The battlefield had fallen strangely quiet.
The screams had ended, while the clash of steel had faded into distant groans and ragged breathing. Bodies of Lacerts and villagers alike littered the blood-soaked ground while the remaining Guardians cautiously watched the newcomer standing beside their unconscious chief.
Wrighty stood in the center of the scorched battlefield looking thoroughly lost.
Surrendered Lacerts shuffled past him in chains. Guardians barked orders in a language he couldn't parse. Wounded soldiers limped toward the walls while volunteers hauled bodies away from the approach corridor. The aftermath of war buzzed around him and the one-armed boy simply stood there, a bandaged kappa at his feet and a cheerful confusion plastered across his face.
Eventually, Grub climbed down from the third wall with Luthiel close behind. They crossed the distance between the inner fortification and the open field at a brisk pace, weaving between debris and bloodstains.
By the time they reached the center of the ruined field, several Guardians had cautiously surrounded the one-armed stranger. However, none of them dared get too close. After what they had just witnessed, none of them were eager to test whether this man was friend or foe.
When Wrighty spotted them approaching, his entire face transformed. That massive, idiotic, world-defying grin spread from one ear to the other.
"Yo, Doc!" His voice boomed across the gap. "It's been too long!"
Before Grub could respond, more than two hundred pounds of dark-skinned muscle crashed into him. Wrighty's single arm wrapped around Grub's torso and squeezed with a hulking force that threatened to rearrange his skeletal structure. Grub's feet left the ground as his ribs creaked. Air evacuated his lungs in a wheeze that carried no dignity whatsoever.
"Get — off — me—you—dumbass."
Grub shoved against Wrighty's chest until the grip loosened, then dropped to the ground and landed on his backside in the dirt. He sat there for a moment, catching his breath, his white coat now covered in dust and his expression sour. He slowly sat up, rubbing his spine.
"I forgot you're...still tiny."
"You almost killed me."
"My bad!"
Wrighty laughed sheepishly.
The Guardian who had been attempting to communicate with Wrighty earlier jogged over to Grub with a frustrated expression.
"You speak his language?" His eyes flicked nervously between Wrighty and Morrigan resting nearby.
Grub stood and brushed himself off. "Yeah."
"Good. Can you bring the chief over to us? He won't let anyone near her." The Guardian jerked his thumb toward Morrigan's unconscious body. "Every time we try to pick her up, he blocks us. I think he believes we might hurt her."
Grub sighed. Of course.
Turning his head he talked to Wrighty.
"That woman is the chief of this village. These people want to take her so their doctors can treat her wounds. She was poisoned during the fight."
Wrighty glanced down at Morrigan, then back at Grub. His expression shifted through a quick series of calculations before settling back into a smile..
"Oh, aight Doc! I trust you."
He crouched, scooped the unconscious kappa into his arm with the same careful gentleness he had shown on the battlefield, and walked toward the waiting Guardian. Morrigan's head lolled against his shoulder. Her basin tipped dangerously but Wrighty steadied it without looking, his palm cupping the water by reflex.
The Guardian received her with both arms and a reverence that bordered on religious. His jaw was tight and his eyes glistened as he cradled his chief against his chest.
Luthiel had been watching the transfer in silence. When Morrigan's limp body passed from Wrighty's arm to the Guardian's, she stepped forward. Her golden eyes traced the bloodstain spreading across the back of Morrigan's robe. The stab wound beneath it was apparent now, dark and ugly against the kappa's slowly paling skin.
"Oh, Mother..."
The word slipped out barely louder than a breath. Lu's hand hovered over Morrigan's face without touching it, her mitten-like fingers trembling inches from the old kappa's cheek.
The Guardian nodded solemnly, then turned and carried Morrigan toward the village. The remaining Guardians fell in behind him in a loose procession, their faces drawn tight. Lacert prisoners shuffled along in their chains at the rear, guarded by volunteers who kept their spears leveled with shaking hands.
Luthiel wiped her eyes, steadied her breathing, and turned to Wrighty. She extended one mitten-like hand and bowed her head.
"Hello, Sir Wrighty." Her voice was thick but composed. "I am forever thankful to you for saving Master. Meeting you today was a blessing I will not forget."
Wrighty blinked. "...Uh..."
He chuckled awkwardly before grabbing her hand. The moment he squeezed, Luthiel's entire arm jerked from the grip strength alone. Her golden eyes went wide and she quickly pulled her hand back, flexing her fingers.
