The first thing John felt was the stillness.
No clash of steel. No screams. No heat. Just the faint hum of Light veins pulsing through the walls—a soft rhythm, steady and alive.
He tried to move.
Pain answered.
A low groan escaped before he could stop it. Something warm pressed gently against his shoulder.
"Hey," a voice whispered. "Don't move too fast."
John's eyes opened to a ceiling of pale crystal, the light shifting through it like ripples on water. Then—to his left—Tamara.
She sat in a chair beside his bed, hair loose around her face, a thin cloak draped over her shoulders. Her eyes looked different in the soft glow—less sharp, more human. Worry had replaced the calm calculation he was used to seeing.
"Welcome back," she said softly.
John blinked, disoriented. "Where…?"
"The Citadel infirmary," she said. "You've been out for three days."
Three days.
Memories came back in pieces—the battlefield, the roar of Ember, the Dark Prince's voice like velvet and venom, and the burning hole in his chest.
He touched his ribs instinctively. Smooth skin. No wound. Just a faint warmth pulsing beneath it.
"Caelus healed you," Tamara added, reading his expression. "He said the damage was too deep for normal Light regeneration. It took… a lot."
John's voice was hoarse. "You've been here the whole time?"
She hesitated—then nodded once. "Someone had to make sure you didn't try to wake up early and do something stupid."
He managed a faint smile. "That does sound like me."
Her eyes flickered—relief, irritation, and something gentler beneath both. "You nearly died, John."
He met her gaze. "Would've rather it be me than you."
Tamara's jaw tightened. "Don't say that."
"I mean it," he said quietly. "If that blast had hit you…"
"It didn't," she interrupted, but her voice broke around the edge of it. "Because you threw yourself in front of it. I can still smell the burn, John. I can still hear you hit the ground."
He didn't know what to say to that.
Silence filled the space between them—the kind that hurt to hold.
Finally, she spoke again, softer now. "You keep doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Carrying everything like you're supposed to." Her hands clenched around the edge of her cloak. "You don't have to."
John looked away, focusing on the faint blue veins of light running along the wall. "If I don't, who will?"
"Me," she said. "Blake. Ember. You're not alone in this."
That made him smile—a tired, quiet thing that still found its way to his eyes. "You know, for someone who threatened to freeze me solid the first time we met, you've gotten surprisingly sentimental."
She rolled her eyes, but the faintest smile tugged at her lips. "Don't make me regret it."
He chuckled—then winced, clutching his ribs. "Still hurts."
"That's what happens when you get impaled by darkness."
"Yeah," he muttered. "Guess I'll add that to the list."
She shook her head. "You're impossible."
"Maybe," he said, his tone softening. "But I'm still here."
Tamara stared at him for a long moment. There was something in her eyes she didn't quite let surface—something that scared her to admit was even there. Then she sighed and leaned back, letting her guard slip for just a heartbeat.
"I thought you wouldn't wake up," she admitted. "Not after what I saw."
John's throat tightened. "Sorry for worrying you."
"I'll get you back for it eventually."
"I'll look forward to it."
That got a real smile out of her—small, but genuine. She stood, pulling the cloak tighter around herself. "You need rest. Leto said you're not allowed to train for at least three more days."
"Leto's advice usually comes with pain attached."
"Then try not to make him repeat it."
She reached for the lantern beside the bed, dimming it until the room glowed with only the faintest blue light.
When she turned to leave, he spoke again.
"Tamara."
She paused at the door. "Yeah?"
He hesitated. The words came out quieter than he meant them to. "Thanks. For staying."
Her shoulders rose, then fell. She didn't turn around, but her voice carried a trace of warmth that hadn't been there before.
"Don't make me have to again."
Her shoulders rose, then fell. She didn't turn around, but her voice carried a trace of warmth that hadn't been there before.
She was almost out the door when it creaked open from the other side.
"Well, look who's back from the dead!"
Blake leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, grin wide enough to look rehearsed. "You know, for a guy who likes to charge head-first into death beams, you actually clean up well."
Tamara sighed, already exasperated. "Blake."
"What?" he said innocently. "I just came to check if the hero of Revenak still has all his limbs."
John smirked weakly. "Last I checked, yeah. Ribs are optional, though."
Blake strutted in, pulling a chair next to Tamara's. "You scared the hell out of us, man. Rin was convinced you'd cooked your soul clean through."
"I came close," John admitted.
Blake's grin faltered for the first time. "Don't do that again."
John blinked. "What—get hurt?"
"No," Blake said quietly. "Make us think we lost you."
For a second, there was no sarcasm. No swagger. Just honesty.
Tamara's expression softened, though she tried to hide it by folding her arms. "See? Even Blake can be sincere once a year."
Blake shot her a look. "Hey, I have depth. I just keep it well hidden."
John chuckled. "You're doing a terrible job."
Blake grinned again, the moment already dissolving back into familiar rhythm. "Anyway, glad you're still breathing. We've got bets on how long before you break something else."
"Who's betting?" John asked.
"Me," Blake said cheerfully. "And Rin. He's taking the under."
Tamara stood, stepping between them. "Alright, that's enough excitement for one night. He needs rest."
Blake raised both hands. "Fine, fine. Nurse Tamara wins again."
"Out," she said firmly.
Blake winked at John. "You heard the lady. Rest up, hero. I'll bring soup—or alcohol, whichever she doesn't stop me from smuggling in."
"Neither," Tamara snapped, already ushering him toward the door.
Blake sighed dramatically as he stepped into the hall. "You two are no fun."
The door closed behind him with a soft thud. Tamara lingered for a moment, making sure he was really gone. Then she glanced back at John.
"Try not to listen to him," she murmured. "He means well, even if he never acts like it."
"I know," John said. "He's… Blake."
That earned the faintest smirk. "Exactly."
She turned down the lantern once more. "Sleep, John."
He nodded, the warmth in her voice lingering even after she left.
The door clicked shut again.
John sank back into the bed, the faint rhythm of the Light veins thrumming beneath the Citadel floor. Ember stirred at his side, pressing closer.
"Yeah," he murmured to the Lumibear. "We've still got people worth fighting for."
Outside, the twin moons drifted across the glassy sky of Revenak.
The night was finally quiet.
For now.