Cael didn't remember leaving the grove.
Not clearly.
He remembered movement—stumbling steps through roots and shadow, his body dragging itself forward while his mind floated behind like it was seconds away from snapping loose.
He remembered the taste of blood.
The sticky warmth down his back where the guardian's thorn had torn him open.
The ache in his left arm that felt wrong, like the shoulder hadn't seated properly.
And the seed in his palm.
He hadn't let go of it. Not once.
His fingers had cramped around it so hard the skin split, and the seed's small edges pressed into his flesh like a reminder.
Don't drop it.
That thought kept repeating, not in words, but in instinct.
Because if he dropped it… then everything he'd done was meaningless.
Cael pushed through the last line of twisted trees and stepped out of the Withering Grove as if crawling out of a grave.
Light hit his eyes and made him flinch.
The sky looked too open.
Too wide.
His knees buckled immediately.
He caught himself against a rock at the grove's edge, chest heaving, and for a moment he just stood there, trembling like a leaf in a storm.
The world spun.
His ears rang.
He looked down at his hands.
They were coated in dirt and dried blood—some of it his, some of it not. His nails were chipped. His knuckles were scraped raw. His palms had cuts that stung every time he tried to flex them.
He should've felt proud.
He should've felt relieved.
Instead he felt only one thing:
Tired.
The kind of tired that wasn't just physical.
It was deeper, like life itself had pressed its full weight onto his shoulders.
And he still had six days until the academy.
Six days.
The thought barely registered.
Cael forced his legs to move. He had to get back to the road. He had to find a way into the city. He had to heal. He had to train. He had to—
His thoughts started breaking apart.
His body lurched forward through the grass. Step by step, slow and uneven, like a drunk man trying to walk a straight line.
When he finally reached the road, he didn't feel safe.
He felt exposed.
The dirt path stretched ahead, quiet and sunlit. A few distant carts rolled far away, small dots moving through the landscape. The same road where bandits had stopped him earlier.
He should've been afraid again.
But fear required energy.
Cael didn't have any left.
He took two steps onto the road and his vision blurred so badly that the world became smears of light and shadow.
His knees gave out.
He hit the ground hard, face turning sideways into the dirt.
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't heroic.
It was ugly and pathetic and real.
Cael tried to push himself up, but his arms didn't respond. His muscles twitched uselessly. His breathing came shallow, scraping at his throat. The sunlight warmed the back of his neck, but he felt cold anyway.
His fingers loosened for the first time.
He felt it immediately—panic flashing through him.
The seed.
Cael forced his hand closed again, even as darkness crept into the corners of his vision. He didn't know if he was holding it properly anymore, but he held something.
The System flickered faintly, barely visible as if it was struggling to maintain itself.
[User Condition: Critical]
[HP: 7/43]
[Stamina: 0/27]
[Recommendation: Immediate Medical Attention]
Cael stared at the words without really understanding them.
Seven.
His life was down to a number small enough to count on one hand.
He'd known hunger on Earth. He'd known cold nights and bruises and the kind of exhaustion that made you wonder if waking up was worth it.
But this… this was different.
This was the kind of exhaustion that felt like his soul was trying to slip out through the cracks in his body.
A faint sound reached him.
Wheels.
A cart approaching.
Cael tried to lift his head.
It barely moved.
The cart slowed.
A footstep crunched on dirt.
Then… a voice.
A girl's voice.
Clear, warm, carrying the soft edge of surprise.
"Huh?"
Cael's eyelids fluttered.
He couldn't see her face properly—only the outline of someone leaning down into his field of view, sunlight behind her making her look like a bright blur.
"You're alive?" the girl muttered, like she hadn't expected that to be possible. "Hey—don't die here. Not on the road. That's just… sad."
Cael tried to speak.
His lips moved.
No sound came out.
The girl huffed, like she was annoyed, but her hands were gentle when she touched his shoulder.
She froze immediately.
"Oh. You're bleeding."
There was a pause, and Cael heard the smallest shift in her voice—less casual now. More serious.
"Idiot," she whispered, and it didn't sound like hatred. It sounded like… disbelief. Like she couldn't understand why someone would be this reckless.
Cael tried to focus.
He caught a glimpse of pale hair—silver or moonlight-colored—falling over one shoulder. A faint scent of something clean reached him. Like wildflowers after rain.
The world swayed again.
The girl's face came closer. For a second, he saw pointed ears.
Elf.
His mind clicked weakly even as darkness tugged him down.
An elf… here? Why…?
The girl clicked her tongue.
"Hold on," she said. "I'll get you to the city. And if you wake up and try to die again, I'm kicking you."
Cael's lips twitched, almost like a smile.
The last thing he felt was her arms moving under him—stronger than they looked, lifting him with practiced ease.
He heard her mutter again, softer this time.
"You look like someone who's been running for days."
Cael tried to hold onto that voice.
But the darkness finally won.
And as his mind slipped away, his hand still clutched the seed like it was the only promise he had left.