Caidren sat back on his heels, studying Elias's still form with a frown.
The boy was too pale, his breathing too shallow, his body barely moving beneath the furs. The untouched food and empty water pitcher told Caidren enough—Elias had been left alone for days, and whether out of stubbornness or sheer weakness, he had done nothing to sustain himself.
Fool, Caidren thought again, irritation flickering beneath his skin.
He did not care.
This was merely responsibility.
That was all.
Caidren rose to his feet and strode toward the door. He did not need to call for a healer. Elias was not dying—at least, not yet. But the boy was weak, and if left alone much longer, his body would fail him.
Caidren would not allow such a pathetic death to occur under his command.
Outside the chamber, the hallway was empty. No guards, no servants, no soldiers loitering nearby. The stronghold had truly erased Elias from its existence.
Good.
It made things simpler.
He returned minutes later with a fresh pitcher of water and a plate of food. The kitchen staff had barely given him a second glance when he took them—no one questioned Caidren, nor did they care enough to wonder who the food was for.
Elias did not stir when Caidren placed the plate down beside the bed.
Caidren watched him for a long moment.
And then, despite himself, he reached out once more.
This time, his fingers brushed against Elias's shoulder, shaking him lightly.
Nothing.
Caidren's irritation sharpened.
He shook him harder.
Still nothing.
"Elias."
No response.
Caidren exhaled sharply through his nose.
Fine.
He would not spoon-feed him like some helpless thing. If Elias wished to waste away in silence, that was his own mistake. Caidren had done his part—brought food, water, made sure the boy was not dead.
That was enough.
Caidren straightened, stepping back. His fingers curled into fists at his sides as he turned toward the door.
And then—
A shift. A slow, sluggish sound.
Caidren paused.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Elias's fingers twitch against the furs. A slow inhale. A flicker of movement beneath his closed lids.
A moment later, his lashes fluttered, his breath catching.
Then, weakly, barely above a whisper—
"…Where…?"
His voice was hoarse, cracked from disuse.
Caidren said nothing.
Elias turned his head slightly, his gaze unfocused. He did not yet seem to realize Caidren was there.
His lips parted again, but no sound came. His throat worked, as if trying to find strength he did not have.
Pathetic.
Caidren hated the flicker of something that twisted in his chest at the sight.
Without thinking, he reached for the water pitcher and poured a small amount into a cup. Then, he crouched once more, sliding a hand beneath Elias's shoulders and lifting him slightly.
Elias tensed at the touch but was too weak to resist. His brows furrowed faintly, as if confused, as if struggling to understand.
Caidren brought the cup to his lips.
"Drink."
Elias did not obey immediately. His body trembled against Caidren's hold, his breaths shallow and unsteady.
Caidren's patience thinned.
He pressed the cup more insistently against Elias's lips. "Drink," he repeated, firmer this time.
Finally, Elias obeyed.
The water passed his lips in slow, small sips, his throat moving as he swallowed. He drank little—barely enough—but at least it was something.
Caidren waited until he finished, then set the cup aside and lowered Elias back down.
Elias barely reacted, sinking into the furs, his breath still uneven. His gaze flickered, unfocused, but there was something there now—something more present than before.
His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to speak.
But Caidren did not wait.
He had done what was necessary.
Without another word, he turned and left the chamber, the door shutting softly behind him.
The Stronghold Moves On
Outside, the world continued as if nothing had happened.
The soldiers trained in the courtyard, their shouts echoing through the cold air. The war room was filled with discussion, maps being drawn, strategies debated.
No one spoke of Elias.
No one noticed Caidren's absence.
The stronghold had forgotten him.
And Caidren told himself that he had too.