It had been two days since my spar with Kael ended.
The first day had been the worst. I could barely move without pain shooting through every nerve. My ribs screamed every time I dared to breathe too deep, and my head throbbed with a relentless rhythm whenever I tried to sit up. That damn skill really pushed my mind to its limit.
Even eating felt like an impossible chore—lifting the spoon, chewing, and swallowing took effort I simply didn't have.
Lyra never left my side through any of it. She helped me a lot in the past few days. Well, she always helps me.
"You need to sleep too," I told her at some point.
"I will," she replied. But she didn't.
The healer visited twice a day, checking my ribs and examining my head with that professional nod healers use to look reassuring. He kept insisting that I was healing well and that the rest was doing me good, but his final instruction was always the same: stay in bed for at least another day.
And if you're wondering why I couldn't take a potion or something like that to recover faster—surely this world is medieval with high tech, so they might have potions. And knowing Theron, he could provide me with the best potions.
However, there's a valid reason for it.
It was because of training. More precisely, it was also a part of Vex's training. He didn't let us use potions. He wanted our bodies to recover naturally. The healers are only here to save us from near-death experiences or from major injuries. Otherwise, you have to recover yourself and increase your body's regeneration.
"Another day," I muttered bitterly after he left. "Great."
[Be grateful, Host,] Nova's voice floated through my mind, as persistent and annoying as ever.
[Your body needed this. Do you even realize you used a skill that your body can't handle? You pushed too hard for too long.]
"...I know."
[Then stop complaining.]
I sighed.
The second day was an improvement. I wasn't about to run any marathons, but I could finally sit up without feeling like I was going to die. I could move my arms without wincing and, most importantly, I could finally think without the constant fog of exhaustion clouding my judgment.
Lyra, of course, was still there, watching me like she expected me to collapse at any moment.
"Young Master," she said, standing quickly when I shifted toward the edge of the bed. "You shouldn't—"
"I'm just sitting up, Lyra. Relax." I leaned against the headboard, trying to look far more comfortable than I actually felt. She sat back down, though her eyes never left me. "I'm fine. Really."
"You were unconscious for twelve hours," she replied, her voice flat but carrying a sharp edge of lingering worry. "Forgive me if I'm not entirely convinced."
I didn't argue. She had earned the right to be worried.
The visitors started arriving that afternoon.
First came Aunt Seraphina, sweeping into the room with a tray of food that smelled amazing and a look of concern that reminded me so much of Mom it made my chest ache. She sat on the edge of the bed, asked how I was feeling, and didn't believe me when I said fine.
"You gave us quite a scare," she said, smoothing my blankets like I was a child. "Theron carried you back himself. Had blood all over his clothes, didn't say a word to anyone, just stood outside the healer's quarters until they told him you'd be okay."
I tried to picture that—Theron, the Storm Blade, pacing outside a medical room waiting for news about me.
"He cares about you, you know." Seraphina smiled. "He just doesn't know how to show it."
She stayed for a while, talking about nothing important—the twins, the weather, how Mia had been sending messages nonstop. It was comfortable, easy, the kind of conversation that didn't require anything from me except to listen.
When she left, she ruffled my hair. Like I was her own.
The twins came next, bursting through the door with all the subtlety of a small explosion. Roran jumped onto the foot of the bed before anyone could stop him, his eyes wide with excitement.
"Leo! Did you really fight Kael? Did you win? Did you—"
"Roran." Lyra's voice was gentle but firm. "Young Master needs rest."
"But I have questions!"
"He can answer them later."
Roran deflated, but his eyes stayed fixed on me, bright and curious. Eira stepped forward, holding something behind her back.
"What's that?" I asked.
She held out a small drawing—two stick figures that were probably meant to be her and Roran, and a third that looked suspiciously like a frog.
"For Mia," she said quietly. "...Can you send it?"
A smile appeared on my face. "Yeah. I can send it."
She smiled, small and shy, and placed the drawing on my nightstand like it was the most precious thing in the world.
The messages from home also kept coming through my Mana-Phone.
Mom sent updates every few hours—gentle words, worried questions, reminders to rest. Normal mom things. But they made me feel less alone, less like I was stranded in this frozen fortress with no connection to the world I'd left behind.
Mia sent voice messages. Dozens of them. Most were about Sir Hops-a-Lot—his adventures, his meals, his opinions on various bugs he'd caught in the garden. Some were just her saying my name over and over until she giggled.
I listened to all of them. More than once.
Dad also sent a message:
"Heard you lost, Son."
"Winning and losing is part of life."
"So get better, son, and try again. You'll succeed one time."
"Always remember that your dad is proud of you."
I stared at the message for a long time. Then I smiled.
Yeah. That was just like... Dad.
Even Kael showed up on the second evening. He stood in the doorway, looking as uncomfortable as people usually do when they aren't sure they're welcome. His face was still bruised—I'd clearly left my mark—but he was moving much better than I was.
"You look like shit," he remarked.
"Thanks. You too."
He snorted and sat in the chair Lyra had briefly vacated. "That was a good fight, noble. You didn't quit. That matters. Get better—we're doing this again."
On the third morning, I finally felt human again. The pain had settled into a dull, manageable ache. I looked over and saw Lyra asleep in her chair, her face finally relaxed. I didn't wake her. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. My muscles screamed a little, but they held.
When Lyra finally woke, she found me dressed and ready. "I need to see Theron," I told her, cutting off her protest before it could start. "I've rested enough. I have things to do."
She gave me a sharp look and then sighed. "...Okay. It's not like you're going to listen to me."
"Thank you."
We walked through the corridors together, moving at a slow, steady pace. Soldiers passed us, some nodding with a newfound respect in their eyes.
When we reached the West Wing, I stopped before the plain door with the brass nameplate. I took a deep breath to steady the weight in my stomach and knocked.
"Come in," a voice called out.
I looked at Lyra. She gave me a firm nod. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.