Aeloria cried for a while, the sobs coming in waves that shook her entire frame, until finally the sound faded to nothing.
"You should lie back down," the man said gently, his voice low with concern. "You're not fully healed."
He heard no response. He looked down at the woman in his arms and found her sleeping soundly, her face relaxed, and her breath even and soft.
The man's face flushed bright red.
"She looks so adorable," he murmured, almost to himself. "How can someone this innocent and pure ever hurt anyone? Just who started those rumors?"
He shifted his hold and tried to carry her back to the bed. At least that was what he intended to do, but Aeloria didn't budge.
It wasn't that she was needlessly heavy—in fact the opposite. She was much lighter than most women her size, which had always made her movements quick and agile in battle. The problem was that the man had no strength in his bones. In other words, he was extremely weak. He couldn't even hold his own in a fight against an average person. This made him extremely cautious and kept him far away from any argument with the potential to turn physical.
His left arm was wrapped around her shoulders and his right arm around the lower part of her bare thigh. He lifted her again, pulling with all his strength, grunting as something in his back threatened to bend. He stumbled, lost balance, and fell backward with Aeloria landing on top of him on the floor.
"Why is she so darn heavy?" he muttered, refusing to admit his own incompetence. "I know I've grown stronger since the last time."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small green pill as Aeloria lay motionless across his lower body.
'With the pill that makes a person ten times stronger, I should be able to carry her,' he thought, swallowing it dry.
The effect hit immediately. His whole body shook like his blood was boiling. Veins stood out on his arms. The corners of his vision darkened slightly. After a few heartbeats the rush settled, and he felt power flood his limbs.
He clenched his teeth, took the woman like she weighed nothing, and placed her gently back on the bed.
There were two different types of herbworkers: the oakliners and the thornsleepers.
The oakliners invested their lives in discovering new efficient herbs and combining them to treat existing illnesses, always searching for cures and remedies.
The thornsleepers, however, delved into how herbs affected the efficiency of the human body itself. They were responsible for creating drugs and poisons—things that enhanced, altered, or destroyed.
Just like the drug the man had just used.
He looked at her again. She lay completely vulnerable, blanket pulled aside during the struggle. The man shook his head hard to clear unwanted thoughts and continued to wipe the remaining parts of her body with the cloth. He worked carefully, respectfully, eyes focused only on the task. When he finished, he covered her body with a clean blanket, tucking it around her shoulders.
'It seems what he told me about not doing anything to me while I was unconscious was true after all,' Aeloria thought. I guess it's safe to sleep now.
She had feigned sleep to test the man, watching through slitted eyes for any sign of betrayal. But the man had shown no ulterior motives. Aeloria was too tired to think of anything more and drifted back into real sleep, her body finally surrendering to the exhaustion.
The man scanned the room one last time to make sure everything was in place—herbs within reach, water fresh, door secure—and left quietly, closing the door slightly behind him so the latch didn't click.
…
Meanwhile, in the throne room of Runevale, a maid knelt on the cold floor. Her face was calm and composed, but she chose every word with the care of someone walking through a field of hidden blades.
"My queen," she said, her gaze fixed on the floor, "I regret to inform you that the commander has yet to wake up. I'm afraid all the oakliners we gathered could do nothing to change his condition."
Nyxelene stood from the throne in one fluid motion, the blood-red gown pooling around her like shadow of crimson. She walked down the three steps until she stood directly over the kneeling maid.
The maid did not lift her eyes.
Nyxelene reached out with deliberate slowness and placed two fingers beneath the maid's chin, lifting it so their gazes met.
"What is your name?" Nyxelene asked.
The maid answered quickly, afraid her delayed response might trigger a reaction.
"It's Mira, my queen."
The maid kept her gaze as low as her head allowed. The recent battle had ended in Runevale's victory, but the feared cannibal was missing, and the commander hadn't opened his eyes since they found him lying in his pool of blood with his right arm severed from his shoulder. The queen was furious to have lost two of her most capable warriors to an unknown identity.
"Lead the way, Mira," Nyxelene said in a soft voice that somehow made the air feel colder.
The maid hurried to her feet and replied, "Yes, my queen. Please, this way."
The two guards opened the door as the maid and the queen approached.
The maid led the way down the long, echoing hallway, taking several turns through corridors lit by flickering torches and lined with banners bearing the silver wolf of Runevale. The palace was quiet—too quiet for a place that had just won a war. Whispers followed them like shadows, but no one dared speak aloud in the queen's presence.
They finally appeared before a heavy door leading to the special palace oakliners. One guard stood on each side. They quickly greeted and opened the door as the queen approached, bowing low as she passed.
On entering, every oakliner bowed deeply as they temporarily halted their work.
The room had several lamps casting warm golden light across long tables covered in vials, dried herbs, mortars, and pestles. It was very wide, with about thirty oakliners and seven maids moving between stations, the air filled with the scent of healing salves and bitter roots.
"Get out," Nyxelene said, her voice was calm but absolute.
Everyone left quickly, including Mira, who had just led her to the commander. The door closed behind them with a soft thud, leaving the queen alone with the unconscious man on the bed.
Nyxelene walked to the commander as she stared at him. His face was pale, even in sleep, the stump of his right shoulder wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. After a while she placed both hands on his chest and spoke, her voice low and resonant, the ancient words rolling off her tongue like distant voice.
"Öräën vën űlë, űlë vën öräën,
Vąřëth ën vēlhën läel mälë žhënën nälïn vëlth.
Moräth Šëlven: Välïn Äsë."
"Day to night, night to day,
Illness and health shall trade places by my say.
Primal Genesis: Rise of man."
Dark light engulfed the commander, swirling like liquid shadow. Then white light burst forth, pure and blinding. The energies of the two lights lifted him slightly off the bed as they swirled around him in a furious dance. After a few heartbeats he lay back on the bed as the energies faded away, leaving only the faint scent of cold night air.
Just as soon as he lay down, he opened his eyes.
He struggled to stand, ignoring the queen beside him, pushing himself up with his remaining arm.
"Aeloria… I have to find her," he said in a rough voice, but almost fell forward from the effort.
"There's no need to worry," Nyxelene said as she helped Orin back to the bed. "The cannibal still breathes. You should rest."
She overlooked what he had just done—perhaps because she understood how much he cared about Aeloria.
"She's alive?" Orin asked, relief and doubt warring in his voice as Nyxelene adjusted the pillow behind his head. "But the man in black said she was dead."
"You know Aeloria isn't entirely normal," Nyxelene replied, voice calm. "I'd wager you need to decapitate her to kill her permanently."
"You should focus on recovering well," she continued, gaze steady on him. "I'm sorry about your arm. I can regenerate it, but taking into consideration the attack used to sever it, you're going to have to make some sacrifices for it to work."
"You don't have to worry," Orin said, staring at the ceiling. "I'm fine. Besides, this is my punishment for failing to protect her when I promised her I would."
"I see," Nyxelene said, standing. She wasn't the type to talk someone out of a decision they had made themselves. "In any case, you need to rest. I'll go pay him a visit."
"I'm sorry, who?"
'She was never interested in any man until now, so who is she going to see?' Orin thought in surprise.
"The man in black," Nyxelene answered. "Lucius L. Draven."
She faded away like smoke as she disappeared from sight, leaving only the faint scent of night air and the echo of her words in the room.