Leon's eyes fluttered open, and he was met with a wave of agony. His body felt like it had been put through a wringer, his muscles screaming in protest as he tried to move. He was lying on a narrow bed, and the room was shrouded in darkness, except for the faint glow of a single candle in the corner. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw a figure sitting across from him, shrouded in shadows.
"Ah, you're awake," the man said, his voice low and gravelly. "Stay still, boy. You don't want to exacerbate your injuries."
Leon tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his chest, making him gasp. He fell back onto the bed, wincing in agony.
"Easy, boy," the man said, his voice firm but not unkind. "You've been through a lot. Just relax and let your body heal."
Leon's mind was foggy, but he remembered the raiders, the screams, the feeling of the arrow piercing his chest. He remembered his parents, their faces frozen in terror as they fell to the ground.
"Where...where am I?" Leon stammered, his voice shaking with fear and pain.
"You're safe," the man replied, his face still hidden in the shadows. "For now, just rest. We'll talk later."
Leon's eyes felt heavy, and he couldn't fight the exhaustion any longer. He closed his eyes, letting the darkness wash over him, but his mind was racing with questions.
Who was this man? Why had he saved Leon? And what did he want from him?
As Leon closed his eyes, he was met with a vivid and haunting vision. He saw blood everywhere - on the walls, on the floor, on his own hands. The image of his parents, their faces frozen in terror, flashed before his eyes. He saw them reaching out to him, their arms outstretched, their eyes pleading for help.
Leon's mind was consumed by the memory of that fateful night. He saw the raiders, their swords raised, their faces twisted in cruelty. He saw his parents fall to the ground, their bodies lifeless.
Tears rolled out of Leon's eyes as he relived the horror of that moment. He felt a deep sense of loss and grief wash over him, and his body shook with sobs. The pain in his chest seemed to intensify, as if the arrow wound was throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
In his mind's eye, Leon saw his parents' faces, their eyes filled with love and concern. He saw them smiling, laughing, and embracing him. But those images were quickly replaced by the gruesome reality of their death.
Leon's tears fell onto the bed, soaking into the fabric as he wept uncontrollably. The man in the shadows remained silent, allowing Leon to process his emotions. The only sound in the room was Leon's ragged breathing and the soft flickering of the candle.
As the vision faded, Leon's eyes remained closed, but his mind was still reeling.
He was trapped in a nightmare, and he couldn't wake up. The darkness closed in around him, and he felt like he was drowning in his own grief.
As Leon lay there, lost in his grief, the door creaked open and a figure slipped into the room.
She was a young woman, dressed in a black outfit that seemed to blend with the shadows. Her hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and her eyes gleamed with a quiet intensity. At her waist, a sword hung at the ready, its presence seeming to hum with a quiet power.
Despite her formidable appearance, the woman moved with a quiet grace, her footsteps barely making a sound on the floor. She carried a steaming bowl of chicken soup, the aroma wafting through the air and mingling with the scent of candle wax.
"Ah,Qīnq ," the man in the shadows said, his voice low and gravelly. "Perfect timing. Our young friend could use some sustenance."
Qīnq nodded, her eyes flicking to Leon's face. She saw the tears staining his cheeks, the pain etched into his features. Her expression softened, and she moved closer to the bed.
"Here, Leon," she said, her voice gentle. "Drink this. It will help you heal."
Leon's eyes fluttered open, and he gazed up at Qīnq in confusion. He saw the soup, the sword, and the determined look on her face.
For a moment, he wondered if she was another threat, another danger in a world that seemed determined to destroy him.
But something about Qīnq expression put him at ease. Maybe it was the kindness in her eyes, or the gentle way she offered him the soup. Whatever it was, Leon felt a spark of trust ignite within him.
He nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you."
Qīnq smiled, a small, enigmatic smile. "Drink," she said. "You need your strength."
Leon's eyes locked onto the steaming bowl of chicken soup, and his stomach growled in anticipation. Despite his initial hesitation, he quickly sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing in pain as he moved.
Qīnq's eyes narrowed in concern, but she said nothing, simply holding out the bowl and spoon.
Leon took the bowl from her, his hands shaking slightly as he cradled it in his lap. He dipped the spoon into the savory broth and brought it to his lips, inhaling the aroma of chicken and herbs. The first sip was like a balm to his soul, warming his chest and soothing his parched throat.
He ate greedily, spoonful after spoonful, the flavors dancing on his tongue. The chicken was tender, the vegetables cooked to perfection, and the broth was rich and satisfying.
Leon felt his strength returning with each bite, his exhaustion and grief momentarily forgotten in the face of his hunger.
As he ate, Qīnq watched him, her eyes never leaving his face. She saw the pain and sadness etched into his features, but also the glimmer of hope and gratitude. Her expression softened, and she smiled again, this time with a hint of warmth.
Leon finished the soup, feeling a sense of satisfaction and comfort. He handed the bowl back to Qīnq, his eyes meeting hers in a moment of connection. "Thank you," he said again, his voice a little stronger now.
Qīnq nodded, her smile fading into a look of quiet intensity. "You're welcome, Leon," she said. "Now, rest. You need to heal."