Wrighty scratched the back of his head sheepishly.
"Sorry about that." Then he glanced at Grub. "Hey, I still have no clue what this strange-looking lady is saying, Doc."
Grub sighed heavily and shook his head. This was going to be annoyingly problematic. Having to translate every conversation between Wrighty and every single person in the village would drain his patience faster than the battle had drained Morrigan's Anima.
He reached toward the collar of his white coat and unclipped the small translation pin fastened there. The tiny metal device caught the fading light as he held it out to Wrighty.
Luthiel frowned instantly. "Mister Grub? Why would you do that? I still want to talk to you!"
Grub shrugged. "You still can."
Lu blinked in confusion.
"I already finished learning your language," he said plainly. "I don't need the pin anymore."
Luthiel stared. "...Already?"
Grub simply shrugged in response.
Luthiel's golden eyes widened as her jaw hung open. The realization that Grub had been speaking their native tongue without mechanical assistance for who-knows-how-long landed on her face in stages.
Wrighty looked between the two of them in obvious confusion, then stared down at the small pin in his palm.
"What's this?"
Grub switched to the language they shared. "Just put it on."
Wrighty looked suspiciously at the tiny pin.
"...Seems sketchy."
"Put it on now.'
"...Alright dude."
Wrighty studied the pin for another moment, shrugged, and clipped it to the waistband of his pants. He straightened up and looked around expectantly.
"So? What does it do?"
An awkward silence settled between the three of them. Luthiel glanced at Grub. Grub stared blankly at Wrighty, who looked between them with a friendly, vacant expression that suggested he was perfectly comfortable not understanding anything happening around him.
Luthiel leaned toward Grub and whispered, "Aren't you going to introduce us properly, Mister Grub?"
Grub stared at her. He truly could not be bothered with formalities right now. But the look on Lu's face told him she wasn't going to drop it.
He sighed. "Wrighty, this is Luthiel. Luthiel, this is Wrighty."
Wrighty's face lit up with recognition as the pin processed the names. "Whats up, miss!"
Luthiel smiled despite her concerns and extended her hand once more. "It's wonderful to meet you properly, Sir Wrighty."
This time Wrighty controlled his grip and they shook hands without incident.
"I'm sorry I couldn't do more," Wrighty said, his expression dimming. "I was running here as fast as I could and only arrived when that black lizard disappeared. If I'd been faster, maybe I could've stopped him from hurting her."
Luthiel shook her head firmly. "No, Sir Wrighty. I am in your debt. You're the reason my Master still lives on for now." She bowed deeply. "I couldn't ask for more."
Wrighty laughed and waved his hand dismissively, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude. Then he glanced down at the gash across his torso. Blood was still seeping through the wound, and now that the adrenaline was fading, the reality of the injury was catching up.
"Dang, man." He poked at the edge of the cut and winced. "This kinda hurts more than I thought."
Luthiel straightened and gestured toward the village. "Then we should head back and get you looked at."
The three of them started walking towards the village. Luthiel took the lead, navigating through the post-battle chaos with the familiarity. Wrighty fell into step beside her, his weighted staff tucked back into the strap at his waist, his dark eyes absorbing every new detail of the village with open curiosity.
Grub followed a pace behind, silent.
Having Wrighty back was a warmth he hadn't expected and wasn't prepared for. But the analytical part of his mind refused to let the warmth exist unchallenged. The Lacerts weren't finished. Cordylus had sent a second message to Gavial, which meant the Colonel would soon learn the truth about the false intelligence. The divided army would regroup. A second assault, larger and better prepared, was almost certainly coming.
And Morrigan might not survive long enough to defend against it.
Grub pushed the thoughts aside and quickened his pace to walk alongside his companions. Those problems could wait a few minutes. Right now, he was going to let himself have this.
Wrighty spoke up as they passed through the battered first wall. His voice carried a subliminal layer that didn't match his usual brightness.
"You know, Grub." He kept his eyes forward. "When you left, it really hurt."
Grub's stride faltered by half a step.
"You seemed in such a hurry to leave me behind." Wrighty's jaw tightened slightly. "Like I was holding you back or something."
The words settled between them heavier than any blow either of them had taken today. Grub frowned and looked away, watching the damaged fortifications pass without seeing them.
"Yeah." His voice came out quieter than intended. "Sorry about that."
Wrighty sighed through his nose. Then the tension in his shoulders released and the familiar ease crept back into his posture.
