Chapter 44: Threads Unbroken
The world came back to me as a haze of cold air and sharp, sterile scents. For a moment, I thought I was somewhere new, but the way the light slanted through familiar, high windows and the pattern of the tiles on the ceiling proved otherwise. The academy's infirmary—even if it looked sharper, sleeker, after renovation—was carved into my memory deeper than the pain currently roaring down my back.
A surge of pain rushed up from my ribs the second I tried to move. Instinctively, I gritted my teeth, pressing a hand to my chest as I sat up, the rough hospital blanket scratching against my palms. Something medicinal and herby hung thick in the air, flooding my senses with each breath. Beneath the sting of antiseptic was an unmistakable undercurrent—a note that immediately called to mind childhood afternoons spent cataloguing my mother's herb bundles.
I let my gaze roam the room, tracing the sharp edges of white cabinets, the glinting edges of mana-powered monitors, the sight of other beds—each separated by a curtain of faded blue. I wasn't alone here; the snoring of another patient buzzed somewhere beyond a partition. At the far edge, a window painted the morning sky a soft lavender, making even metal instruments look gentle.
Across from me, a rough voice broke the quiet, and I twisted toward the sound—wincing, but gritting through it. Ross was propped up awkwardly in the next bed, a line of tension etched deep into his brow and dark circles bruising his eyes. Gauze swaddled his entire upper torso, stains of ointment and faint greenish tinges showing through.
He raised an eyebrow at my struggle, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he spoke. "You've got a lot of ribs broken, you know. Anyone else would be comatose, but you? Sitting up already. You never cease to amaze."
I managed a faint grin, eyeing the thick bandaging wrapped around his chest and shoulders. Something about it seemed familiar, and then my mind caught up with my nose—there it was, the unmistakable sharp-sweet scent of Neemari Blossom. The legendary Rank 3 herb, famous for its healing potency.
"You know," I said, voice dry as dust, "when the healers are breaking out Neemari Blossom in its raw form, you know it wasn't just a tap on the shoulder. I must've really put a dent in you."
Ross's laughter was more a wheeze, but he played up the drama with a rolling of his eyes. "Well, if it isn't Mr. Genius. Scholar, healer, duelist. Anything you can't do?"
I snorted, willing away an involuntary pang of nostalgia for those academy days when barbed jibes were our only currency. "When you grow up as the unawakened one in my family, you dabble in everything just to feel useful," I said quietly. "Potions, herbs, merchant tricks—you name it. I tried to earn my spot any way I could."
Ross shook his head ever so slightly, and for once, the arrogance that used to paint every gesture had faded. "You carry that burden heavier than anyone ever asked you to. Your parents didn't care, you know. They loved you anyway."
I looked down, fingers clenching in the sheet. "Yeah. They did. But I didn't."
The silence swelled between us—plain, just the sound of medical machines humming, cool air whispering through vents, a distant groan from another patient.
Ross spoke first, voice oddly steady. "I wasn't jealous, you know. Not really. My problem was my father—always telling anyone who'd listen how I wasn't quite enough. At first, it didn't matter. It was just words. Then it got picked up—relatives, cousins, even some faculty. I became the 'spare heir' before I'd even done anything wrong. Last year, I tried to force an ascension. I thought if I jumped the gun, surprised everyone, maybe I could shut them up."
I blinked, truly surprised. "You tried to ascend? First year?"
He nodded, gaze distant. "Stupid, I know. But I couldn't keep ignoring the whispers. Figured if I got ahead early, nobody would question my place. Of course, I failed. After that, every failure grew teeth. And then… you started shining. Real, actual genius. Everyone just assumed I'd fall behind. Every victory you won felt like another failure on my back."
His words were stripped of their usual edge—raw and awkward, but real.
I hesitated before answering, measured each word. "Honestly, I never knew. I was too caught up trying to prove myself, I couldn't see anyone else doing the same."
For a long moment, there was only the hush of the air and the gentle tick-tick of a mana monitor.
Ross let out a breath. "When I started pulling away, it wasn't because of hate—it was fear. I hated what I was becoming. But it felt like the only way to hold onto something of my own. Then you awakened, and… I realized nothing would ever be the same again. You barely had any time, but you're already doing the impossible." He gestured to his gauze-wrapped chest. "Our last attacks—drew the line. You threw everything at me, and I stood my ground, but your power broke through in the end. Officially, with you getting tossed off the stage, you lost. But if that'd been real life? Your attack overpowered mine. I lost. Fair and square."
I met his gaze and felt a weight melt from my shoulders. There was only one answer I wanted to give.
"So—a tie, then?"
Ross barked out a laugh, sharp and bright and startlingly pure. For a second, we were just kids running the training yards again, immortals for an afternoon.
Just then, the door creaked open, admitting a gentle light and the soft patter of cautious footsteps. Anaya stood in the threshold, her hands clasped before her, lips pressed together against trembling emotion. Her eyes glistened as she took in the scene: two broken boys sitting amidst antiseptic and magic, stripped of every ounce of bravado.
She hovered next to Ross, and when he looked up at her, something in him softened—shoulders dropping, that battered smile gentling. Anaya reached out, drawing him into a sudden, fierce embrace, arms tight around his neck.
Her words, though too quiet for the room, were crystal clear. "Don't ever lose yourself again," she whispered against his ear.
For a moment Ross only stared, stunned, and then he closed his own arms around her, nodding into her shoulder. "Wasn't planning to," he murmured, voice rough but sure.
Watching them, a deep calm settled inside me. Whatever we'd carried—the anger, the pride, the tangled bitterness—felt lighter now, cut by laughter and salved by truth. Some wounds needed only honesty and the right people listening to begin to heal.
I let my eyes stray to the mana lines curling faint blue in the corners of the room, feeling the tingling burn of opportunity in my bones. There were more seals to break, more burdens to cast off, more dawns waiting to be claimed.
But for now, in the cool hush of the infirmary, with bitter medicine in the air and old friends at my side, I let myself rest—knowing that for the first time in a long time, none of us were alone