The Fractured Light

CHAPTER 3

The rain returned after midnight, a soft, persistent drizzle tapping against the shutters. Arin woke up to the sound without opening her eyes. She lay calmly, mapping the room from memory.

The faint ache in her wrists reminded her of the events of the previous day, and her shoulder still throbbed from the strain.

She knew sleep wouldn’t come again. Her mind kept returning to the back room, to the stranger she had pulled from the river, to the intensity in his eyes when they had opened, sharp and alert.

Saar.

She had spoken his name aloud after he fell asleep, and it lingered in her mind. The room had gone still, as if someone were watching, even though he was sleeping. Arin sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She told herself it was okay to check on patients at night, which she always did.

The clinic was dark except for the lantern she had left dim by the back hall. The air smelled of dried herbs and still held the sharp memory of the river water. She tiptoed, not wanting to wake anyone, or anything. When she reached the back room, the door was slightly ajar, she didn’t remember leaving it that way.

Inside, Saar lay just as she had left him: he was facing the wall, and one hand was placed at the edge of the bed. His breathing was steady but shallow. The silver marks on his chest had faded, almost invisible in the dim light. Arin stepped in.

Unlike yesterday, the hum wasn’t loud tonight. It rose slowly, like a hand brushing the surface of deep water; it seemed impossible to ignore once it reached your ears.

She set the lantern on the table and leaned closer to check his pulse. She didn’t need to; she already knew it was stronger than it should be. Still, her hand hovered over his wrist.

Saar stirred slightly, his fingers twitching. He didn’t open his eyes, yet he sensed her presence anyway. The air in the room shifted towards him.

Arin drew her hand back. “You’re a storm in a person’s body,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

Saar didn’t answer. He stayed motionless, though his breathing changed; slower and deeper, like someone listening in their sleep. Arin sighed and stepped back from the bed. She hadn’t meant to speak, but it was overwhelming. She had treated many ailments, but nothing was like this, though she knew it wasn’t ordinary. She turned to leave, but a sound stopped her; a soft crackle. She looked over her shoulder, and the lantern flame leaned again. It wasn’t flickering this time, nor wavering; it just leaned toward the sleeping man.

The air tingled near her fingers. “No,” she whispered, “Not tonight.”

She put out the lantern, and the room became calmer and darker, the hum faded. She stood still, trying to make sense of it. Both light and air seemed to react to him; he's a walking storm.

For a moment, she thought it was over, then Saar exhaled sharply, his body tensing as if he had woken from a nightmare. Arin hesitated, not sure if she should leave. Instead, she stepped closer.

“Saar,” she said softly.

His eyes opened at once, smoothly; it was almost like he never slept. His gaze fixed on her without confusion, without the fog of sleep.

“You’re awake.” She said.

He didn’t look away. “Did something happen?”

“Not exactly.” She crossed her arms, trying to keep her breath steady. “You moved. That’s all.”

“I dreamed.” He blinked slowly, his gaze dropping to the blanket, then to his hands. “No… it wasn’t a dream. It was…something else.”

“What did you see?”

He shook his head. “It slipped away before I woke up.”

Arin studied him. His expression was open in a strange, guarded way, honest but holding something back; something he wasn’t ready to admit. He looked less dangerous than she assumed him to be.

“You’re healing faster than expected,” she said.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Saar asked.

“Good doesn’t mean normal.”

He stayed calm, looking at her shadow on the wall. “You remember things?” She asked again.

“Fragments.” His fingers stroked the blanket. “Not enough to make sense of.”

Arin leaned back against the table. “Try anyway.”

Saar met her gaze again, and something in him sharpened, as if the question pulled a memory from somewhere deep.

“There was light,” he said. “It was white, blinding, and was trying to burn everything clean. And someone was shouting my name.”

Arin felt a chill. “Someone you knew?” she asked.

“I think so.” Saar closed his eyes for a moment, struggling. “But when I try to picture them, the memory shifts like a reflection in moving water.”

“Do you remember coming into Vaelora? The river?”

“No.” His voice was low. “I remember the pain. Then cold. Then you.” He looked into her eyes, out of confusion rather than certainty, and in that instant, Arin felt his gaze in her soul.

She didn’t know what to do with that answer, despite having every hint of honesty to it.

“You remember me?” Her eyes narrowed. “How? You were unconscious from the moment I dragged you out of the water.”

“Maybe it was a part of my dream.” He murmured, still confused.

She cleared her throat. “You should rest. The storm took more out of you than you realise.”

Saar glanced at the dark window. “It’s raining again.”

“Just a drizzle.”

“It sounds different.”

Arin paused. “How different?”

Saar tilted his head slightly, listening. “Like it’s waiting.”

The way he said it sent a faint tremor through her spine. Rain can’t wait, she thought. Rain doesn’t think. But the storm had already broken too many rules for her to cling to what should or shouldn’t be possible.

A distant rumble rolled across the rooftops, more vibration than thunder.

Saar’s eyes flicked toward the sound. “It’s close.”

“The storm?” Arin asked.

“No.” His voice softened, low and certain. “Something else.”

Arin didn’t like the way he said that. She didn’t like how her heart responded either, a single, sharp beat that felt like a warning. She stepped back toward the door.

“Get some sleep, Saar.”

He nodded but didn’t lie down; he just watched her as she left. His gaze was steady, almost too knowing for someone with a fractured memory.