The vine-like tendrils, impossibly strong and slick with some tar-like rot, recoiled with a wet, nauseating snap. The sound echoed in my skull, the memory of their grip lingering like phantom pain around my limbs. The residual shock left me breathless; each inhale scraped against my lungs like cold sand. My body felt weightless and unbearably heavy all at once as I was hauled through the shimmering, rain-swept forest, the world around me a blur of silver rain and shadowed trunks.
The last thing I remembered—before the violent rush, before the darkness crashed over me—was the white-hot pain exploding across my senses, the tearing sensation ripping through skin and sanity. Something had slashed across my vision, leaving behind a searing memory more terrifying than the wound itself. Even now, my body trembled uncontrollably, every muscle a raw, exposed nerve screaming against the damp night air.
A deep, resonant voice cut through the haze, striking something warm and fragile inside me.
"ARE YOU OKAY? YOU'RE TREMBLING."
I forced my eyes upward.
The Dark Knight—no, He—was holding onto me, his gauntleted hand wrapped gently around my wrist, as if I might shatter with too much pressure. Rain slid in thin rivulets down his braids, the dark strands clinging to the angles of his face. Beneath that hardened exterior, his gaze was sharp, focused solely on me.
I was perched awkwardly on the massive black steed, the creature's muscles shifting beneath us like coiled steel. My dress clung to my body, heavy with rain, and my hands were still bound in front of me, ropes chafing against tender skin. The chill gnawed at my bones. My cheek stung. My arm throbbed. And yet—
For some strange reason…
I felt safe instead of afraid.
As if seeking proof of my own sanity, my fingers curled around the gold pendant resting against my collarbone. The metal was warm against my cold skin, grounding me in the impossible comfort spreading through my chest.
He didn't wait for me to answer. His jaw tightened, a flicker of something dark—anger? fear?—crossing his face.
"COME HERE."
Before I could react, before I could think, his arm slid behind me. There was a blur of motion—a powerful lift, a surge of strength—and suddenly I was off the horse, weightless for a heartbeat, then pressed securely against him.
The world steadied.
He shrugged off his heavy, fur-lined mantle in one fluid motion. The thick fabric fell around me with a loud, enveloping FLAP, carrying with it the scents of leather, steel, smoke… and something unmistakably, fiercely him. Warmth gathered immediately at my shoulders, cutting through the cruel bite of the storm.
The dizziness swelled. My vision blurred at the edges like ink bleeding through parchment. A large, armored hand rose toward my face.
Not with force. Not with haste.
But with an almost heartbreaking gentleness.
PAT.
His palm rested atop my head, steadying me as my breath came in desperate, uneven gasps—
HUFF. HUFF.
—my body barely able to keep up with the torrent of relief crashing through me.
His brows drew together as he cupped my face between both hands, his thumbs cool against the fever burning beneath my skin.
"…You're burning up."
The concern in his voice was so intense, so sharp, that it pierced through the fog inside my head. Something inside me cracked—quietly, painfully.
He pulled me into his chest without hesitation, his arms forming a protective cage around me. His armor was cold, but his hold was fierce, steady, anchoring me to the world.
His voice dropped, rough and almost broken.
"AS SOON AS I REALIZED YOU WERE MISSING, I CAME SEARCHING FOR YOU… BUT IT SEEMS I ARRIVED TOO LATE."
The words struck deeper than I expected. I buried my face into his chest, the metal pressing cool against my fevered skin. His embrace tightened, as though he feared I would slip from his grasp if he loosened it even a fraction.
Above me, I heard the confession that melted whatever fear remained inside me:
"I'M SORRY. YOU MUST'VE BEEN SO SCARED."
The apology, the warmth, the sincerity—it was too much.
The heavy velvet cloak he had given me was coarse, almost scratchy against my fingertips, but in that moment it was the single most comforting thing I had ever held. I clutched its edges with both hands, drawing it up to shield my face from the world. A small, fragile SOB escaped before I could stop it. Shame prickled hotly through me, and I buried the sound in the fabric.
He didn't loosen his arms.
