The alchemy room resembled a battlefield. Herbs were strewn everywhere, a few cauldrons overturned, and one still emitted a thin trail of steam with the bitter scent of wormwood. Over one of the cauldrons, Linda was working furiously, disheveled and on the verge of collapse. Her movements were swift but occasionally too abrupt—clearly from exhaustion.
Come on, you cursed thing, boil faster! she muttered, spilling some green liquid onto her sleeve by accident. Oh, for the love of—! Who even brews like this? Someone should've hired an actual alchemist by now. Oh, right. I'm the only one here who knows even the basics.
She brushed a damp strand of hair from her face and glanced at the cauldron with a bitter smirk.
Well then, cauldron, looks like it's you and me until the bitter end.
Her voice wavered with fatigue, but there was stubborn determination in her eyes. She refused to give up, even if her face and hands told a different story. Dark circles under her eyes and her worn, partially singed clothes gave her the look of a weary soldier rather than a healer.
After three long hours, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Linda finally finished the last batch of salves. Stowing the potions in a wooden crate, she sighed heavily and headed for the door. Outside, the cold air and the clamor of the city greeted her. People moved like ants, repairing walls and hauling stones and debris. Linda paused to watch the bustling scene.
All of this because of one traitor, she muttered, then let out a dry chuckle. If only my potions could cure treachery, I'd be resting by now.
Reaching the infirmary, she stumbled over the threshold, nearly dropping the crate.
Ah! Seriously, what kind of day is this?
As she turned, she noticed Arianna walking by. The girl laughed.
Linda, you're not yourself today. Time for you to get some rest. Arianna stepped closer, carefully taking the crate from Linda's hands. And all this is for us?
Who else? Linda replied with a faint smirk. Unless you think I made these salves for my own feet. Although, maybe I should. You should've seen me nearly twist my ankle out there.
Keep joking, Arianna teased, but her tone quickly turned serious. Linda, get some rest. We'll manage.
I know. But if I don't, then who will?
Linda's gaze shifted to the tents and the people inside. Many patients were recovering, but that couldn't overshadow the harsh reality: beyond the infirmary walls lay the bodies of those who couldn't be saved. Linda inhaled deeply, as if trying to push away the weight of her thoughts.
How's Faris? she asked.
Arianna's face darkened momentarily before she composed herself.
Weak, but he's awake. Will you see him?
Of course.
When Linda entered the ward, her steps faltered. She had expected to see Faris lying lifelessly, but instead, he was sitting up on the bed. His figure looked as though it had been carved from stone, his gaze fixed on the flame of a candle he held in his hand.
Faris! Arianna exclaimed, rushing to his side. You're awake! How do you feel? Does anything hurt? When did you wake up? We weren't sure if we should even keep hoping...
But Faris didn't respond. It was as if he didn't notice them at all, his eyes void of emotion, staring into the flame as though peering into an abyss.
Faris? Linda called softly, careful not to unsettle him further. Can you hear me? You're safe now.
Silence. Only the crackle of the candle filled the room.
Kaldrien's in a meeting with Kaijil, Linda continued, trying to ease the tension. I can fetch him if you'd like—
Suddenly, Faris lifted his head, his eyes sparking like lightning against a stormy sky. Linda instinctively stepped back.
Where's the meeting? he asked, his tone sharp, almost threatening.
Arianna hesitated, then stammered, At Rinor's house... but you shouldn't be getting up yet! You're still too—
Faris carefully placed the candle on the windowsill and rose from the bed. His movements were startlingly steady for someone so frail.
I need to know everything, he said quietly but firmly.
Faris, wait! Linda called out, but he was already gone.
Faris strode out of the infirmary, his footsteps echoing through the narrow halls. The air, heavy with the scent of herbs and healing balms, felt stifling. His eyes, normally clear, now burned with a strange light—a mix of fury, despair, and unyielding resolve.
A guard stood at the entrance, barely registering what was happening. In one swift motion, Faris closed the distance between them, his grip like iron.
What are you doing?! the guard exclaimed, more in surprise than anger.
Faris didn't answer. With a single, fluid motion, he drew the sword from the guard's hip. The blade glinted in the dim torchlight lining the walls. The guard moved to intervene but froze at the look in Faris' eyes—a gaze that saw no obstacles.
Forgive me, Faris said curtly before turning and stepping out into the night.
Darkness had settled over the city, draping the streets in shadow. Only a few lanterns cast scattered patches of light, cutting through the gloom. Barefoot and dressed in simple infirmary clothes, Faris ran along the cobblestone road, heedless of the cold, the pain in his feet, or the startled looks of passersby. His breaths came faster, but he drove himself onward as if his very soul depended on it.
When he reached Rinor's house, the meeting was already underway. He stopped at the door, gripping the sword so tightly his knuckles turned white. The windows were shut, but voices carried from inside. Without hesitation, Faris shoved the door open with a loud crash.
Inside, the warmth of the room clashed with the sudden chill his presence brought. Everyone seated around the long wooden table froze, their eyes turning to him.
Faris?! Kaldrien exclaimed, rising to his feet.
But Faris was already moving, swift and purposeful like a predator. In an instant, he crossed the room, his blade flashing in the firelight as he brought it to a halt mere inches from Kaijil's throat.