The Beastfolk didn't move. His breathing was short and ragged, a painful gurgling of blood audible in his throat with every intake of air.
Calian stared at the gaping wound. This was far, far worse than the wolf scratch on his shoulder earlier. This was death knocking at the door.
"If I leave him, he'll die in less than a minute." Calian muttered, debating with himself. "If I save him... I'm bringing a ticking time bomb into my home. He could be an enemy."
But then, the image of his silent pavilion flashed through his mind. He remembered how much he craved someone strong to talk to, someone who could understand the burden of power without looking at him as 'the cripple.' This Beastfolk... he had just killed three Ogres alone. He was strong. He was a fighter.
More importantly, Calian's ego was piqued. If he could reverse a death that was 99% certain, then his ability was truly absolute. This was the final test. A test to see if he could cheat the Grim Reaper and reclaim a life already claimed.
"Don't die yet!" Calian whispered with a commanding tone.
He knelt beside the Beastfolk, ignoring the cold mud dirtying his robe. He placed both palms right over the gruesome wound on the Beastfolk's stomach. Warm, sticky blood flooded his fingers, but his hands didn't tremble.
Calian closed his eyes. He didn't summon mana. He summoned his absolute authority over time.
"Reversion."
GASP!
Calian felt a violent jolt in his head, as if hit by a sledgehammer. Reversing time on another dying body was far, far heavier than healing himself. The Beastfolk's body resisted. The natural instinct of death tried to pull the life away to the afterlife, fighting fiercely against Calian's time pull forcing it back.
Cold sweat the size of corn kernels dripped down Calian's forehead. His breathing grew heavy. He gritted his teeth, focusing all his resolve.
Return! his mind screamed. I command you to return to the time before that damn club hit you! RETURN!
A faint purple light—the signature color of time distortion—glowed dimly around Calian's hands, illuminating the Beastfolk's pale face.
Slowly, the terrifying miracle happened.
Spilled blood seemed to crawl up against gravity, re-entering the body. Destroyed and torn flesh knitted itself back together at an unnatural speed. Broken ribs cracked and snapped as they realigned. Damaged internal organs repaired themselves.
The Beastfolk's face began to regain a slight hue of life. His ragged, wet breathing began to turn regular and deep.
Calian maintained his focus for a full ten seconds that felt like ten hours. His energy was severely drained. He felt dizzy, his stomach churning, as if he had just run a marathon non-stop while holding his breath.
Finally, the wound closed completely. The skin on the Beastfolk's stomach was smooth and tight again, leaving only dried blood on the surface as proof the wound ever existed.
Calian pulled his hands back trembling, then fell sitting onto the muddy ground, gasping heavily.
"Hah... hah... hah... that was... crazy..." he sighed, wiping sweat from his eyes.
Suddenly, the black ears on the Beastfolk's head twitched sharply.
His eyelids snapped open. A pair of sharp golden-yellow eyes, with pupils like a hunting wolf, stared straight at Calian. There was no drowsiness in those eyes. And more terrifyingly, those eyes didn't look grateful. They looked wary, wild, full of killing instinct.
"GRR!"
The Beastfolk jolted awake, his combat reflexes taking over immediately even though his consciousness hadn't fully recovered. With lightning speed, he snatched his black dagger and swung it toward Calian's neck.
Calian didn't move. He was too tired to dodge, and his legs were still weak. He just stared sharply into those golden eyes.
SHIING!
The black dagger blade stopped exactly one inch from Calian's neck. The wind from the swing blew Calian's purple hair.
The Beastfolk groaned in pain, clutching his stomach. Although the wound was physically fully healed, the memory of pain in his nervous system (phantompain) still lingered strongly. He stared at his own stomach in confusion, feeling the smooth skin with trembling hands, then looked at Calian again with a gaze of disbelief mixed with horror.
"You..." the Beastfolk's voice was hoarse, heavy, and low like a beast's growl. "Human? What did... you do to me?"
Calian smiled faintly, a triumphant smile even though his neck was threatened by a sharp blade. He pointed at the Beastfolk's stomach with his chin.
"Sewing up your torn fate." Calian answered calmly, his voice steady. "Three Ogres. Good job for a lost puppy in someone else's forest."
The yellow eyes narrowed sharply. There was a flash of anger at being called a 'puppy', his pupils shrinking. But confusion and shock dominated over anger. The Beastfolk lowered his dagger slowly, his strength completely spent. He was still too weak from previous blood loss, even though his physique was intact.
The Beastfolk's body swayed. His eyes rolled up. He was about to fall back to the ground.
Calian, forcing his remaining strength, moved forward quickly and caught the Beastfolk's body to prevent it from hitting the hard rock.
"You..." the Beastfolk mumbled again, his consciousness starting to fade due to extreme mental fatigue. "Who... are you...?"
Calian supported the body weight, bringing his face close to the ear of the fainting Beastfolk.
"My name is Calian." Calian whispered, planting the name into the Beastfolk's subconscious. "And starting tonight, you owe me a life. Remember that."
The Beastfolk's head slumped limply onto Calian's shoulder. He passed out completely.
Calian took a deep breath, looking up at the night sky. The forest was silent again, only the sound of their breathing remained. He was alone again, but this time, he carried a heavy burden—literally and figuratively.
Bringing a foreign Beastfolk into the Duke's residence was madness, even suicide. If caught, Calian could be accused of conspiring with spies or foreign powers. His father would have a legitimate reason to kill him on the spot, not just ignore him.
But as Calian looked at the peaceful face of the Beastfolk in his sleep—a face hiding immense hidden power—he felt something warm spread in his chest. No longer cold loneliness. But burning anticipation.
"You are strong..." Calian said softly, starting to support and then carry the Beastfolk's body with difficulty. "And I need your strength to be my sword, to protect my secret. We'll see later when you wake up... whether you'll be a loyal guard wolf, or a wolf that tries to bite its master's hand."
With halting but sure steps, Calian carried the mysterious Beastfolk through the dark forest, heading back toward the dim light in the distance coming from the West Pavilion.