The morning air was crisp, filled with the faint scent of pine and the distant murmur of the waterfall. I stood outside the healer's hut, spear in hand, going through my training routines. The familiar weight of the weapon moved with me, each thrust and sweep cutting through the chill as I pushed myself closer to the elusive harmony of Spear Resonance. My breaths came steady, the rhythm of practice a comforting drumbeat against the backdrop of birdsong and the occasional rustle of leaves.
"Hey, are you stupid?" The sudden voice was accompanied by a sharp slap to the back of my head.
"Ouch!" I yelped, stumbling forward a step and nearly dropping my spear. Evelyn stood behind me, her hands on her hips, dark eyes narrowed with a mixture of irritation and something softer she refused to show.
The slap stung, but I couldn't help the smirk that tugged at my lips. Since the morning I'd woken up in the village, well enough to stand and move, I had taken to practicing. The memories of the ursigar still haunted my muscles, pushing me to train with a single-minded fervor. I hadn't fully achieved Spear Resonance in that battle, though I'd come close—close enough to claim victory, but not enough to tip me into the Indigo stage.
Sword Resonance had been mine for years, an achievement that felt as natural as breathing. But the spear, it was different. I wanted to reach that summit with the same mastery, to feel its song align with my intent and elevate me further. The thought alone made my blood stir with ambition.
Around the small clearing, children had gathered, their wide eyes watching each movement of the spear with awe and excitement. Their laughter and playful chatter spurred me on, a reminder of innocence that tempered the edge of my focus.
But then there was Evelyn, ever the vigilant shadow, and she had a different opinion on my training.
Before I could react, she grabbed my arm with surprising strength for her slender frame and pulled me back toward the hut, her annoyance palpable. "You're not even a full day healed, and you're out here acting as if you're invincible," she muttered.
"Isn't this imprisonment at this point?" I muttered under my breath as she all but shoved me onto the cot.
She shot me a glare that silenced any further protest. "If it is, you brought it upon yourself," she said, rolling her eyes as she began her routine of tending to my wounds. The faint warmth of mana wove through her fingers as she worked, blending with the scent of herbs as she applied a paste to my side.
I watched her, noting the precise way she moved, how her brow furrowed in concentration. For a moment, I thought I saw her hand tremble slightly, a blush rising to her cheeks as she lifted my shirt to reach the claw marks along my ribs. I suppressed a chuckle, knowing it would only earn me another slap.
Her professionalism returned in an instant, though, and she focused solely on the task at hand. The silence between us was heavy with unasked questions and the unspoken understanding that had grown since she'd first found me by the river's edge.
"Why do you keep doing this?" I asked, breaking the quiet. My voice came out rougher than I intended, the question holding more weight than I'd planned.
She paused for a heartbeat, eyes meeting mine, her gaze unreadable. "Because I'm a healer," she said simply, as if that explained everything. But there was something else there, something unsaid that flickered behind her steady facade.
I let the answer settle, watching as she returned to her work, fingers glowing faintly as she pressed the paste into my skin with gentle precision. The room was filled with the soft hum of her mana, and I felt its warmth seep into me, not just soothing the wound but pushing back the weariness that clung to my bones.
Evelyn stood back when she was done, wiping her hands on a cloth as if to dismiss the moment. The room felt smaller with her so close, and I could feel the question lingering between us, one I wasn't ready to voice.
"Thank you," I said, softer this time, and for a moment, I thought I saw her eyes soften, the sternness giving way to something almost tender.
"Don't thank me yet," she said, the corners of her mouth turning up in the barest hint of a smile. "You'll just be back out there tomorrow, won't you?"
"Probably," I admitted, the smirk returning as I tested the bandages with a stretch. The ache was still there, but it was a distant echo now, muted by her care.
"Stubborn," she muttered, but there was no real scorn in it. She turned away, busied herself with her jars and salves, but I caught the slight glance she threw over her shoulder, as if to make sure I stayed put.
And for once, I did.
"What is life like here?" I asked, breaking the quiet between us as the gentle sounds of the village drifted in through the open window.
Evelyn paused, her hands busy with the jars she was rearranging on the worn wooden shelf. "Normal, I suppose," she said, a hint of amusement flickering in her voice. "As normal as life can be in a village tucked away from the world. I'm usually busy as the healer—patching up farmers who took a tumble or children who got too brave climbing trees. It's been ages since we had a visitor from outside, though."
"Are you not worried about beasts?" I asked, glancing out to where the forest loomed, dark and enigmatic.
She shrugged, the movement so casual it belied the weight of the topic. "Not really. Even as a healer, I can manage D-class beasts if they wander too close. C-class beasts are a problem, sure, but they tend to stay deeper in the woods. It was only your grand entrance that brought an A-class monster to our doorstep," she added, her expression darkening as she shot me a scowl.
I couldn't suppress a sheepish smile. "That... wasn't my intention."
"I figured as much," she said, a sigh escaping her lips as she resumed her task. The soft clinking of glass was a soothing background to my thoughts. The battle against the ursigar had been more brutal than any I'd faced in recent memory. I recalled the way its eyes had glowed, the crushing weight of its power as I'd pushed my spear to its limit. In the chaos, I must have lost control of where the fight carried us. The village had been dangerously close. Too close.
Evelyn's voice pulled me from my reverie. "You're a hard worker," I said, meeting her gaze. "It's admirable."
She raised an eyebrow, half-turning to look at me, a wry smile quirking her lips. "Not as much as warriors who cleave apart beasts for glory and stories."
"No," I said, my tone softer. "It's more than that. I can fight, yes—I can kill and kill again. But I can't heal. Not like you do."
The words hung in the space between us, resonating with an ache I didn't expect. For a heartbeat, Evelyn's eyes searched mine, as if looking for the truth behind my words. Something shifted there, her guarded expression faltering for just a moment.
I felt a pang in my chest, sharp and sudden, as memories surfaced like ghosts. The face of someone I couldn't save, the weight of a life that had slipped through my fingers, the bitter edge of my sword that had been both weapon and failure. In that past life, I had known victory and defeat, triumph and regret. But the power to mend, to rebuild what was broken—that was something I would never possess.
Evelyn seemed to sense the shift, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. She turned away, the subtle tension in her shoulders easing as she reached for a jar of salve. "Well," she said quietly, almost to herself, "everyone has their battles."
For a moment, silence returned, filled only by the rustling leaves outside and the muted laughter of children playing in the distance. It was the kind of peace I wasn't accustomed to, fragile and fleeting, but for now, it was enough.