The horse moved beneath us in a gentle, rhythmic sway, and his steady breathing calmed something wild inside me. Above the muffled clop of hooves, his voice remained steady—a fortress in the storm.
"JUST HANG IN THERE A BIT LONGER. THE RAIN WILL STOP AS SOON AS WE LEAVE THIS FOREST."
I didn't trust my voice enough to speak. My eyes stung, my throat tightened, and through the tear-blurred shimmer of the rain-drenched canopy, the faint filtering light looked almost… magical. I tried to straighten, to tell him I was fine, but my limbs felt impossibly heavy.
A low, warm CHUCKLE vibrated through his chest.
He had seen right through me.
"I'm fine… now," I rasped, even though the lie was thin. But somehow, saying it didn't feel false—not when I was held like this, protected like this.
As we passed into a lighter section of the woods, he gave an order to the man riding beside us, his tone sharp with command yet threaded with unmistakable worry.
"ONCE WE'RE OUT OF THIS FOREST, I'D LIKE YOU TO SET UP A CAMPFIRE SO SHE CAN DRY HERSELF OFF. ALSO, BRING HER A CHANGE OF CLOTHES AND CLEAN WATER SO SHE CAN WASH HER FACE."
"YES, SIR."
I let my head rest against his armor, exhaustion sweeping through me. Relief settled deep in my bones, thick and overwhelming. With each hoofbeat carrying us further from Velk, a quiet certainty bloomed inside me:
I'm so glad I don't have to go back.
I want to stay with him.
Later, by the crackling campfire, warmth returned slowly to my chilled skin. Wrapped in a dry red mantle, its fabric soft and soothing, I finally felt my muscles begin to unclench. I dipped the cloth into the clean water he'd had prepared and lifted it to my face.
WIPE.
The coppery scent of old blood mixed with smoke. I blinked at the faint reflection in the polished metal of the water cup.
My face was streaked with dried blood and fevered blotches. The raw marks beneath my eyes, the flushed patches across my cheeks—together they made me look wretched, almost unrecognizable.
I swallowed hard.
I hadn't realized just how bad it was.
Despite the ache, despite the heat in my skin, I kept staring into the shifting firelight. The flames crackled and danced, their warmth seeping slowly, tenderly, into my bones.
He moved nearby—quiet, efficient, always watching. His silhouette framed by the fire was a strange comfort, a silent promise that I was no longer alone.
I was injured. Feverish. Far from any real safety.
And yet…
For the first time in so long—
I felt truly, profoundly at peace.
Wherever he went,
I would follow.
---
The heavy velvet cloak—still carrying the warmth of the man who rescued me—was pulled tightly around my shoulders, but it did little to stop the trembling that seized me. Fear and fever twisted through me, making my breath shaky, my fingers weak. I hid my face deeper into the thick fabric, muffling the tiny SOB that escaped before I could swallow it down. Shame burned beneath my cheeks. I hated how easily I unraveled.
Yet his arms around me remained steady, unwavering. He held me securely on the horse, his presence a grounding force against the relentless curtain of rain pouring through the forest.
"JUST HANG IN THERE A BIT LONGER. THE RAIN WILL STOP AS SOON AS WE LEAVE THIS FOREST."
His voice rumbled like distant thunder—assured, protective, strangely soothing.
Through the shimmering leaves above, fractured light shimmered, almost SPARKLING through the veil of mist and tears distorting my vision. I forced a whisper past the tightness in my throat:
"I'm fine… now."
A lie.
And he knew it.
His low CHUCKLE, warm and quiet, vibrated through his chest where my head rested. Somehow, it comforted me more than any blanket ever could.
As the trees thinned and we crossed out of the densest shadows, his command cut through the rain.
"ONCE WE'RE OUT OF THIS FOREST, I'D LIKE YOU TO SET UP A CAMPFIRE SO SHE CAN DRY HERSELF OFF."
There was a pause—a gentle one—as his eyes flicked down to me again, checking, confirming, worrying.
"ALSO, BRING HER A CHANGE OF CLOTHES AND CLEAN WATER SO SHE CAN WASH HER FACE."
