{ MEANWHILE… }
After Isaac and Ananya left Blake's room, a doctor arrived to give him one final check-up and make sure he was in optimal condition for discharge.
The man with curly brown hair consulted a few documents, checked Blake's pupils, his heartbeat, and finally nodded with a satisfied air.
"From a physical standpoint, you are in perfect shape," the doctor declared. "Your vital signs are stable, there are no signs of internal injuries, and your recovery is essentially complete. For all intents and purposes, you are fit for discharge."
Blake let out a sigh of relief.
The doctor, however, did not close the medical chart right away.
"There is another matter I would like to address…"
The tall, thin boy slowly raised his gaze.
"According to what your companions reported and the mission report, before losing consciousness you witnessed a… particularly traumatic event," the doctor explained, without daring to make explicit reference to the sudden death of the Shaman. "In situations like this it is not uncommon to develop forms of acute stress, recurring nightmares, anxiety, or other emotional difficulties that can surface even several days after the event."
He paused briefly before continuing:
"For this reason, if you wish, I can schedule a session for you with one of our psychologists. The first consultation is fully covered by the Association's health insurance."
Blake lowered his gaze.
"Thank you for the offer, Doctor, but I don't think there's any need. I'm fine, I assure you."
The doctor studied him for a few seconds without contradicting him.
"I understand. Naturally, the decision is yours."
He closed the chart and stood up from the chair.
"In any case, if you should notice persistent insomnia, panic attacks, difficulty concentrating, or any other unusual symptoms, I advise you not to ignore them and to seek out a specialist immediately."
Blake nodded slowly.
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Good. Then I won't take up any more of your time. You're free to go home."
Blake gave a small nod as the doctor headed for the door.
When he was alone again, his gaze slowly slid down to his own hands, still resting on the sheets.
The words the doctor had just spoken clung to him without fading, but it was not those that truly wounded him. It was not the nightmares, nor the residual pain.
It was something else.
The memory of himself, motionless.
Paralyzed.
Useless.
And that feeling of weakness weighed on him far more than any imaginable wound.
Tightening his fingers slightly in the fabric, the thought of the psychologist crossed his mind like an instinctive rejection.
'A psychologist?! And what good would that do me?! No one can help me! No one…' Blake thought, with a bitter edge.
With a deep breath, the tall, thin boy shook his head to drive the thought away.
He slipped off the hospital gown and retrieved his clean clothes.
As he pulled on his shirt, he felt a strange heaviness in his arms, as if the shock that had shut him down in that cave had left an invisible fog weighing on his muscles.
After making his bed, he left the room and turned into the main corridor.
As was to be expected, Raerno's hospital was a quiet bustle of nurses and bandaged adventurers.
Blake walked with his head down, wanting only to get home and rest properly.
At that very moment, a familiar voice—deep and far too loud for a hospital—rang out a few meters ahead, near the reception desk:
"I told you his name is Blake Adson! Check that register more carefully, he has to be in there somewhere!"
Blake froze.
A short distance away, in front of a visibly intimidated clerk, stood Garret, the chief of the guards at the city's western gate—the man who had kept an eye on Blake ever since he was a little brat, and who had also turned a blind eye by granting Isaac and Ananya temporary passes to enter the city on the day of their arrival.
The man was still wearing his regulation uniform, the iron plate on his chest slightly askew, and was jabbing a knotted finger against the wooden counter, his face flushed purple with frustration.
As the clerk raised his gaze, seemingly about to answer, Garret followed the man's eyes and spun around abruptly, catching sight of the slender figure of the boy advancing down the corridor.
For an instant, the guard's furious expression froze into a mixture of relief and disbelief. He abandoned the clerk on the spot and strode toward him with long steps, his metal greaves clinking against the polished floor.
"Blake!" he exclaimed, stopping a breath away from him. He looked him up and down with wide eyes, examining every detail as if searching for some invisible wound. "Damn it, boy… you gave me a heart attack!"
Blake tried to fall back on his usual mask, sketching a quick smile. "Hey, Garret! What are you doing here?"
"Don't play dumb with me," Garret snapped, lowering his voice only a fraction so as not to be heard by the entire ward, while resting a heavy hand on his shoulder. "One of my subordinates came and told me your name had shown up on the medical registers last night for a sudden collapse. I left my deputy in charge of the shift and ran here like a madman. I didn't even know which room you were in!"
Garret's grip on his shoulder grew firmer, while the man's gaze lost that gruff intensity and became extraordinarily serious and worried.
"I've known you since you were a little brat who struggled to lift an iron ingot," the old guard continued, his voice tinged with an almost paternal note. "I've watched you leave on dozens of missions, get yourself into the worst kinds of trouble, and you've always come back completely unscathed. Not even a scratch on your boots. Clean, as if you'd just gone for a simple stroll through the city center. So hearing that you'd fainted like that, that you'd lost contact with reality and that they'd had to carry you to the hospital in their arms… it nearly gave me a heart attack."
With his other hand, Garret gently brushed Blake's temple. "What the hell happened in there, Blake?"
At those words, charged with the genuine concern of someone who had always been close to him, Blake's throat tightened in a painful grip.
Hearing that psychological collapse laid bare felt like a punch straight to the stomach.
The forced smile died instantly on his lips.
He lowered his head, unable to meet Garret's gaze, while his shoulders slumped visibly, revealing all the emotional asphyxia he was trying to hide.
He remained silent for a few moments, eyes fixed on the tips of his own boots, unable even to invent an excuse.
Then, with a deep breath, Blake summoned every last scrap of strength left in him to put back on that carefree mask he always relied on.
He raised his head, forcing his lips into his usual mischievous smile, and gave a slight shake of the head as if to drive away that shadow of vulnerability.
