I awoke to the sight of the familiar thatched ceiling, shadows dancing across its uneven surface as the morning light filtered through the cracks in the shutters. My body felt heavy, limbs slow as though weighed down by an unseen force. I tried to push myself up, but before I could move more than an inch, a cool hand pressed firmly against my chest.
"Lie still," Evelyn's voice commanded, soft but unyielding.
I paused, my eyes meeting hers. The weariness in her gaze was laced with something else—concern, perhaps, or a guarded worry that she never let slip. I sank back into the mattress, letting its rough fabric cradle my battered frame as she leaned over me, her fingers tracing a damp cloth over my brow.
"Did you have to go that far?" she asked, her tone holding a note of exasperation that was more familiar than I'd care to admit.
"Yes," I replied, the word edged with fatigue. Memories of the battle surged forward, the metallic clash of weapons and the glow of enhanced auras burning in the dark. I had been so close to breaking, teetering on the knife's edge of consciousness. If I hadn't dispatched the last of the knights before my strength waned, the village would have faced a reckoning none of them were prepared to endure.
Evelyn's eyes narrowed, a shadow flitting across her expression. "You're strong. Stronger than I thought possible for someone your age, to wield both spear and sword resonance."
I nodded slowly, the affirmation as much for myself as for her. The mention of weapon resonance caught me off guard; it wasn't a term common in the village. Most wouldn't know its meaning, let alone speak of it with such familiarity.
Before I could press the thought, she placed a hand on my forehead, a touch so light it barely brushed my skin. Her lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Rest. You need it. I'll be back soon," she said, and with that, she slipped out of the hut, the wooden door creaking shut behind her.
I stared at the ceiling, blinking against the dull ache in my head. The room was silent, save for the distant murmur of the village resuming its daily rhythm. Something felt off, a nagging pull at the edge of my senses. My body, though weary, responded sluggishly, as though dulled.
'Is my body too slow?' The thought gnawed at me as I pushed aside the blanket and reached for the small clay jar on the table beside me. The herb paste Evelyn used to tend my wounds sat within, cool and slick to the touch. I dipped my fingers into it, the uncoated skin tingling as I felt the concoction seep into my system. Almost immediately, a wave of relaxation washed over me, numbing my nerves and loosening my muscles.
The effect was too potent. For healing, this was beyond the ordinary.
Suspicion coiled in my mind like a snake stirring to life. I closed my eyes, focusing on the faint thrumming of mana that coursed through my veins, analyzing the traces of energy within the paste. It was delicate, woven through with mana signatures unfamiliar to any ordinary healer. But here, they resonated with a strange familiarity—Evelyn's mana, layered and insidious, almost as if it were meant to suppress rather than heal.
'How odd,' I thought, moving the paste between my fingers, studying its sheen and the way it glimmered faintly with mana under the low light. The edges of the room seemed to sharpen as I let the realization settle. Evelyn's mana was powerful, more so than she'd let on. A Green-stage healer could not imbue this level of control without revealing something deeper.
Despite my swirling thoughts, I reminded myself that my knowledge of healing and spellcasting was woefully lacking. Perhaps I was letting the battles and sleepless nights warp my sense of judgment. 'Suspicion is a sharp sword; useful in battle but dangerous in peace,' I thought, willing the tension in my shoulders to ease. Evelyn had healed me, nursed me back from the brink. It would be foolish to cast doubt on that now.
My time in the village had been an unexpected reprieve, filled with moments that felt as real and grounding as the earth beneath my feet. The children's laughter, the warm glow of lanterns at dusk, the quiet nods from villagers whose wariness had softened over time—it was more than I had expected. I wouldn't taint it with unfounded mistrust. The herb paste was likely just stronger than I was used to. Nothing more.
The door creaked open, and Evelyn stepped back into the room, her presence as familiar now as the steady beat of my heart. She carried a bowl of warm broth, the steam curling lazily into the cool air. Her eyes met mine, and a hint of relief softened her usually guarded expression.
"Good," she said, setting the bowl down with a gentle clink. "You're awake."
I managed a smile, one corner of my mouth quirking up. "You're making it very hard for me to pretend I'm invincible, you know."
A rare laugh escaped her, quiet and fleeting. "A healer's job is to remind warriors they're human," she replied, the warmth in her voice unfamiliar but welcome.
She resumed her careful tending, checking my bandages and murmuring reassurances that I barely heard. My mind had already begun to wander, mulling over the peculiar feeling that had crept into my bones. But her next words pulled me back into the moment.
"The villagers want to hold a dinner for you tonight, by the bonfire," she said, a small smile breaking through her usually composed exterior. The way the light caught her eyes made them gleam like polished obsidian.
"A dinner?" I repeated, feeling a rush of both surprise and something that might have been gratitude. "Then I suppose I must attend," I said, pushing myself to sit up. The ache in my side protested, but it was bearable, a shadow of what it had been.
Evelyn's eyes flicked to the movement, the faintest frown creasing her brow. "Careful," she warned, though her tone had softened, the sternness giving way to something almost fond.
"I'll manage," I said, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and testing my weight with a wince. The pain was sharp but brief, dissipating as I took a steadying breath.
She stood there, arms crossed, watching me with an expression that seemed caught between worry and approval. For a moment, silence enveloped the room, interrupted only by the rustle of the leaves outside and the distant murmur of villagers preparing for the night.
"Evelyn," I said, the name tasting familiar, worn smooth by days of use. "Thank you."
Her eyes met mine, searching for something, though I couldn't say what. Then, she nodded, a slight incline of her head. "Don't thank me yet," she said, a touch of her usual wryness slipping back into her tone. "You still need to survive the night."
I chuckled, the sound raw but genuine. "A dinner can't be more dangerous than a duel with an A-class beast or a Golden Dragon Captain, can it?"
"You'd be surprised," she murmured, turning away to hide the faint smile that tugged at her lips as she busied herself with the room. The quiet laughter that followed warmed the space between us, filling it with something unspoken but understood.