The light from the altar orb flickered like a heartbeat in the shadows—slow, steady, and quiet.Like you.
You were asleep again. Or something close to it. Breath shallow, chest rising and falling beneath the weight of fresh bandages. Wrapped in layers of blood-stained blankets, your body looked more scar than skin. And yet… you were still here. Still breathing.
I knelt beside you with a cloth in one hand, dabbing gently at the dried blood along your temple. Your skin twitched at the touch—half instinct, half pain—but you didn't wake. Not fully. Not yet.
You'd pushed yourself too far.
And somehow… it still hadn't been enough to kill you.
My hands moved with practiced care, cleaning the wounds on your shoulder, your ribs, your jaw. I'd done this before—patched up broken allies in worse places. But something about this felt different. Not the act… you.
I'd seen what you did out there.
And I couldn't stop seeing it.
The way you fought Ren—gods, the way you moved. Not with the technique of a trained killer or the precision of a Dracus blade monk. It was wild. Instinctive. Brutal. Every motion fueled by something raw and relentless—like the world had tried to bury you, and you'd crawled back from the dirt just to spit in its face.
You didn't just fight like you wanted to win.
You fought like losing wasn't an option your body even understood.
I'd watched from the edge of the battlefield as you clashed. Watched as Ren—twisted by NULL and savagery—threw everything at you. And you took it. Every blow. Every cut. You absorbed the fury of a man unraveling—and you gave it back with something deeper. Not just strength. Not even vengeance.
You fought like someone trying to protect something sacred.
Even when your ribs cracked and your blade slipped. Even when your Essence burned so bright it began to flicker, like it couldn't handle the depth you were forcing it to reach—you never backed down.
And that final clash when you landed—broken, bleeding, barely able to stand—you still managed to rise.
I was already running toward you when that thing tried to touch you.
But even then… even as your knees buckled, and your Essence began to fail…
You refused to fall.
A normal man would've died a dozen times in that fight. Even a seasoned warrior would've surrendered under the weight of what you endured. But not you.
You didn't fight like someone from this world.
You fought like something new.
My hands trembled slightly as I wrung the cloth out into the spring beside us. The water rippled, catching the flicker of the altar orb's light. I glanced at your face again—eyes shut, brow furrowed as if even sleep couldn't ease whatever you were wrestling with inside.
And still, the power lingered around you.
I didn't recognize it.
It wasn't Essence. It wasn't NULL. It wasn't any form of sigil-born energy I'd studied.
It was something foreign. Untamed.
And even in your unconscious state, it pulsed faintly beneath your skin. Like a second heartbeat.
I sat down beside you, folding my arms over my knees, watching you breathe.
"You're not like the others," I whispered. "You're not like anyone I've ever seen."
And in truth…
That scared me.
But it also gave me something I hadn't felt in a long time.
Hope.
I rested my back against the wall, gaze drifting toward the mouth of the sanctuary tunnel. The wind outside had picked up again, soft and hollow. The ruins beyond would still be smoldering. The skies would still be wrong.
But in here, for the moment, there was stillness.
And in that stillness… you healed.
I reached over, pulled the blanket up around your shoulders, and sat quietly beside you.
Waiting.
Watching.
Knowing that when you woke—
The world would start changing again.
You shifted in your sleep.
Not much—just a twitch of your fingers, a shallow inhale that caught slightly in your throat. But it was enough. My head snapped up, breath held as I leaned closer, watching your eyelids flutter.
For a second, I wasn't sure if it was real. The past few days had been slow, quiet… too quiet. You hadn't spoken. Barely moved. I'd started to wonder if your mind had gone somewhere your body couldn't follow.
But now…
Your hand curled slightly into a fist.
And you exhaled.
Rough. Gritty. Real.
I reached for the nearby flask and touched it to your lips. "Drink."
You did—barely. Just enough to wet your tongue. But your throat moved. Your eyes twitched. You were returning.
I breathed a small sigh of relief.
And waited.
An hour passed before you finally blinked your eyes open.
The first thing you did was wince. The pain hit fast—your jaw clenched as your body caught up to itself. You tried to sit up, and I immediately placed a hand against your chest, pushing you gently but firmly back down.
"No," I said. "You're not ready."
You looked at me through hazy eyes. Recognition took a moment. But when it came, I saw the sharpness return—slowly, behind the exhaustion and pain.
"…Violet," you rasped.
I nodded. "Still here."
You swallowed hard. "How long?"
"Five days," I said. "You've been unconscious most of it. In and out. Healing."
You didn't say anything at first. Your eyes drifted upward, to the faint cracks in the stone ceiling of the sanctuary. Your fingers twitched again—your right hand searching, as if for Voidscar.
"It's safe," I said quickly, gesturing to the blade resting just a few feet away. "I kept it near."
You nodded once, but your eyes never left the ceiling.
"I remember… Ren," you muttered. "We fought."
My jaw tightened.
"Yeah," I said. "I saw it."
You looked at me now, clearer than before. "From when?"
"Not the very start. But enough." I leaned back, fingers laced in my lap. "I saw you take hits that would've ended anyone else. Saw you trade blow for blow with a Dracus corrupted by NULL. Saw you stand when no part of your body should've been able to."
You were silent again.
And I didn't stop.
"Ren was slipping. He was already… gone, or close to it. But you kept up with him. Matched him. Surpassed him."
You blinked.
I could see you trying to recall it—those last moments, blurred by trauma and raw energy.
I lowered my voice.
"You weren't fighting like a soldier. Or a Runner. You fought like something the world didn't have a name for yet."
Your jaw flexed.
I could see the doubt rising in you. The way your eyes dropped. The way your fingers curled inward like you were suddenly afraid of them.
"I lost control," you murmured. "I pushed too far."
"Maybe," I said. "But whatever you tapped into… it wasn't madness. It wasn't NULL. And it wasn't Dracus."
Your head turned slightly. "Then what was it?"
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know.
Because no one in this world could know.
Instead, I pulled the blanket tighter around your chest and stood up.
"I've kept your Essence stable," I said. "Used old tinctures and grounding sigils. The wound on your side almost reopened on the second night, but the fever broke."
You gave me a faint nod. "Thank you."
"You'd have done the same."
You didn't respond to that.
But you didn't deny it, either.
I walked over to the spring, filled a shallow bowl with fresh water, and dipped another cloth. As I sat beside you again, gently wiping the dried blood from your cheek, I noticed the way your expression shifted.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Something else.
"You saw it too, didn't you?" you asked, voice low. "When we fought."
I nodded slowly. "I saw everything."
Your eyes met mine—hollow, tired, but still burning with something deep beneath the surface.
"I wasn't supposed to survive that."
"No," I agreed. "You weren't."
You didn't ask what saved you.
Because somewhere inside, I think you already knew:
You did.
Even if you didn't understand how.