"YES, SIR!" came the immediate response from the rider beside us.
My head slumped lightly into the curve of his shoulder, a wave of relief swelling through me so deep it nearly made me dizzy.
I'm so glad I don't have to go back to Velk.
The thought came quiet but fierce, blooming inside me like a vow.
I want to stay with him.
Later, once the campfire crackled to life beside a soft straw-filled sack, heat seeped gratefully into my cold bones. The new garment wrapped around me was dry and smelled faintly of clean linen and woodsmoke. I held a metal cup of water between my hands, its coolness grounding.
I dipped a cloth into the cup and gently WIPEd my face, each stroke easing away the sticky grime of the night. But the moment I caught sight of my reflection in the water's rippling surface, I froze.
"I didn't realize my face was covered with blood…"
Dark, dried streaks clung stubbornly beneath my eyes, across my cheek, along my jaw. The faint red marks from the tendril attack—a mixture of scratches, bruising, and fever flush—were even starker in the firelight.
"It could be because of the fever, but the red spots on my face look much worse now. I really look like I'm ill."
A troubling, almost panicked thought slid into my mind.
Should I just heal my face?
My fingers tightened around the cup.
But what if I have to sleep with him…
Heat flared instantly beneath my skin—BLUSH, fierce and humiliating. I took a hurried sip from the cup to hide it, though no amount of water could cool the sudden warmth on my cheeks.
Don't do it.
The internal warning echoed sharply. If I healed myself too well, too suddenly, he would notice. He would ask. He would wonder.
But…
Maybe that wouldn't be so terrible.
Maybe I wouldn't mind him knowing more about me.
A tiny GLOW flickered across my fingertips—my power reacting to the thought—and I FLINCHed, startled. The moment the light faded, something else caught my attention.
A soft rustle.
A quiet, unmistakable sound.
I spun—TURN—eyes widening.
Standing beside the fire was a tiny figure draped in a moss-green cloak, barely reaching my knee. His face was round, his features oddly luminous in the firelight.
"HUH? WHAT'S A CHILD DOING HERE? WHO ARE YOU?" I blurted, my voice cracking with shock.
The little creature puffed out his chest with a comically serious expression.
"MY NAME IS PUKA! I'M THE FAIRY OF THIS FOREST!"
My tired brain, fogged with fever and disbelief, latched onto the most absurd detail. I pointed an accusing finger at him.
"ARE YOU THE DWARF FAIRY WHO MAKES IT RAIN IF YOU'RE NOT GIVEN PEANUTS AS AN OFFERING?!"
Puka's face scrunched up immediately.
"WHO ARE YOU CALLING A DWARF?! I'M PRETTY TALL FOR A FAIRY!"
He leaned in closer, his tiny green eyes glittering as he inspected me with startling seriousness.
"You're much more talkative than I expected. You were so quiet all day yesterday."
A chill of suspicion ran down my spine.
"HAVE YOU BEEN WATCHING ME SINCE YESTERDAY?"
Puka dodged the question entirely, his attention now locked on the fading traces of energy around my hands.
"I've never seen that type of energy in the Tayar Kingdom before."
He whispered, leaning closer.
"You have a healing ability, don't you?"
I froze.
A faint flicker of light betrayed me.
"…YES! HOW DID YOU KNOW?"
He rolled his eyes dramatically.
"I'm a fairy. That's child's play to me."
Then, with sudden ferocity, he jabbed a tiny finger at my chest.
"BUT DON'T YOU EVER USE THAT HEALING ABILITY SO RECKLESSLY!"
I blinked, startled.
"WHY?"
Puka hopped onto my knee, voice rising high enough to nearly squeak.
"IT'S AN EXCEPTIONALLY RARE ABILITY! ALL SORTS OF SPECIES WILL DESIRE IT! ONCE ANYONE FINDS OUT YOU CAN HEAL, YOU'LL HAVE SCOUNDRELS SWARMING AROUND YOU LIKE ANTS!"
A cold weight dropped into my stomach.
"I see. I'll be careful. Thanks for telling me…"
He settled down, satisfied, folding his little arms. Then he peered up at me curiously.
