While Scott was still deep in his slumber, adapting to the flood of foreign memories and his weakened body inside the healing chambers, the situation above ground was far from peaceful.
High up in the canopy, inside one of the wooden tree houses built on top of the huge Heartwood Tree, Elara was pacing back and forth.
The room was warm, illuminated by the soft glow of bio-luminous fungi lamps, but the cozy atmosphere did nothing to settle her nerves.
She felt filthy. The ash from the disintegrated Tiger Zombie still clung to her clothes and skin.
With a heavy sigh, she decided she needed to wash the death off her body before visiting Scott again.
Slowly, she began to undo the leather straps of her light armor.
As the chest piece fell to the wooden floor with a thud, she peeled off her sweat-soaked undershirt.
Her white skin, usually hidden beneath layers of protective gear, glowed softly in the dim light.
She ran her hands over her arms, trying to rub away the goosebumps caused by the lingering fear of the battle.
She stood there for a moment in just her small undergarments, her long black hair cascading down her back like a dark waterfall.
Her figure was curvy and full, the kind of beauty that made men stop and stare, a stark contrast to the harsh, monster-filled world they lived in.
However, her beautiful face was twisted with worry as she chewed on her lower lip.
Her long black hair, usually neat, was slightly messy from the chaotic events of the night.
She couldn't get the image out of her head.
Scott, her husband, looking so frail and aged, his skin grey and his body thin after burning his lifespan.
"He looked like he was dying," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. "What if the healing roots aren't enough? What if he never wakes up?"
Wearing a simple night gown, she walked to the window, looking out at the dark branches of the Heartwood Tree.
Most of the villagers had gone to sleep, exhausted from the celebration and the terror of the zombie attack.
The camp was quiet, save for the chirping of night insects and the rustling of leaves.
However, what she didn't know was that she was not the only one admiring her beauty, not far from her window, she was not alone.
Hidden in the dense cluster of leaves on an adjacent thick branch, a shadow was crouching.
It was perfectly still, blending into the darkness so well that even a keen observer would have missed it.
The figure was draped in dark, tight-fitting leather that masked its scent, and a pair of eyes watched Elara's silhouette moving past the window with a predatory focus, with a mix of greed and lust.
The man, a rogue mercenary named Varg who had recently joined the camp, licked his lips.
He shifted his weight silently, his hand gripping the rough bark of the tree.
He had been waiting for this.
"Look at her..." Varg thought, his breath hitching as Elara unclasped her hair. "A woman like that, wasted on a corpse."
He was waiting for the commotion to die down, waiting for the guards to lower their guard, believing the danger had passed with the death of the Tiger Zombie.
Inside the room, Elara rubbed her temples.
She decided she needed to pack some fresh clothes and food to take down to the healing chambers for when Scott woke up.
She turned towards the wooden box at the foot of their bed.
Outside, the shadow saw its chance.
With a flick of a wrist, the figure pulled out a small, hollow bamboo tube.
He placed it carefully against a small crack in the wooden window frame. He pursed his lips and blew gently.
A faint, almost invisible stream of powder drifted into the room.
Back inside, Elara had just opened the box when a sudden scent began to spread into the wooden house.
It wasn't unpleasant; in fact, it was incredibly sweet, like the smell of blooming night flowers mixed with honey.
"Did I leave a window open?" she thought, sniffing the air. "It smells... nice."
She stood up to check the window, but as she took a step, the world suddenly tilted and a sudden wave of heat rushed through her body.
Her skin felt sensitive, and her breath came out in a short gasp..
"Huh?"
She blinked, trying to clear her vision.
A sudden wave of dizziness hit her, making her knees feel like jelly.
"What's happening?" Elara mumbled.
Her tongue felt thick and heavy in her mouth.
A strange, hot sensation pooled in her lower belly, making her legs weak and wet.
She tried to grab the edge of the table to steady herself, but her hand missed, and she stumbled forward.
The sweet scent was filling the room now, cloying and heavy.
Realization struck her through the haze. This wasn't natural.
"Poison..." she gasped.
She turned towards the door, intending to run out and scream for help, to call for Leo or Jorunn.
But her legs refused to listen. They felt disconnected from her body.
Thump.
Elara fell to her knees, breathing heavily.
The room was spinning violently now. Her eyelids felt like they were made of lead.
"Scott..." she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper.
Just as her vision began to darken, the window latch clicked. It opened slowly.
Elara forced her eyes open one last time. Through the blur, she saw a dark figure slide into the room with the grace of a cat.
The figure stepped fully into the room, his boots making no sound on the wooden floor.
He was a man of medium build, dressed in dark leather armor that was scuffed and worn, blending perfectly with the shadows of the canopy.
"Don't worry, my lady," Kael whispered, his rough voice dripping with malicious intent. "The Lord is too weak to protect you now. He's an old man, and you... you have needs."
He chuckled low in his throat.
"You're coming with me."
Varg stood over Elara's unconscious body, his chest heaving slightly… Not from exertion, but from a twisted, dark excitement that had been building in his gut for months.
He looked down at her, his eyes hungry and unrestrained.
For a long time, he had watched her from afar.
He watched her walk through the camp, her long black hair swaying behind her.
He watched her smile at Scott, that lucky bastard who acted like he owns everything inside the camp.
"Scott..." Varg spat the word out in his mind.
He glanced toward the door, knowing that Scott was currently rotting away in the healing chambers, turned into a weak, shriveled old man after burning his lifespan.
"He's finished," Varg thought, a cruel smirk spreading beneath his mask. "He can't even lift a spoon, let alone a woman like you. You need a real man… You need... me."