CHAPTER 38
1235 Words
Elise felt the world tilt under her feet.
The torchlight in the healer’s wing flickered, as if uncertain whether to illuminate or withdraw, mirroring her own wavering heart.
The chaos around her became a distant roar, drowned out by the rapid pulse pounding in her veins.
Kai—his name exploded against her ribs like an alarm.
She reached for him, but he didn’t pause.
He disappeared into the crowd of healers and pack warriors, carrying Lucien with the careful brutality of a man determined to save someone dear.
She followed.
Each step felt surreal, as though she were watching through another person’s body.
Pieces of yesterday’s dread had come alive and were ripping apart her morning calm.
Inside the Healer’s Wing
The scents hit her first—sterile herbs, damp bandages, and the acrid sting of blood. Elise stiffened.
The lead healer, Miriah, met her gaze as they sprinted past.
She didn’t say a word; a mere nod passed between them, ancient and freighted with meaning.
Elise turned her attention to Kai, kneeling belted by urgency and grief.
His head dropped to rest on Lucien’s chest.
His fingers dug into the bloody fabric with an intimacy that tore at Elise’s chest.
He was silent. No strain, no breath—just that hollow ache that lingered when someone carries more than they should.
Kai whispered something inaudible, like a prayer, then carefully draped a healing cloth over Lucien’s wounds.
Elise moved beside him, kneeling low so she was in his line of sight.
“Kai,” she caught his arm.
Her voice cracked. “He’s… going to be okay?”
He looked at her then—eyes red, blood-smeared, regret-worn—and shook his head ever so slightly.
“Miriah lost too much time,” he said. “The wound is deep. But—” he swallowed, steadied himself. “But she’s alive.”
Elise exhaled, a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
She closed her eyes and pressed one hand against Lucien’s pulse point, steady. `“He’ll get better,” she whispered—not a lie, but a hope.
Kai’s chest heaved.
She didn’t know whether he was breathing in relief or sorrow.
But something shifted.
His grip loosened on the cloth, and he exhaled a low growl.
Outside the Healer’s Wing
Elise walked Kai outside as dawn cut through the dark sky.
It was still raining, a fine drizzle that soaked black cloaks and weighed on tired shoulders.
Each drop sounded like a drumbeat, urging them forward.
They settled on a bench carved from one of the packhouse’s massive logs, positioned beneath twisting oak branches.
Roots spilled across the ground like a net, grounding them both.
Kai looked at the rain, at the water pooling at their boots. He didn’t speak for a long moment.
When he finally did, his voice was flat:
“I knew something felt… off.” He shook his head. “Elise—I tried to warn them, tried to tell them the scouts were seeing something. But I didn’t push hard enough.”
A knot formed in her throat.
She reached out and touched his shoulder.
His muscles were taut, as if bracing centuries of regret.
“You did your best,” she said softly. “You protected Lucien.”
He winced. “Did I? Because I’m the reason he’s hurt now.”
She swallowed. This wasn’t about what she believed; it was about what he felt—and he felt responsible.
“Kai, from what Miriah said, he was ambushed. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I led him there.” His jaw clenched. “If I hadn’t…”
Elise blocked the rest of that train of thought with urgency. “Kai. Look at me.”
His eyes found hers, dark and troubled. She pushed gently but firmly until he looked square at her.
“You did everything you could. The pack is safe now. Lucien is alive.”
He squeezed her hand for the first time, raw panic finally showing cracks.
“Promise me you’ll stop blaming yourself?” she whispered.
“I can’t promise that—” he started. Then he closed his eyes, his voice breaking. “But… I’ll try.”
She wrapped him in an embrace, rain soaking them both.
His armor scraped her back, cold and unyielding, but his arms melted around her.
They stayed like that until the storm lost momentum and Kai’s breathing evened out.
Healing and Confession
The day passed with cautious hope.
Lucien stirred in a cot, healing herbs taped to his side, eyes half-lidded.
Elise hovered, reading his pulse, waiting for the faint stir of recognition.
When he finally opened his eyes, blue orbs blinking to take her in, relief washed through her so hard it rattled her bones.
“Elise,” he murmured. He drew in a painful breath. “Hey.”
She dropped to her knees beside him, laughing even though tears guided the corners of her mouth.
“You’re awake,” she breathed. “Thank the gods.”
He smiled weakly, winced, and placed a hand on hers. “I’m… glad you stayed.”
She realized then—staying had been her fight, her victory.
Nightfall and a New Revelation
By the time dusk arrived, the packhouse had quieted.
Whispers still echoed down dark halls, but the worst terror had passed.
Elise stood by the hearth in the common room, cold mug of tea clutched in both hands.
The flames warmed her palms and face in alternation, steady and reassuring.
Kai approached, fresh bandages around his wrists, but uneasy energy flickered in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asked, handing him the mug.
He took it, warming his own hands. “Better.”
They sat—long moments of silence, but companionable.
Finally, he spoke:
“Your dreams.” His voice trembled as if unpracticed in softness. “They’re connected to reality.”
Elise stared at her mug. She had dreaded this moment. “I know.”
“Dreams don’t just warn. They echo what’s in your soul—and what’s in the world.”
She felt it too—the dream had not just been premonition, but prophecy. More than that—it had been emotion.
Fear, anguish, loss.
“Kai—I’ve been afraid,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Afraid these dreams were more than nightmares.”
He set his mug aside and reached for her hand. “You don’t have to be alone in this.”
Elise exhaled, a breath she’d been holding since childhood. She looked up at him, tears shining in the firelight.
“I don’t want to be alone.”
He pressed her hand to his chest. “Never again.”
The Quiet After
That night, silence was something they shared, not something that tortured her.
Elise slept in Kai’s quarters, on a cot near the hearth.
She lay awake at first, head heavy with memory—nightmares, sunlight, his cries, their confessions.
But she didn’t panic.
She didn’t bolt for the threshold.
Instead, she curled into the cot, hair messy against the pillow, breathing steady, shoulder inches from his side.
And for the first time in a long while—longer than she could remember—she let herself believe they were both going to wake up again tomorrow.
Safe.
Together.
Sharp armor and blood could not stop that.
- Writer