"If you're normally this talkative, then why were you so quiet yesterday?"
A lump rose in my throat.
"I get nervous around people," I admitted softly. "Everyone used to get angry or hit me whenever I tried to speak. I've rarely managed to finish my sentences."
My gaze dropped to his small form.
"Are you okay with me because I'm not human?"
Puka beamed instantly.
"YUP! THAT'S BECAUSE NON-HUMAN CREATURES DON'T GET ANGRY WITH ME WHEN I INTERACT WITH THEM! THAT'S WHY…"
The conversation with Puka, the self-proclaimed Fairy of the Forest, had loosened something inside me, a fragile thread of comfort and amusement. His confidence and tiny, unwavering bravado allowed me to finally speak without restraint.
"YUP! THAT'S BECAUSE NON-HUMAN CREATURES DON'T GET ANGRY WITH ME WHEN I INTERACT WITH THEM! THAT'S WHY I'M NOT SCARED AT ALL." Puka's grin was impossibly wide, and the pride in his chest made him seem almost larger than life.
Something warm and light stirred in my chest. For the first time in what felt like years, I allowed myself to speak freely, my voice bright and giddy. Stories I had buried, experiences I had never shared—they tumbled out uncontrollably. My hands gestured wildly, my words a rapid-fire stream of excitement.
"I've even encountered a dragon before!" I leaned forward, eyes sparkling with the thrill of the memory. "IT WAS INCREDIBLY LARGE AND IT WAS A BRILLIANT SHADE OF CRIMSON!"
My recounting spiraled onward. "I had so many questions I wanted to ask the dragon before I passed out! When I regained consciousness, it was bleeding from a wing injury, but I fully healed it with my power. I wanted to talk to it, but I ended up passing out… Its wings were enormous! Its scales glistened like jewels, and its talons were massive! I wonder if it was male or female?! I think it would have been nice to be friends with it!"
Breathless, I continued to CHATTER, swept away in my own memory, barely noticing Puka's quiet presence. The tiny fairy sat patiently on a small sack beside me, his green eyes wide but alert. A faint thought bubble appeared above his head, a wry commentary floating like smoke: She sure talks a lot.
My fervent flow was abruptly interrupted by the STEP STEP of heavy boots. The flap of the tent swished open.
"CAN I COME IN, LUCINA?" The Dark Knight's voice cut through the air. My name on his lips jolted me, and my sudden confidence dissolved instantly. My heart thudded violently, and the words I had just spoken seemed like a reckless, foolish mistake.
He SLIDEd into the tent, his towering figure filling the small space. The armor he wore gleamed dully in the firelight, rigid and imposing, a stark contrast to the warmth of the camp around us.
"I'M SORRY BUT WE DON'T HAVE ANY CLOTHES YOU CAN CHANGE INTO—!"
His words faltered as his eyes fell upon my face. The sight of fever-blistered skin, streaked with residual blood, stopped him cold. Concern tightened every line of his face, his jaw clenching.
"WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE, LUCINA?!"
Panic swept through me, burning brighter than the fever on my cheeks. I raised my hands instinctively, trying to cover the worst of the red streaks. My mind scrambled for an excuse.
"THIS IS… IT'S JUST MY FEVER… THAT'S WHY…!" I stammered, words tumbling over each other, heavy with shame. The embarrassment of being caught, talkative and exposed, hit me all at once.
Puka, sensing the tension, bounced energetically from the sack.
"I'M OFF FOR NOW! I'LL SEE YOU LATER!" His tiny voice rang, and in a flash of golden light and a faint shimmer, he disappeared.
The sudden emptiness left me reeling. I clutched my cloak tighter, my pulse thrumming painfully in my ears. The Dark Knight's large, gloved hand moved with unexpected gentleness, pulling mine away from my face. He studied the angry red patches carefully, his thumb brushing lightly against the rough skin—TAP.
"DID THESE RED SPOTS SHOW UP DUE TO YOUR FEVER?" he asked, low and serious.
Guilt weighed heavily on me, pressing my chest in tandem with the fever. My lips parted, reluctant to speak.
