The infirmary smelled like antiseptic. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, catching on dust motes that floated like tiny sparks in the air.
The warmth settled on my shoulders, but it did nothing for the ice in my chest or the fire burning up my arm.
I clenched my fingers. Pain shot through my wrist, up my forearm, jagged and insistent. The bones wouldn't bend right. Hated it.
Hated the feeling of being broken. And yet, here I was, walking through the quiet halls of Naya's infirmary like a man approaching confession.
"Naya," I said, letting my cloak fall from my shoulders. My voice came rough, rasping from tension. "I… I need your help."
She looked up from the table where she had been preparing salves. Her sharp eyes softened for a fraction of a second before returning to their usual steel. She set her tools down and stood. "Show me," she said.
I extended my right hand, the wrist awkward, stubborn, thumping with every heartbeat.
The memory of Zefar's throne room flashed —the gold of the armrests, the shadow of his grin, the way he had made me feel small and powerless.
Naya's fingers were gentle but firm as they moved over the joint.
I decided there and then to tell Naya everything. She had to know why I initially came to the land she called Babel.
I let the words spill.
"Naya I need to... tell you something."
She stayed focused on my hand, eyes steady.
"I… I came to Babel for one reason. When I first arrived… all I wanted was to kill Zefar."
Her gaze flicked up for a heartbeat. Then a faint smirk. "I know," she said.
I froze, dumbstruck. "You… you knew?"
She nodded, a single tilt of her head. "The day Hunter brought you here, unconscious. I knew you had challenged him. Only Zefar could leave such a mark."
I flinched, not from surprise, but from memory. That wasn't a fight. That was a lesson in brutality.
My muscles remembered it even now. "Fighting him… at that age…
It was stupid," I muttered.
Naya smiled. "You were dumb but brave."
I narrowed my eyes. "Is that so?"
She nodded, solemn, almost grave. "No one ever dared to face him like that. You were lucky he let you live."
I exhaled slowly, letting the tension leak out. "Let's… change the topic."
My gaze dropped. "I have another problem. My cousin… Everlyn. She… has a visitor."
Just saying her name was enough. I didn't want to drag Naya into all the details.
"He's… telling her things. She's starting to… believe him."
Naya's fingers brushed over my hand, pressing, manipulating the splintered bones with ease. "Is that your opinion… or a fact?"
I hesitated. "Both?"
She didn't answer at once. "Everlyn is smart. She trusts what she sees. That doesn't mean she's lost sight of you."
I swallowed. My throat was tight. "I… I don't know how to make her see that I care. She… trusts him more than me.
I don't know how to…"
My words hit a wall in my chest. Advice. I wanted advice. Not judgment.
She looked up at me, her eyes piercing. "Patience. Respect. Presence. Don't demand trust. Earn it. Always earn it."
I nodded, letting her hands ground me, her touch more steadying than the polished stone halls of Babel ever could.
"I… need to know about someone else," I said, voice rough. "Eva. Is she… some elite spy? A killer?"
Naya laughed, soft, like water spilling over rocks.
"Eva?" Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "She isn't a fighter. She doesn't need to be."
I frowned, my wrist throbbing.
"She's Zefar's first Summoned," she added.
I blinked, confusion sharpening. "Why was she Zefar's first? Aren't the Summoned warriors?"
I had so many questions. "What makes her so special?"
Naya smiled faintly. "She's a War Healer. She was actually the first. They used to call her the Paramedic."
I blinked again. "Paramedic?"
"Don't let her humble look fool you," Naya said. "She's more than she seems. Eva taught me everything I know about battle wounds. She's saved soldiers, nobles… and Zefar."
I shivered. "Saved him?"
She nodded, voice steady. "Zefar lost his first war. Barely alive, unconscious, being hunted by his enemies. He fell into Eva's care. She didn't know he could survive death… and yet she worked tirelessly to keep him alive."
The Great Zefar, defeated, hunted. And Eva, ignorantly, was trying to save his life.
"Is that why he trusts her so much?"
I wondered.
"No one else knows the full story," Naya said, her fingers still on mine, firm, certain. "Only they do.
Whatever happened that night… they'd take it to their graves. Ironically, death couldn't touch them unless they allowed it."
The weight of it settled in my chest. Loyalty forged in fire. Trust built on life and death. I flexed my fingers. My wrist throbbed sharply. Poetry wouldn't fix this. Reality wouldn't wait.
"Zefar was looking for her," I said, voice low. "He believes she can help us with the visitor."
Naya tilted her head. "I am getting curious. Who is this visitor?"
I didn't answer. The less she knew, the better. "Well Eva is brilliant," Naya said, voice soft. "Fearless too. She'll be of great help."
I clenched my jaw. "Fearless… or reckless?"
"Both," Naya said, smirking. "But that's why she's Zefar's most trusted Summoned."
Silence fell. Outside, Babel hummed, indifferent to the webs of loyalty, war, and danger spinning inside its walls.
I shifted on the table. Leather groaned beneath me. Naya finished the splint with careful precision. "There," she said. "You can get back to your usual mischief."
I gave her a forced smile, nodding in response. My people, my mission, my failures—they sat heavy in my chest. I came for vengeance.
For control. For answers. But now… with Eva in play, Arinthal and Everlyn twisting the threads… I had to think and plan.
I flexed my fingers again. The pain was sharp, constant, and tolerable. My shadow stretched across the infirmary floor, restless.
Still, I asked myself: what is Eva's role in all of this?
I exhaled, letting the tension sink into the room.
One thing was clear: she wasn't Zefar's servant. She was a key player in a game I was only beginning to understand.