The clinic stood silent beneath the night sky, its weathered wooden frame half-swallowed by shadow. I slowed as we came to a stop before the door, the clash of claws, fire, and blood from the hunt still replaying vividly in my mind.
I drew a steady breath, then lifted my hand and knocked.
The sound echoed softly against the wood before fading into the quiet.
A few seconds stretched by, heavy and expectant. Then footsteps stirred from within, light and uneven, accompanied by a faint shuffle against the floor. I recognized them at once.
The door creaked open only a sliver, just enough for a thin, sharp-eyed old man to peer out. His frame was wiry and narrow, almost fragile in appearance, yet there was nothing weak about the way he carried himself. His eyes were keen and alert, carrying an edge that suggested he missed very little.
They flicked over me in a single, dismissive sweep.
"Skra-what?" he muttered, his tone flat and clearly unimpressed.
I didn't bother trying to explain. I already knew better. With a small, resigned sigh, I stepped aside and pointed toward Vaela instead, offering her up without a word.
The old man's expression shifted instantly, as though someone had flipped a switch.
"Vaela darling!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up with sudden alarm and affection. I might as well not have existed anymore. He leaned forward, eyes scanning her from head to toe, before snapping to her forearm, where dried blood darkened the cloth wrapped around it.
His brows flew up. "Skra-what happen?"
Vaela raised her injured arm slightly, as if to downplay it. "Skra-small wound," she said calmly. "From hunt."
The old man sucked in a sharp breath, the gruff impatience from moments ago vanishing without a trace.
"Skra-come, come," he said immediately, urgency threading through his voice as he waved her forward with surprising energy. "Inside, inside."
Vaela didn't hesitate. She simply stepped past him and into the clinic, disappearing beyond the doorway.
I moved instinctively to follow.
A bony hand shot out and pressed flat against my chest, stopping me mid-step. The old man didn't even look at me.
"Skra-not allowed inside," he said curtly, already turning away. The door swung shut a heartbeat later, closing with firm finality.
I stood there staring at the wooden surface in silence, the clinic sealed off from me once again.
I let out a quiet breath through my nose and shook my head slowly.
…What a strange old man.
With nothing else to do, I stepped away from the entrance and lowered myself against the outer wall of the clinic. The wood was cool at my back, grounding me as I stared out at the village.
Night had fully settled in by now. Pale moonlight filtered through the surrounding trees, casting long, broken shadows across the ground.
Somewhere in the distance, a door closed softly, and then even that sound faded, leaving only the low murmur of the night.
Alone with my thoughts, I waited.
My mind drifted back to the hunt, unbidden and sharp.
The hound's speed replayed itself over and over, the way it had moved like a shadow given form, how its strength had bent the flow of the fight no matter how many arrows or flames were thrown at it. I remembered Vaela being driven back step by step, forced into constant motion, never given a moment to breathe.
My jaw tightened. Slowly, almost unconsciously, my fingers curled into a fist, knuckles whitening as the weight of that realization settled deep in my chest.
Two years.
Two years since I had first stumbled into this village… broken, desperate, clinging to survival by a thread. Two years of relentless training, of learning unfamiliar customs, of hardening my body and tempering my will. Two years spent trying to keep pace with a world that had nearly crushed me the instant I was thrown into it.
And yet…
It still wasn't enough.
If I had been stronger, Vaela wouldn't have been hurt. If I had been faster, sharper and more capable, I could have stood beside her instead of lingering behind her, watching helplessly as blood stained the forest floor.
The realization cut deeper than any wound.
I need to get stronger, I thought grimly.
Not just for revenge, but to protect the people who had taken me in. The people who had given me a place to stand when I had nothing left, and who now mattered more to me than I cared to admit.
Time stretched on, each minute dragging heavier than the last.
By the time the clinic door finally creaked open again, nearly an hour had passed without me realizing it. I looked up at once.
Vaela stepped out first. Her forearm was carefully wrapped in clean, fresh cloth, the earlier blood completely gone. Whatever treatment the old man had given her had done its job. The wound was secured, the bleeding stopped. Her posture was steadier, her steps lighter, the tension that had clung to her earlier noticeably eased.
She looked… better.
The old man shuffled out after her, still hovering far too close for comfort, his sharp eyes softening the moment they landed on her.
"Vaela darling," he said fondly, his voice almost singing, "skra-come when free. Skra-make grape juice again."
My lips twitched despite myself.
So that was why it had taken so long. Not just treatment... pampering.
Vaela nodded with practiced patience. "Skra-thanks."
Seemingly satisfied, the old man gave her one last approving look before turning and slipping back into the clinic. The door closed behind him with a dull thud, leaving the night quiet once more.
I rose to my feet at once and stepped closer, my gaze drawn instinctively to the freshly wrapped cloth around her forearm.
"Are you feeling alright now?" I asked, keeping my voice low.
Vaela met my eyes for a moment, then a faint, reassuring smile curved her lips. She nodded and lifted her uninjured hand, giving my head a light, almost absent-minded pat.
"Yes."
That simple touch, so casual, loosened the tight knot that had been coiled in my chest since the fight.
We set off toward my home, our footsteps soft against the packed earth as the quiet of the village settled around us. Firelight flickered between the trees, and for a while, neither of us spoke.
Then Vaela broke the silence.
"Skra-good hunt today."
I glanced at her and shook my head slowly. "I still wasn't strong enough for that hunt," I said, frustration slipping into my voice before I could stop it. "If I had been—"
She stopped so abruptly that I nearly walked into her. Turning, she fixed me with a sharp look, her brows drawn together in clear displeasure.
"Skra-what talking?" she said. "Skra-killed boar with your hand."
Before I could respond, she reached out and gave my back a firm, solid pat, the kind that left no room for argument. Then, as if the matter were settled beyond doubt, she turned and continued walking.
I stood there for half a heartbeat before letting out a quiet, helpless laugh. A small smile tugged at my lips as I hurried after her, the weight in my chest feeling a little lighter than before.
When we reached my home, a warm glow spilled out through the doorway, cutting softly through the night. The familiar scent of food greeted us at once, rich and comforting after the long, draining day.
Inside, Charlie was already moving about, setting the meal in place with quiet efficiency.
We sat together and ate without much conversation. The events of the hunt still weighed on us, and exhaustion dulled the need for words. The warmth of the meal and the steady presence of one another were enough.
When we finished, Vaela rose to her feet.
"Good night," she said simply.
I looked up and nodded. "Good night," I replied, hesitating before adding, "Thank you… for today."
She waved the words away and turned toward the door. A moment later, she was gone, her steady footsteps fading into the winding paths of the village.
Without a word, I moved to the great tree at the center of the house and lowered myself beneath it, folding my legs and straightening my back. The familiar roughness of the bark pressed against me, grounding and steady, unlike the storm still churning in my chest.
Charlie paused, watching me for a moment. "Young master," he said gently, concern threading through his voice, "are you going to cultivate now?"
"Yes," I answered without opening my eyes. "I couldn't practice today because of the hunt."
Charlie's brows drew together. "But young master, you are exhausted. You should rest."
I shook my head, slow and resolute, and closed my eyes fully, shutting out the room, the fatigue, the ache still lingering in my muscles. I drew in a measured breath, letting it settle deep.
Charlie lingered a moment longer, then let out a quiet sigh. He said nothing more. Soon, his footsteps faded as he went to rest, leaving the house wrapped in silence.