Dorian's Perspective
Spring. 1027 of the Golden Calendar.
The slimes would be out again. Crawling back out from the dirt behind the fortress walls now that the ice was gone. Should be fewer demonic bears. Far past the mountain range where the corruption is denser.
Fewer bodies. Fewer groans. Fewer limbs mangled by claws.
Thank Aurumor for that.
This fortress still stood because of His mercy. His blessing. The consecration performed over these grounds long ago—it still held. No demons spawned within.
The soldiers could rest easier now. Not too easy, of course. All must play their role in his divine plan.
Three months of relative peace. Just one more week.
Then I return to the capital.
Order. Clean robes. Actual silence.
No more frost. No more healers squabbling over bandages.
Only one thing remained unfinished.
She was still alive.
Not just alive. Roaming freely. Walking in and out of the Northern Gate like she owned it.
As if the gods hadn't revoked her right to exist.
She looked taller than I remembered. Or maybe she just stood straighter now.
I just need the bishops and House Etheria to forget. That's all. Let it fade. Let her fade.
Batch 4's shift would begin soon.
Batch 2 and 4 were tasked to stay behind after winter. She should disappear by then.
Sometimes I catch her watching me. Just staring.
Does she know?
I signed the papers. The reassignment.
I thought she'd be dead within the month.
Now I hear stories—soldiers saying a little girl stabbed someone in the chest and saved his life.
Nonsense.
No child does that.
Unless it was her.
Batch 3 was leaving.
Batch 4 was already filtering in.
Quiet today. The healers mostly sat around. Stirred broth. Checked pulses. Gossiped.
I remember winter.
The soldiers would complain if other healers tended to them.
But they let her. Obediently.
Now they ask for her by name.
Even her companion—Lina. Strange relationship. That girl speaks to Alliyana like a subordinate.
Odd, considering she's older.
I sighed and opened the prayer room door.
"Father Dorian."
Her voice.
Of course.
I didn't turn. "Speak, child."
"Two Aurellian soldiers just arrived. Perimeter patrol. They were attacked by demonic bears."
Bears? In spring?
I stepped back into the hall.
Voices carried.
"He couldn't outrun them!"
Anger.
"He saved you," another voice—Lina.
"No, he stumbled. That's why they caught us."
So much noise.
I found the source. One soldier pacing, arm dripping through torn linen. The other lay still on a cot.
"Show me," I said.
The conscious one sat and peeled away the bandages.
Four lacerations. Deep. Clean. Bone visible.
Could be worse.
The one on the cot—Dex, I heard—was unconscious. His pants had already been removed. The cut ran across his thigh. Bad. Deep. Bleeding.
"Femoral bleeding," she said.
Always behind me.
"Luckily he made it to the Gate before passing out."
I ignored her.
I placed my hands over the wound. Called on the light.
Golden warmth pulsed through my palms. The muscle began to reknit. Flesh closed. Injury undone.
Still pale and cold.
Not enough.
The tissues restored—but the body had nothing left to circulate.
Behind me, she spoke.
"Fascinating," she murmured. "The tissues regenerated, but that's nowhere near the blood he lost. Is it because healing was focused on the leg and not the entire body? The effects are localized and not systemic?"
That tone again. Curious. Like she was examining an experiment under glass.
I didn't respond.
"Go tend to the others," I said, sharper than I meant.
She moved. No resistance. No hesitation.
Just silence.
The soldier beside the cot shifted.
"We need paladins."
I said nothing.
"Two demonic bears. Together. Spring shouldn't allow that."
Still nothing.
His voice dropped.
"Maybe… a High Demon's waking up."