"It's fine. A couple months is enough to clear away the sour taste." His grin returned, smaller than usual but genuine. "A lot has changed at the Ridge, you know. And getting here was its own kind of adventure."
Grub glanced at him. "Really? Like what?"
Wrighty's eyes sparkled. "Oh man, I'll be happy to tell you. There's a lot."
Luthiel turned around with a concerned expression and pointed ahead. "We're here."
They stopped outside a squat building with a wooden sign hanging above the door. The paint was chipped but the word was legible. Doctors.
Inside was organized chaos. Wounded soldiers filled every available surface. Cots lined the walls, some occupied by Anwansi defenders, others by injured Lacert prisoners whose chains clinked against the bedframes. Prosaic-level doctors rushed between patients carrying bundles of herbs and stained bandages. A handful of healers sat beside the most critical cases with faint glows emanating from their palms, their faces tight with concentration.
Wrighty marveled at the scene as they entered. His dark eyes swept across the room, taking in the horned doctors, the fur-covered nurses, the three-eyed patient in the corner.
"Wow." A laugh escaped him. "It's easy to forget how different everyone looks here."
Luthiel smiled beside him. "Don't forget, Sir Wrighty. To the people here, you're the strange ones." She paused and her smile turned wry. "Well, I suppose I am a little strange to both sides."
Wrighty looked at her quizzically, clearly wanting to ask what she meant, but a doctor intercepted them before he could.
The doctor, a thin creature with elongated ears and ink-stained fingers, grabbed Wrighty's arm and examined the gash with professional urgency.
"Who is this?" She glanced at Grub, then back at Wrighty's wound. "Is he the same as you? Another Sky-Fallen?"
Grub nodded.
The doctor exhaled sharply. "We're at maximum capacity after the battle. Most of our staff is focused on keeping the chief stable, but curing the poison has proven incredibly difficult." She peeled back the edge of Wrighty's wound and frowned at the depth. "This needs proper treatment. The muscle is exposed."
Wrighty shrugged with his one shoulder. "It's no problem. I'll be fine. Just hand me something to wrap it up."
The doctor stared at him for a long moment, clearly torn between medical ethics and the reality of limited resources. Eventually she grabbed a roll of clean bandages and a jar of herbal salve from a nearby shelf and pressed them into his hand.
"Apply the salve first, then wrap it tight. Come back tomorrow so I can check for infection."
Wrighty nodded agreeably and started wrapping the wound himself with one hand. The process looked awkward but his fingers moved with a ease, this certainly wasn't the first time he had bandaged himself single-handedly.
Luthiel lingered at the entrance to the back room where Morrigan was being treated. Through the partially open door, Grub could see several healers gathered around the old kappa's motionless body, their hands glowing as they worked to slow the poison's spread.
"I want to stay," Luthiel said quietly. Her golden eyes were fixed on the gap in the door. "I want to be here when she wakes up."
Grub nodded. "Go ahead."
Lu turned to Wrighty and bowed once more. "Thank you again, Sir Wrighty. Please rest."
Then she disappeared through the door, pulling it shut behind her.
Wrighty finished wrapping his wound and tucked the remaining bandage into his waistband. The salve had already dulled the pain, though the gash would leave a scar that matched the collection already decorating his frame.
Grub and Wrighty walked out of the doctor's building together, stepping back into the village streets as the last light of afternoon gave way to a bruised, smoky evening. The smell of ash and blood still hung in the air, but the sounds of battle had been replaced by the quieter sounds of recovery and the occasional cry from inside the medical building.
Despite being a complete stranger who had arrived minutes ago, Wrighty was already receiving warmer treatment from the villagers than Grub had earned in weeks. The Guardians who passed them nodded at Wrighty with respect. A volunteer who had watched the Anomaly fight from the second wall stopped to pat him on the shoulder. Even the civilians emerging from the shelters seemed to gravitate toward the tall, dark-skinned boy with the friendly grin and the missing arm.
Saving the chief's life in front of the entire village was apparently the fastest possible way to earn goodwill. Grub had needed weeks of espionage, traps, and a pants-dropping ring-out victory to get half this level of acceptance.
Wrighty smiled at Grub as they walked together through the recovering streets. The grin was warm and familiar.
"We have a lot to catch up about, Doc."
Grub looked at him, and the grin that refused to die no matter what the world threw at it.
"Yeah," he said. "We do."