"What collapse, Garret!" he exclaimed, trying to give his voice its usual light and exuberant tone. "The truth is that day I'd skipped breakfast, lunch, and in the end… well, the hunger caught up with me. My blood pressure simply dropped and I passed out like an idiot, that's all!"
At that very moment, as if in a hurry to confirm that blatant lie, Blake's stomach let out a soft but incredibly prolonged growl that rang out clearly in the silence of the corridor.
Blake's eyes widened, caught off guard by the perfect timing of his own body, and he burst into a warm, genuine laugh, running a hand behind his neck. "See? I told you!"
Garret looked at him sidelong, crossing his sturdy arms over his chest.
He remained silent for a few seconds, studying that smile that had come too quickly and those eyes that, despite the laughter, still looked dull.
He had understood perfectly well that the boy was lying shamelessly and that behind that collapse lay something much deeper and more painful than a simple skipped meal.
Nevertheless, the old guard decided that for the moment it was not the time to press further. There was a time for digging into problems and a time for simply offering a bit of respite.
"Yeah, yeah, sure… Low blood pressure…" Garret grunted, shaking his head with a half-skeptical smile that made it clear he hadn't bought it for even a second.
He uncrossed his arms and gave him an affectionate slap on the back, almost as if to brush away the awkwardness.
"Well, it's lunchtime anyway," the guard continued, abruptly changing tone to lighten the tension. "Better to avoid the slop from this hospital. How about heading to our usual place instead? And this time, it's on me!"
Blake felt the grip around his chest loosen by a fraction.
Faced with Garret's silent and protective understanding, he offered another smile, this time decidedly more genuine.
"How could I refuse a free meal…" Blake murmured.
"Great! Let's go then," Garret exclaimed with a half-laugh, turning his back and striding toward the hospital's exit doors.
Blake followed him, leaving behind the sterile smell of the ward.
* * *
The two stepped out of the hospital, greeted by the warm light of early afternoon in Raerno.
The city's fresh air cleared Blake's lungs of the lingering disinfectant, but the walk toward the tavern unfolded in an unusual silence.
Garret kept his long, measured stride, while the boy stayed a step behind him, his gaze lost on the cobblestones beneath his feet.
After about ten minutes, Garret turned into a side alley and stopped in front of a massive oak door:
"The Mad Boar's Den"
It was the favorite tavern of the city guards, a rustic place far from the prying eyes of Association officials.
Garret pushed the door open and was immediately hit by the smell of roasted meat and wood smoke.
With a nod of his head he indicated a secluded table at the back of the room, partially hidden by a stone column.
"Let's sit over there in the corner," the old guard said, settling onto the wooden bench that creaked under his weight.
Shortly after, a burly innkeeper with a stained apron approached the table, offering a respectful greeting to the chief of the guards.
Garret had no need to flip through any menu.
"The usual wild-boar stew for me and a generous tankard of dark beer," the man ordered without hesitation.
Blake, his mouth watering from the aromas coming from the kitchen, gave a quick glance at the chalkboard of the day's specials hanging on the wall.
"Same for me, please. And to drink… a mug of fresh apple juice."
The innkeeper noted everything with a knowing nod and headed off toward the kitchens.
The wait did not last long.
Within ten minutes the man returned to the table carrying a tray with two steaming plates and the drinks. He set down the tankards, served the food, and took his leave with a warm grunt.
"Come on, eat," Garret simply said, grabbing his cutlery.
Blake didn't need to be told twice and dug into his plate.
The food was hot, flavorful, and for a while the growling of the boy's stomach was finally quieted.
When both had finished, Garret set down his utensils, took a long swallow of beer, and wiped his grizzled beard with the back of his hand. He crossed his arms on the table, fixing Blake with a grave expression.
"So," Garret began, keeping his voice low so as not to be heard amid the tavern's noise. "Now that you've filled your stomach… shall we talk about it?"
"About what?" Blake played dumb.
Garret sighed. "I've known you for years, Blake. I've seen you grit your teeth and smile even in the most desperate situations. But this time, your eyes are different. You look… troubled. What really happened in that cave?"
Blake tightened his fingers around the mug of juice, his gaze fixed on the golden reflection of the liquid.
"I already told you, it was low blood pressure…" he tried to brush it off, forcing a light tone that died immediately in his throat.
"Don't lie to me, boy," Garret interrupted him, his voice firm but without hardness. "A drop in blood pressure doesn't leave a veteran explorer in the state you were admitted in."
Blake swallowed with difficulty.
At this point, there was no use continuing to hide behind a trivial excuse…
"One of our companions… died during the mission. He was suddenly pierced by an enemy spear," he confessed in a low voice, keeping his gaze down. "In an instant, I heard his body hit the ground. I turned around, and faced with that sight, with his blood spreading like an oil slick… I froze. From that moment on, I couldn't do anything anymore. I could do nothing but remain motionless, watching the others while they fought the monsters that had attacked us."
Garret exhaled deeply, his gaze softening beneath the grizzled beard. "No one likes witnessing someone's death up close like that, Blake. Especially someone like you who's already had to endure far too much as a child…"
The guard paused briefly, resting a massive hand on the table. "I know you don't like talking much about your past. You've done everything to leave it behind and not think about it anymore. But what you carry inside is simply impossible to forget. By now it's part of you."
Garret slowly turned the tankard between his hands, then continued in an even lower tone:
"It might sound banal to say it, but you don't have to keep everything bottled up inside. Know that with me you can open up and be honest about everything. There are no secrets between us. So tell me: the death of your teammate… his blood… did they paralyze you because they reminded you of something? Maybe… what happened in your grandparents' village?"