When Tor woke again, he was lying in a hospital bed, the bright white lights stinging his eyes. He tried to sit up, but two doctors and a soldier rushed into the room.
"How are you feeling?" one doctor asked loudly.
"Are you okay?" said the other, quieter.
The soldier remained silent.
"What happened? Where am I?" Tor asked.
The soldier took a swig from a shiny silver flask before answering. "You're in Riverford Hospital. Every surviving citizen from Marisol was evacuated here, including you." The soldier was tall, maybe around 6 foot 5 inches and was incredibly muscular. He had skin similar to Tor's and dark black eyes, the same color as his hair. He wore black jeans and a cloak, but no shirt.
Tor glanced around the room for a moment before asking, "What about Micah?"
The soldier sighed. "He's a special case. He was taken by Avalon's Third Defense Unit. I'm Morgan Wilcox, vice captain of the Seventh Unit."
Tor looked at him blankly. "You mean the unit no one likes because you're loose cannons?"
Wilcox frowned, clearly irritated, but said nothing. Tor looked back down at his sheets.
"How long was I out?" he asked.
"Four days!" the loud doctor blurted.
"Shut up," hissed the quieter one.
Tor's expression darkened. "I guess that means Mrs. Johnson and Micah's little brother Davie didn't make it."
Wilcox's face fell. "No. Their vital organs were crushed before we arrived. As for Mr. Johnson, his burns and wounds were very severe."
The quieter doctor spoke gently. "You've recovered well, though. We used healing magic and bandaged your wounds. You should be able to move around, just don't overexert yourself."
Tor swung his legs off the bed and stood, wincing from the pain with each step. "If it's all right with you, I need to go."
"Where?" the soldier asked, lowering his flask.
Tor turned to look at him. "I need to get stronger. I'll learn how to use celestial swords. I know my purpose now. I'll protect everyone I can, even if I can't wield a sword like others. I'll destroy every dragon and demon that threatens this world. I swear it."
He walked toward the door.
"Come to the City of the Fallen Leaf, in the Region of Cherry Blossoms, half a year from tomorrow!" Wilcox called after him. "March twentieth, the day of the Slayer Exams. That's why the Seventh Unit was sent here."
Tor gathered what little he had left from the ruins of his home: four hundred crowns in gold coins, a few clothes saved beneath his bed, and a worn travel bag. He packed them with the sword the hospital had returned to him and some food and water gifted by a kind shopkeeper. Then he set off toward the Sequoia Mountains.
The journey across Avalon would take months, perhaps six, but along the way, Tor would have time to train, to grow stronger.