handful of dried berries. He placed them beside her without speaking, then passed her the canteen.
She hesitated.
He didn't push.
After a few seconds, hunger won. She took the food and ate, slowly and carefully, like a wild animal afraid it might disappear. Every bite was rough but tasted like heaven.
She drained the canteen. Water never felt so sweet.
Siegfried sat across from her, cross-legged on the stone floor. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
"I'm Siegfried," he said.
She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and stared.
"So... what's your name, demon?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"Don't call me that."
He blinked. "I didn't mean it like..."
"I'm Mal'karin," she said.
He nodded, taking the correction.
"What's your name, Mal'karin?"
She paused.
"Nyra."
He smiled, lopsided. "Nice to meet you, Nyra."
Nyra's voice was flat. "You shouldn't be here."
"I know."
"If your people find out you helped me..."
"They'll hang me. Or worse. Yeah."
"So why?"
He shrugged. "Because you were bleeding to death. And because... I don't know. You looked like someone who didn't deserve to die."
"That's a stupid reason."
He gave a weak laugh. "Maybe. But I've never been good at smart decisions."
She studied him. "You're strange for a human."
"And you're quiet for a Mal'karin."
Nyra gave a small, breathless huff. Something like a laugh. Almost.
They sat in silence for a moment. He didn't shift away. Didn't watch her like a threat.
"What's your village like?" she asked finally.
"Small. Boring. My uncle's the healer. My mom works with leather. Most people herd sheep or tan hides. Not much to see."
She looked away. "It sounds peaceful."
"It is. Most days. I train with the guard sometimes. Wooden swords. War games. Pretend stuff."
"I saw," she muttered.
He grimaced. "About that... sorry. For the rocks."
"You threw one."
"Didn't aim for your head."
She didn't respond but her shoulders relaxed.
"Have you always lived in Netheros?"
She nodded.
"What's it like?"
"Dark. Loud. Hot. Ash instead of snow. Crows instead of birds."
"Sounds awful."
"It was home. But everything was burnt and destroyed, my family, my friends, everything."
Siegfried looked down. "I'm sorry. About your family."
She didn't speak. Just chewed slowly, eyes distant.
He let the silence stretch. Then said, softly, "You can stay here. I'll keep bringing food. But you'll have to hide if anyone comes near."
Nyra nodded.
"I'm used to hiding."
He stood. "I'll come back tonight. Bring something better than bread. Maybe soup."
"You don't have to."
"I know. I want to."
She frowned. "Why?"
Siegfried looked at her like he didn't fully understand himself. "Because you're not what they said you'd be."
Then he was gone.
That afternoon, he returned. With soup. Not good soup, but hot. He brought a wooden spoon and taught her how to hold it properly with her bandaged hand. She nearly smiled.
He told her about the village baker's goat that kept escaping and how he once chased it halfway up a hill before slipping in mud. She told him about Tyren, about naming skulls and pretending to command crows.
They laughed.
She fell asleep beside the fire he built, head against the wall, hand curled near his cloak.
When she woke, he was gone.
But the cave smelled like stew and pinewood.
And the world didn't feel quite so cold.