"My fever didn't cause these spots…"
Before I could explain further, a loud commotion erupted outside the tent.
"IS YOUR BRIDE NOT FEELING WELL—!"
The voice was frantic, crashing into the tent with alarming energy. Turan, the armored man who had been riding with us, thrust his head inside. His eyes fell on me, widened in sheer horror, and he recoiled as though I were some plague victim.
"OH NO, YOUR MAJESTY! LOOK AT HER FACE!"
He spun and began to back away, shouting over his panic. "GET BACK, YOUR MAJESTY! THAT'S SMALLPOX!"
My rescuer's eyes widened in alarm, mirrored in the tense set of his shoulders. Turan's voice gained volume, fear spiraling higher.
"WHAT?! DON'T YOU RECALL HOW THE ENTIRE TAYAR TRIBE FELL ILL WHEN SMALLPOX SPREAD FROM THE BRION LANDS INTO OUR BORDERS?! HER SYMPTOMS ARE EXACTLY THE SAME!"
Turan frantically waved his arms, his urgency demanding the Dark Knight stay back.
"DON'T GET CLOSE TO HER! YOU'LL CATCH IT, YOUR MAJESTY!"
I felt my panic spike. The misunderstanding was overwhelming, terrifying in its intensity. I scrambled to clarify, my voice cracking over Turan's frantic shouting.
"I-IT'S NOT SMALLPOX!" I finally managed, my voice sharp with desperation. "NO, THIS IS FROM SULFUR…! MY HAIR DYE…"
The Dark Knight turned to Turan, silencing him instantly with a look that demanded attention. Then, he returned his gaze to me, intense and questioning. He did not dismiss me, nor did he treat me as a plague victim. His concern burned through the chaos.
"ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE NOT ILL?" His voice held worry, sharpened with command.
Without hesitation, he barked orders to Turan.
"TURAN! GO AND BRING A PHARMACIST HERE! HURRY!"
I watched him stand there, half-dressed, armored yet poised to argue with anyone for my safety. Even amidst the panic, the perceived danger, the risk—it became clear. He would risk everything to ensure I was cared for.
This ends exactly at the last line of your passage: "Despite the panic and the danger, I realized he was willing to risk everything for me."
Panic surged through me like a living thing, coiling around my chest and throat. I lunged forward, desperate to keep the King away from the girl, my voice cracking as I shouted, "GET BACK, YOUR MAJESTY! THAT'S SMALLPOX!" My heart hammered violently against my ribs. Every second felt like an eternity as I tried to shield the girl—the King's bride—from what I believed was imminent danger.
Another man, one of the King's retinue, mirrored my alarm, his eyes widening in sheer horror as he took in the bride's face. "OH NO, YOUR MAJESTY! LOOK AT HER FACE!" His voice trembled, and he quickly added, "DON'T GET CLOSE TO HER! YOU'LL CATCH IT, YOUR MAJESTY!" He flailed his arms, stepping rigidly between the King and the girl, a living barrier fueled by terror.
The chaos around us escalated. My disbelief only heightened. How could this have happened so suddenly? My voice rose again, desperate and almost strangled by fear: "DON'T GET ANY CLOSER!" Every fiber of my being screamed with urgency—this was far too dangerous.
The man's panic only intensified, his face a mask of dread. "WHAT?! DON'T YOU RECALL HOW THE ENTIRE TAYAR TRIBE FELL ILL WHEN SMALLPOX SPREAD FROM THE BRION LANDS INTO OUR BORDERS?! HER SYMPTOMS ARE EXACTLY THE SAME!" The memory of the Tayar tribe's suffering was sharp and vivid, like a scar that threatened to open again.
Voices multiplied, the crowd's concern spilling into a deafening cacophony. "CHATTER… HUH? WHAT'S GOING ON?... CHATTER… IT SEEMS THAT THE KING'S BRIDE…" Rumors and fear rippled outward like wildfire, feeding off itself.
