As I drifted through thought, the loud hooting of a distant owl pried me from the stream of emotions in my mind. The dark forest had grown dim enough that I struggled to see my hands even in the lingering light of the campfire.
The faint light of the stars illuminated the sky above me, though not one of our three moons was visible – which meant all the healing magic I studied was practically useless to me.
Part of me wished I kept more of the potions I made. The other half wanted to explode for the sin of handing over the only one I had to Siridan without resistance. Out in the wilderness and with fewer resources, brewing potions took far more practice and expertise.
The effect of my spell had faded, and though the pain subsided in the meantime, my bruise spared no effort in ensuring I knew it was still there – and the asshole that scared me and made me get hurt was still not back even though hours passed since he went to bathe in the river.
I knew he couldn't have been far, but I didn't dare leave the camp to search for him, as chances were that regardless of what I might have encountered, I'd most likely have regretted it.
Whether it be a hungry bear or an angry Siridan, I was not yet emotionally equipped to handle any of it, so instead, I chose to remain near the warm flames and continued to stoke them.
Boredom was already an ongoing struggle I had to face in my new life, but needing to spend so long with naught but thought was starting to get to me; the piles of books I left behind in my room were unused to gathering dust.
Before everything went wrong, I had plans to read further into 'Magical Defenses & You" later that evening. In hindsight, I likely should've done so much, much earlier. Even if I only wanted to protect myself from harm in my new life, I should've done something to avoid being powerless.
It's a shame, really, that these are pitfalls one can only notice after falling victim to them.
"Solif. The night is yours. I only ask you to share its beauty."
Thankfully, the light conjuration spell I knew belonged to a Lost God that did not stingily bar his secrets from humanity. The simplest of sigils brought a small but bright orb into life over the palm of my hand, where it floated excitedly, much like a sentient, little bug.
Though I wasn't exactly sure why that was, the tiny light helped me feel safer in Siridan's camp. I smiled down at it, then at the forest around me. All the nearby shadows crawled back, and suddenly, my physical fragility seemed much less daunting.
But unfortunately, I did not plan to stay in the camp. I sought to muster up some courage and to set out and search for Siridan, and that is what I did. After all, if he had passed out in the forest like he did in the inn, not knowing about it would've left me completely helpless.
If there was one skill I still had from my past life that I hadn't lost at all, it was my ability to keep my steps delicate and quiet. When compared to Siridan's footsteps, the sounds my feet were making almost seemed gentler than the wind.
As I trailed toward and down the river's length, my light accompanied me and scurried ahead of my footsteps, like a guiding fae spirit. It was cute, even if I knew it was merely a light brought to life by an ancient spell. If it wasn't a real friend, why was it friend-shaped?
Even with that comforting sparkle at my side, my avoidant stupidity seemed all too apparent and impossible to ignore by that point. I wasn't ready to confront reality and told myself I'd be safe forever, but life never worked that way – even for the average village folk.
I should've learned a practical form of self-defense rather than spells that only shield me. I should've exercised more. I should've picked up a bla–
No.
The realization of the final assessment struck me with such force that a visceral reaction ensued, causing my body to shake and shiver in profound disgust. My neck twisted sideways involuntarily, reminiscent of how one might recoil at the sharp tang of their first sip of lemon juice.
My soul was willing to concede to all these things but rejected the idea of holding a sword downright. I knew I used to be fond of my rapier, but I couldn't even start imagining it. Instead, the only blade that came to my mind was Siridan's – cold and bloodied.
Oh, come on, where is he!?
Frantically, my eyes scanned through the area, hoping to spot a hint of his presence, and at last, I found it: a trail of nonchalant footsteps heading in the other direction, plain as day.
As I turned around, I wondered why he went so far down if he planned to go right back up to continue anyway – but as overthinking the strange habits of men never led to any particularly pleasant revelations in the past, I decided not to think too deeply into it.
Back up the river I went, at times hurrying my careful steps to catch up with my conjured light and the sense of direction and purpose it discovered by resonating with my emotions and thoughts.
And there, right under the waterfall, was Siridan. Though the greenery around the area lightly obscured some of him, I could still see the fine details and shadows that his muscular physique accentuated on his upper body.
His wet hair spilled over his broad, solid shoulders, the water dripping and clinging to his frame, with his elbows outstretched and his biceps naturally flexing as he rinsed his hair. With a stretch of his well-built abdominals, he leaned back to soak his head.
I dumbly watched, transfixed by curiosity. Yes, Siridan was naked, but I didn't see anything I shouldn't have – and though the chance of that happening was less than slim, I was more interested in getting a better look at the dark mark on his back.
Unfortunately, I forgot how sharp his senses were. He spotted me as soon as he opened his eyes.
"…I CAME HERE TO TELL YOU! –That the tent is mine! I'm going to use it from now on, so don't even think of touching it!!" I shouted at him, strangely in a hurry to make a cover-up story for what was already an innocent search.
Needless to say, that was fucking disastrous. With caution thrown aside, I immediately sprinted all the way back to camp, biting back screams of embarrassment.
I wanted to eat my damn shirt.