Sunlight filtered through the half-open curtains, casting a warm and gentle glow upon the figure of Soren sprawled upon a makeshift mattress.
Slowly, Soren's uninjured eye fluttered open, noticing the unfamiliar expanse of the ceiling above.
His limbs felt heavy, and when he attempted to speak, not a single word escaped his parched lips. His throat also felt dry and raw, he flinched as he swallow his own saliva in an attempt to wet it.
Turning his head gingerly, he surveyed the space where his left hand and leg should have been, before the village chief had cruelly severed them from his body.
With dawning horror, he realized that the harrowing events of the past were not a figment of his imagination but a stark reality.
A suffocating tightness gripped his chest, his every breath a painful reminder of the ordeal he had endured. He cursed silently, questioning why he still drew breath amidst the agony that consumed him.
The rhythmic clinking of a wooden spoon against a bowl shattered his reverie, drawing his attention towards the source.
A man with imposing stature approached him, his ebony locks and olive complexion a stark contrast to the pallor of Soren's weakened form. In his massive hand, he cradled a bowl of steaming porridge.
"Ah, you're finally awake. That's a relief," the man's voice was a soothing balm, each word uttered with care as he settled beside Soren, mindful of his fragile state.
Placing the bowl upon a nearby table, the man gently assisted Soren into a sitting position, his silvery gaze sweeping over Soren's battered frame.
"I've tended to your wounds, and the bleeding has ceased," he murmured softly, brushing away tears that Soren hadn't even realized were falling. "I'm sorry... I couldn't save your other eye."
Though the man's voice was thick with emotion, there was an unmistakable tenderness in his tone, each syllable a proof to his genuine concern for Soren's well-being.
"First, you must eat," he continued, offering Soren a bowl brimming with porridge, the comforting scent of Alderroot wafting enticingly.
For a moment, they sat in silence, the air heavy with unspoken words. But then, the man cleared his throat, breaking the tension.
"My apologies... I forgot that... never mind," he faltered briefly before resuming his task, gently coaxing spoonful of nourishment into Soren's mouth. "Open wide. You must eat to regain your strength."
Though confusion still clouded his mind, Soren complied with the man's gentle guidance, parting his lips to allow the warm porridge to tantalize his taste buds.
The flavor was simple, unremarkable even, yet Soren found solace in the fact that someone had taken the time to prepare sustenance for him.
With infinite patience, the man continued to feed Soren, spoonful by spoonful, until the contents of the bowl dwindled to nothingness.
As if sensing Soren's lingering thirst, the man offered him a glass of water, which Soren accepted gratefully with his remaining hand. The cool liquid provided a soothing relief to his parched and tender throat.
Observing Soren as he drank, the man's gaze held a warmth that seemed to transcend words.
"You're welcome to stay here for as long as you need," he offered softly, his words causing Soren to momentarily choke on the water he was swallowing.
Coughing, Soren felt panic rise within him, his body convulsing involuntarily. In an instant, the man sprang into action, rising from his seat to stand beside Soren, his large hand gently rubbing circles on Soren's back in a soothing gesture of reassurance.
After the coughing fit subsided, Soren drew in a deep breath and turned his gaze towards the man.
"I don't understand," he spoke, his voice raspy and low. "Why are you helping me?" Soren's eyes probed the depths of the man's silvery gaze, searching for any hint of deceit or ulterior motive.
But to his surprise, he found none. No trace of manipulation or trickery.
"I'm just sorry," the man replied, sincerity evident in his tone as he settled back down beside Soren. "A good person like you, tortured and left almost to die like that..." His voice trailed off, heavy with empathy.
Soren lowered his gaze, his right hand clenching the blanket tightly. "But I can't do anything. I can't repay your kindness," he confessed slowly, his expression weighted with sorrow. One blue eye shimmered with unshed tears.
"I don't need reciprocity," the man reassured him gently. "I just want to help you. Nothing more."
Soren remained silent for a moment, grappling with the weight of the man's offer. It sounded appealing, but he couldn't shake the sense of guilt knowing he wouldn't be able to repay such kindness in his current condition.
With the loss of an eye, a hand, and a leg, even the simplest tasks seemed daunting. The mere act of walking posed a formidable challenge.
Noticing the heaviness in Soren's gaze, the man gently clasped Soren's right hand. "Well then, let's just say you're my wife now," he quipped, injecting a note of humor into his words.
Soren's cheeks flushed crimson, resembling the vibrant hue of an Emberchard. "You jest!" he retorted, his voice still bearing traces of hoarseness.
Chuckling softly, the man continued, "Ah, but it IS customary for spouses to know each other's names, am I correct??"
"It's not that..." Soren trailed off, his cheeks still tinged with redness as he averted his gaze.
The man's laughter was a comforting sound to Soren's ears.
"Alright then, you can call me Aza," he introduced himself, a faint smile gracing his handsome features.
Turning his head back towards the man, Soren felt a lightness in his heart. "Soren... You can call me Soren," he shyly offered.
"Ah, Soren," Aza's smile widened, and he planted a gentle kiss on Soren's cheek. "Hope you don't find being my wife too dull, hm?"