The encounter with Kaelen and her forge left a tangible shift in the atmosphere of Avalon. The project was no longer just about restoration; it was about becoming a living, breathing entity. Rex found his steps leading him more and more often to the infirmary, a clean, whitewashed room in the least-damaged part of the castle's lower levels. It was Elara's domain.
He found her there now, her back to him, meticulously organizing the medical supplies from the "MED-1" crates. She had arranged them on shelves she had cleaned and reinforced herself, creating a system of terrifying efficiency. Antiseptics here, sutures there, antibiotics and painkillers under lock and key. She moved with a quiet, purposeful grace that was the polar opposite of Kaelen's fiery industry.
She sensed his presence and turned, a faint, tired smile touching her lips. "The inventory is almost complete. It's... comprehensive. Far more than any festival first-aid tent would require." Her tone wasn't accusatory, merely observant. Her intelligent brown eyes held his, and he knew she saw through the pretense as clearly as Jean had.
"A good leader is prepared for any scenario," Rex replied, leaning against the doorframe. He watched her work, the careful placement of each roll of bandage, each vial of medicine. It was a kind of healing in itself, this act of creating order from chaos.
"I suppose that's true," she said softly, turning back to her shelves. "In the ER, the most chaotic nights were always made better by having everything in its place. It creates a pocket of calm." She paused, her hand resting on a box of IV bags. "It's the same here, isn't it? You're building a pocket of calm."
Her words struck a deep chord within him. She understood. She didn't need the full, grim explanation. She saw the preparation and recognized it not as paranoia, but as a profound desire to create a sanctuary, a place where the bleeding could be stopped.
"I found a ledger in one of the old studies," she continued, changing the subject gently. "It lists the herbs grown in the castle gardens centuries ago. Comfrey, lavender, chamomile, yarrow. The soil might still be good. We could replant them. Modern medicine is a miracle, but it runs out. Knowledge doesn't."
Rex felt a surge of gratitude so strong it almost stole his breath. While Kaelen was forging steel, Elara was weaving a different kind of safety net—one of knowledge and sustainability. She wasn't just preparing to treat wounds; she was planning for a future where the bandages and antibiotics were gone.
"That's a brilliant idea," he said, his voice softer than he intended. "I'll have someone clear the old garden plots for you."
"Thank you," she said, her smile warming. She picked up a small, handmade basket. "I was just about to take a walk to the stream. To see if I can find any wild mint or willow. For headaches." She looked at him, a silent question in her eyes.
"I'll join you," he found himself saying. "The Delahayes are finishing for the day, and Kaelen... well, she's in her element. She doesn't need me looking over her shoulder."
They walked out of the castle's shadow and into the golden light of the late afternoon. The path to the stream was overgrown but beautiful, lined with wildflowers. The sound of the water was a gentle murmur, a soothing counterpoint to the day's industrial noises.
They walked in a comfortable silence for a while. It was Elara who broke it, her voice thoughtful. "She's remarkable, Kaelen. The sound of her hammer... it makes this place feel alive. Less like a museum."
"She is," Rex agreed. "And so are you. This..." He gestured back towards the infirmary. "What you're doing. It matters."
"I know," she said simply. She stopped by the stream's edge, kneeling to examine a plant with slender leaves. "This is it. Willow." She looked up at him, her expression open and unguarded. "We all have our roles to play, Rex. You're building the walls. Kaelen is forging the weapons. I'm... I'm trying to tend to the soul of this place. To its people."
He knelt beside her, the cool dampness of the earth seeping through his trousers. He looked at her profile, at the quiet strength in her face, and felt the carefully maintained walls around his own heart soften. He had been so focused on the grand plan, on defense and logistics, that he had neglected the human core of it all.
"Elara," he began, but the words caught in his throat. What could he say? That he was terrified of failing them? That the weight of his secret felt heavier every day?
She placed a gentle hand on his arm, her touch a quiet anchor. "You don't have to say anything. We see it. The weight you carry. You don't have to carry it alone."
In that moment, by the babbling stream, an unspoken agreement passed between them. It wasn't a declaration of love, not yet. It was a pact of mutual support, a recognition of a shared, unspoken purpose. She offered solace for his burden, and in return, he offered a sanctuary for her healing.
He covered her hand with his own, his work-roughened skin a stark contrast to her smooth, capable fingers. It was the first truly intimate contact he had allowed himself in this place. It felt less like a complication and more like a foundation, as solid and necessary as the stones of his walls.
As they walked back to the castle, the first stars beginning to prick the twilight sky, Rex felt a sense of peace he hadn't known was possible. The fortress had its blacksmith. It had its healer. And he, for the first time, felt less like a solitary sentinel and more like the center of a slowly forming, resilient whole.