Arthur's eyes opened slowly, consciousness returning in fragments. Clean stone above him, smooth and pristine. Not the forest canopy. Not blood-soaked dirt. A proper ceiling reinforced with preservation spells that made it glow faintly in the soft light.
Floating orbs drifted near the ceiling in lazy patterns, their light gentle on his eyes. An infirmary, then. He'd made it.
He tried to move. His body responded with pain, though it felt muffled somehow, like someone had wrapped his injuries in thick cotton. Healing magic, dampening the worst of it while his body repaired itself.
"Ah. You're awake."
An older woman sat in a chair beside his bed. Steel grey hair pulled back in a severe bun. Sharp eyes behind thin-framed glasses. White robes marked with the Academy crest and a healing hand wreathed in green light. Head healer, judging by the additional gold trim on her collar.
Arthur's throat was dry. He swallowed and tried to speak. His voice came out rough. "Where am I?"
"Academy medical wing." The healer stood, moving to his bedside. Her hands glowed faint green as she passed them over his torso without touching, reading something only she could see. "You've been unconscious for approximately six hours. Your injuries were severe when you arrived."
Six hours. Morning had turned to afternoon, then.
"Three fractured ribs," the healer continued, her tone clinical. "Deep laceration across your right shoulder. Severe muscle tearing in your left ankle, along with multiple contusions and surface wounds. " The green glow faded from her hands. "You were close to death when you were brought in. Blood loss alone should have killed you."
Arthur tried to sit up. He made it a few inches before his body protested loud enough that he stopped.
"Don't." The healer's hand pressed gently against his chest, pushing him back down. "Your injuries are stabilised and healing, but you're not recovered. With healing magic accelerating the process, you'll be functional in a day or two. Without it, you'd be bedridden for weeks."
"Two days?" Arthur's voice was stronger now, though still rough. "That fast?"
"Healing magic repairs tissue at an accelerated rate. Your ribs will knit by tomorrow morning. The shoulder will take slightly longer." She returned to her chair and produced a clipboard from thin air, likely pulled from a storage ring. "The ankle will be tender for several days but functional."
The healer made a note, then looked at him over her glasses. "You were found collapsed at the Academy gates. Covered in blood. Your clothes are destroyed." She set the clipboard down. "What happened to you?"
Arthur took a careful breath, mindful of his ribs. "I was training in the forest northwest of here. I was attacked."
"By what?"
"A corrupted wolf."
The healer's expression shifted slightly. "What rank?"
"I'm not certain. I assumed around Lower Apprentice based on its size and strength."
"And you fought it?"
"I didn't have much choice."
The healer studied him for a long moment. "Most students your rank don't survive corrupted encounters. You're either very skilled or very lucky."
"The wolf was already injured," Arthur said. "Severely. From a previous fight, I think. If it had been at full strength, I wouldn't be here."
That seemed to satisfy her. She made another note on her clipboard. "I'll need to file a report about corrupted presence that close to Academy grounds. The Defensive Committee will want to investigate the area."
'Of course they would.'
"Your sister has been notified," the healer added, standing. "She should arrive within the hour." She moved toward the door, then paused. "You were found by Miss Whitmore, Head of the Defensive Committee. She's waiting outside if you're well enough to speak with her."
Before Arthur could respond, the healer opened the door and spoke to someone beyond. "He's awake. You can see him now."
The door swung wider. A young woman stepped through.
She was tall, maybe five-nine, with platinum blonde hair tied back in a practical ponytail. Sharp violet eyes swept across the room in a single assessing glance. She wore a dark uniform with silver trim along the collar and sleeves and a badge on her chest bearing the academy crest surrounded by a shield emblem. Defensive Committee.
The woman closed the door behind her and moved to the chair, sitting with her back straight and her hands folded in her lap. Everything about her posture spoke of discipline.
"Arthur Reinhart." Her voice was measured and clear. "I'm Elara Whitmore, a second-year student and Head of the Defensive Committee."
Arthur met her gaze. Those violet eyes were intense without being threatening. "You found me."
"I did. I was conducting a perimeter check of the academy grounds when I found you collapsed just outside the main gate. You were barely breathing." She paused. "I brought you here immediately. The healers said, Another ten minutes and you would have died from blood loss."
Ten minutes. That's how close he'd come.
"Thank you," Arthur said. "For saving my life."
Elara inclined her head slightly. "It's my duty. The Defensive Committee exists to protect students and maintain Academy security." She leaned forward slightly. "The head healer mentioned you were attacked. Can you tell me what happened?"
Arthur recounted the encounter. Training in the forest. The wolf appearing. The fight. He kept his description factual, avoiding unnecessary details but not downplaying the danger.
When he finished, Elara was quiet for a moment. "You said you believed the wolf was Lower Apprentice rank. The same as yours."
"Yes. I assumed so based on its strength."
"And it was already injured when you encountered it?"
"Severely. Three long gashes across its side. Part of its hind leg was missing. One ear was torn." Arthur remembered the damage clearly. "It should have been dead already. It just... kept coming."
Elara nodded slowly. "Corrupted monsters are resilient beyond normal creatures. Their bodies don't function the way living things should." She studied him with those sharp violet eyes. "Even so, fighting one at your own rank and surviving... that's not common for first-year students."
"I got lucky."
"Maybe." Something shifted in her expression. Not quite a smile, but close. "Or maybe you fought well. Luck alone doesn't win fights."
Silence settled between them, comfortable rather than awkward.
"Is it unusual?" Arthur asked. "A corrupted monster that close to the Academy?"
"Unusual, yes. The Academy's defensive arrays extend several miles. Most corrupted creatures avoid them instinctively." Elara's fingers drummed once against her knee, a controlled gesture. "But occasionally one slips through. Usually dying ones, too desperate or wounded to care about barriers."
That made sense. The wolf had been on its last legs.
"Where exactly did you encounter it?" Elara asked.
Arthur described the location as best he could remember. The direction from the Academy. The general area of the forest. The clearing where the fight had ended.
Elara absorbed the information with a nod. "We'll send a team to investigate. Remove the corpse if it's still there. Check for signs of other corrupted presence in the area." She stood, the movement fluid and graceful. "You should rest. Your injuries will heal, but you need time." Her tone shifted slightly, something warmer underneath the professionalism. "And in the future, don't train alone in areas where corrupted monsters might be present. That's asking to die."
It was a reprimand, but delivered with what sounded like genuine concern.
Arthur almost smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."
"See that you do." Elara moved toward the door, then paused with her hand on the handle. "Your sister will be here soon. Fair warning, younger siblings tend to be... vocal when their older siblings nearly get themselves killed."
Then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.
Arthur lay back against the pillows, staring at the white ceiling.
Elara Whitmore. Upper Expert at eighteen. Head of the Defensive Committee. Space affinity. He'd read about her in the novel, though not extensively. She'd been mentioned as one of the stronger second-years, someone on the periphery of Lloyd's group in the early chapters.
Until she wasn't.
Around chapter two-twenty, she'd cut ties with them completely. The novel never explained why in detail; it just showed her pulling away and becoming more isolated.
But that was future knowledge. Right now, Elara Whitmore had just saved his life.
Arthur closed his eyes, letting exhaustion tug at him. The door would open again soon. His sister would arrive. Probably angry. Definitely worried.
He'd have to be convincing. It had to be Arthur Reinhart, the brother she knew.
But for now, in this quiet moment, Arthur just breathed.
In and out.
Still alive.