The girl herself finally spoke, her voice trembling, strained by panic. "IT'S NOT A DISEASE! LISTEN TO ME!" Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, wide and desperate. She looked overwhelmed, entirely on the verge of collapse. "I CAN'T SPEAK PROPERLY BECAUSE I'M SO FLUSTERED!"
Her attempt to clarify was shaky, yet determined: "I-IT'S NOT SMALLPOX! NO, THIS IS FROM SULFUR…! MY HAIR DYE…"
For a fleeting moment, I thought the crowd might understand—but the other man only dismissed her protest, shouting even louder, his tone thick with both fury and fear. "I-IT'S SMALLPOX!"
The bride remained, clutching her chest, a figure of distress amidst the surging panic. I could only watch, heart hammering, waiting for the truth to break through the layers of hysteria. Was this truly a deadly contagion, or something else entirely?
The whispers in the crowd grew louder, spreading like wind through dry leaves. "CHATTER… HUH? WHAT'S GOING ON?... CHATTER… IT SEEMS THAT THE KING'S BRIDE HAS CONTRACTED SMALLPOX."
Shouts rose higher, more panicked, as the men around me reacted with horror. "ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT THIS BRIONIAN BROUGHT AN EPIDEMIC INTO THE TAYAR KINGDOM?!" The accusation struck like a physical blow, turning the girl into an immediate source of danger in the eyes of all.
The King's commanding voice cut through the noise, sharp and controlling. "WAIT, TURAN! LOWER YOUR SWORD." His gaze softened as it landed briefly on the frantic girl. "WE DON'T KNOW FOR SURE THAT SHE HAS SMALLPOX!"
Turning his attention to me, his expression stern but questioning, he demanded: "GO ON, LUCINA. WHAT WERE YOU TRYING TO SAY?"
I pressed my hands to my robes, trying to anchor myself as panic surged anew. Words tangled on my tongue, falling over one another in frantic stutters. "I-IT'S… NOT SMALLPOX…"
This is bad! I thought, my mind racing. The more nervous I became, the more my words scrambled themselves. W-well… I had to make them understand. What do I do? They might kill me if I don't clear up this misunderstanding!
I drew in a shaky breath, forcing myself to continue, trembling as I spoke. "I DYED MY HAIR RECENTLY… UGH… WITH SULFUR… AND CROCUS JUICE! THOSE ARE THE DYE INGREDIENTS!"
But I knew my explanation was messy, incomplete. My fevered face burned with shame as I added, "BUT AFTER IT RAINED… THE FEVER MADE IT LOOK WORSE, SO…!"
A scoff cut through my words, disbelief clear in the voice of a man in the crowd. "WHAT IS SHE TRYING TO SAY? HAS THE FEVER AFFECTED HER MIND OR SOMETHING?"
My composure faltered further. Panic, desperation, and embarrassment collided in my chest. I opened my mouth to speak, my words choking on the rising tension: "UH…"
This stops exactly at the "UH…" where your passage ends, keeping all the tension, panic, and emotional intensity intact.
The crowd's panic swelled around me, their voices a crashing tide of fear and accusation. Every shout, every frantic whisper hammered against my skull. "CHATTER… HUH? WHAT'S GOING ON?" The rumor, now treated as fact, ricocheted through the masses. "IT SEEMS THAT THE KING'S BRIDE HAS CONTRACTED SMALLPOX."
The accusations were immediate and brutal. One man's voice rose above the rest, sharp and incredulous: "ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT THIS BRIONIAN BROUGHT AN EPIDEMIC INTO THE TAYAR KINGDOM?!"
The King's intervention sliced through the hysteria like a blade. "WAIT, TURAN! LOWER YOUR SWORD. WE DON'T KNOW FOR SURE THAT SHE HAS SMALLPOX!" Then, turning his gaze toward me, stern yet expectant: "GO ON, LUCINA. WHAT WERE YOU TRYING TO SAY?"
My chest constricted under the weight of so many eyes. I flinched, shrinking in on myself. "FLINCH… I-IT'S… NOT SMALLPOX…" The words stumbled and tumbled, a hopeless jumble escaping my lips. Panic constricted my thoughts. This is bad! The more nervous I become, the more I jumble my words!
