The door to the infirmary slammed shut, and all eyes instinctively turned to Garen — he was the one who had first suggested stepping outside to talk things through.
Garen stood with his arms crossed, his back against the wall beside the door. The others lingered a short distance away, in no hurry to break the silence, as if waiting for him to speak.
But he didn't.
A few seconds passed. Garen lifted his head and looked at each of them in turn.
— What? You're staring at us like we were the ones who dragged you out of there.
Suron was the first to break the silence, with Sophie immediately backing him up.
— He's right. If you pulled us out here, then you should start.
Garen swept them with another look — one that clearly said, «I don't even know where to begin».
He exhaled and finally spoke.
— Do you think he's lying to us?
— Well… — Suron drawled. — He sounded pretty confident when he was telling all that.
— Agreed, — Sophie added. — I doubt someone could make something like that up on the spot.
Garen shifted his gaze to Ovin, who had remained silent until now, simply listening.
— His eyes aren't lying, — Ovin said calmly.
— His eyes? — Garen asked.
— Yes. Words can lie. Eyes don't.
Garen considered that.
He knew it himself: when people lie, they almost always give themselves away. Some grow restless, fidget, don't know where to put their hands. Others avoid eye contact or stumble over simple things.
But Rein hadn't done any of that.
He spoke calmly, confidently, never looking away — even when all of them stared straight at him. He didn't make excuses, didn't try to soften his words, didn't fidget.
The story was strange.
But… truthful.
Garen could feel it.
— Listen, Garen, — Ovin broke the pause. — What are we even going to do with him now?
Garen scratched his beard and thought. That was the question that had been circling in all their minds and had finally been voiced.
Leaving him in the infirmary was wrong — he wasn't sick.
Hiding him from the villagers wasn't a good solution either.
And sending him back to where they'd found him wasn't an option at all.
They couldn't just leave him to his fate.
So Garen said what, in truth, needed to be said.
— I'll take him in. Under my care.
Suron frowned.
— You sure?
— Absolutely, — Garen replied without hesitation. — Leaving him alone would be outright cruelty. The kid has amnesia, no clothes, and probably hasn't eaten properly in who knows how long.
He looked at the others.
— We're not the kind of people who turn away in situations like this.
Ovin, who was usually reserved, suddenly burst out laughing and clapped Garen on the shoulder.
— Hya-ha-ha-ha! That's the Garen I know. No wonder you used to be a knight of the Order.
Garen only smiled, offering no response.
But Sophie stepped in.
— But… where are we going to put him? The house is already full.
— Kai's old room, obviously, — Garen replied as if it were nothing. — I'll clear out that junk today, and it'll be livable again. We can probably find him some clothes Kai's grown out of, too.
Sophie silently agreed. The decision made sense.
With the matter settled, they returned to the infirmary.
.
.
.
I paced around the room, examining everything on the shelves. The coolest part was that I understood the language on the labels without any effort. Talking to the locals came just as naturally.
But once reading the names of ointments and tinctures got boring, strange thoughts crept back in, and I started winding myself up.
What if, in this world, people like me were hanged right in the town square?
You know — medieval style. Red hair, witches, bonfires, the whole package.
With that nonsense in my head, I even started seriously planning an escape. If instead of Garen and his group some suspicious armored types walked in, I'd jump straight out the window and run for it.
Voices came from behind the door. It was hard to make out what they were saying — the door was thick, solid oak. Still, I stepped closer and pressed my ear to the crack, trying to catch something useful.
The moment I focused, the door swung open — and I was caught red-handed.
I jerked back, got tangled in the cloth, and fell to the floor in a thoroughly undignified heap.
— I wasn't— I just—
I tried to explain, but immediately started stuttering.
«Damn it… why does everything always go like this…»
— Ha-ha-ha! — loud laughter rang out. — Relax, kid. We've got great news for you.
Garen laughed heartily and extended a hand to help me up. His palm, compared to mine, was enormous. I'd noticed it before, but only now did the difference really sink in.
— Great news? — I asked cautiously.
— Exactly, — he nodded. — Starting today, you'll be living with me. Under my care.
As he said that, he even puffed out his chest proudly and lifted his chin. Before, he'd seemed like a stern, slightly dangerous man. But now…
All my fears shattered against that image.
It was genuinely good news.
Not because I'd suddenly gained a "guardian" — I didn't need that. Not at all. But because I finally had time to figure this world out.
A home meant food.
A home meant a roof.
A home meant the chance to ask questions without constantly looking over my shoulder.
And, just as importantly, a home meant proper clothes — not this improvised beach toga that made me look like a poor peasant.
Besides, Garen didn't strike me as the type to smile first and then hand you over to the village head "just in case." Quite the opposite — if he made a decision, he stuck to it. And that inspired a strange but comforting sense of safety.
And, to be completely honest, living with a hunter in a village was far better than staying in the infirmary or lurking somewhere in the forest.
So yeah.
This wasn't just good news.
It was a chance to finally stop, catch my breath, and figure out who I was now and what I should do next — without running, without panic, and without having to jump out of windows…
— By the way, you won't be living just with my father, but with me too, — Sophie added, shooting me a quick look. — So household chores will be on you as well.
If that was the price of staying, I was more than fine with it. Washing floors sounded far less terrifying than being roasted alive in some "bronze bull" in the town square. Compared to public execution, chores were a blessing.
— Hold on with the chores, — Garen cut in. — First, he needs to figure out where he even is.
— Your father's right, Sophie, — Ovin said calmly, backing him up.
Sophie snorted and looked away but didn't argue. She clearly understood that this wasn't the time for lectures.
— And I think— — Suron began, clearly about to add his two cents.
He didn't get to finish. Garen gave him a short, sharp smack on the back of the head.
— Quiet.
Suron immediately wilted, rubbing the back of his head. I couldn't help but smile. The way he kept glancing at Sophie made everything obvious — the guy was clearly trying to impress her. Given that they looked about the same age, it even seemed like… he liked her.
Ah. I wish I had even the slightest chance with girls.
But looking at myself now, I had no illusions. In this body, I clearly didn't stand a chance.
*Correct. Girls are merely a distraction*
A calm, familiar voice sounded in my head.
Uh… excuse me? And what business is that of yours?
*…*
Hey!
Elaris didn't respond. As usual. She really was strange.
— Well, if you're ready, — Garen concluded, clapping his hands, — let's go home. We'll get you settled, fed, and dressed.
He said it so casually, as if it were something completely ordinary. And that made everything feel even calmer.
Everyone turned and left the infirmary — except Sophie. She stayed behind, returning to her duties. Even though I'd been the only patient in the entire place, she didn't leave. Duty was duty, apparently.
Suron and Ovin said their goodbyes at the exit and went off on their own business. Garen and I, meanwhile, headed down the morning street toward my new home.