The knowledge that my very life teetered on the edge pressed down on me. WHAT DO I DO? THEY MIGHT KILL ME IF I DON'T CLEAR UP THIS MISUNDERSTANDING!
I forced the words out, trembling uncontrollably. "I DYED MY HAIR RECENTLY… UGH… WITH SULFUR… AND CROCUS JUICE! THOSE ARE THE DYE INGREDIENTS!" My explanation faltered, the crowd still unconvinced. "BUT AFTER IT RAINED… THE FEVER MADE IT LOOK WORSE, SO…!"
A distant scoff cut through my panic, disbelief sharp as a knife. "WHAT IS SHE TRYING TO SAY? HAS THE FEVER AFFECTED HER MIND OR SOMETHING?"
My throat tightened. Composure slipping, I felt the rising dread pressing my stomach flat. "W-WELL… UH…"
Memories of past punishment surged unbidden—simple attempts to speak had once brought sharp pain. Faces and voices of those cruel days flickered in my mind. I WAS BEATEN FOR SIMPLY TRYING TO SPEAK… I remembered the words of my maids, cruel and biting: "PFFT. I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY SHE KEEPS MAKING THINGS WORSE FOR HERSELF BY TRYING TO COME UP WITH EXCUSES IF SHE'S GOING TO GET BEATEN REGARDLESS. IF I WERE HER, I WOULD SIMPLY STAY QUIET. THAT WAY, I WOULD BE HIT LESS."
Yet now, silence was not an option. My lungs burned as I tried to steady my breath. "…WHEN I CAN'T EVEN SPEAK PROPERLY RIGHT NOW."
The crowd's calls escalated, louder and more aggressive:
"I'M CERTAIN THAT SHE HAS SMALLPOX, YOUR MAJESTY. WE CAN'T TAKE THIS WOMAN TO THE PALACE."
"WE SHOULD BURN THAT WOMAN AND ANYTHING SHE TOUCHED! IF WE DON'T, THEN WE'LL BE PUTTING THE ENTIRE TAYAR TRIBE AT RISK!"
"SHE'S JUST A HUMAN WHO VIOLATED THE MEZALUC TOMBS!"
"WE SHOULDN'T HAVE ALLOWED HER TO LIVE FROM THE START. CHATTER."
Fear coiled around me like a serpent. If I don't act… I'll be killed.
The decision crystallized in the storm of panic and exhaustion. There was only one way to survive. I SHOULD JUST HEAL MYSELF USING MY POWER!
I drew a shuddering breath and focused, forcing my hand forward. A pale blue light began to GLOW, swirling faintly like mist over water. My heart pounded, my pulse loud in my ears.
The memory of the little boy's voice rang sharp in my mind. DON'T USE THAT HEALING POWER SO RECKLESSLY! YOU'LL BE IN SERIOUS DANGER IF ANYONE CATCHES YOU USING IT! His tiny form, so full of anger and fear, flashed before my eyes.
He had been right. If anyone discovered the power I carried, I wouldn't be a person—they'd see me as a resource. A tool. A prize. Shadowed figures, hungry and desperate, clawing toward the light of life I could summon… the image burned in my mind.
The ache from my minor wounds—the bruise, the scrape—was a dull comfort now, a tether to reality in the storm of potential catastrophe. The golden sunlight filtering through the trees blurred at the edges as I stared inward, imagining the relief of healing against the infinite danger it could unleash.
Heal it. Just heal it. You deserve the comfort.
No. I deserve to be free.
The internal battle raged silently, ferocious. Every fiber of my being screamed for relief, for the simple, undeniable comfort that only my power could grant—but every instinct screamed louder for self-preservation.
I was trapped, caught between the unbearable, immediate pain and the long, terrible risk that could follow if I revealed my gift. My mind raced, spinning in circles, seeking a way out that didn't exist.
I parted my lips to speak, but no words emerged. The terrified, angry face of the little boy lingered in my vision, the only mirror to the storm inside me. The world seemed to pause, holding its breath, waiting for my choice.
WHAT SHOULD I DO? DO I HEAL MYSELF OR NOT?!