Cloud leaned back against the wall, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Only the boy's breathing broke the silence.
She got up after a moment, quietly. Her steps were soft on the floorboards. From her pack, she pulled out a folded cloth, dipped it into the water jug the landlady had brought up earlier, and wrung it out with practiced ease.
Then she sat beside him again and pressed the damp cloth to his forehead. His skin was still too hot.
"You're burning like you've got a fire spirit in your lungs," she muttered, brushing damp hair from his face.
Three Days Passed.
Cloud never left the room for long. Only to refill water, or fetch plain broth from the old innkeeper downstairs. She turned away every visitor—twice the landlady, once a nosy merchant who "swore" he'd seen them somewhere before.
She sat beside him through the nights, dozing in the chair with her sword across her knees.
He woke on the sixth day.
Slowly. Like coming up from deep water.
The air felt cool on his skin. He blinked hard, trying to focus.
The ceiling above was dark wood, old and cracked. A window nearby let in a thin band of morning light.
Cal shifted slightly. Everything ached—his ribs, his spine, his head. He was sore in places he didn't remember having muscles.
His throat was dry. "Water…" he croaked, barely audible.
The chair beside the bed creaked.
Then, cool fingers touched his chin. A cup was pressed gently to his lips.
"Drink slowly," Cloud said. Her voice was quiet, even—but not cold.
He obeyed. The water tasted like life.
When he finished, he let out a slow breath and managed to look at her. "You're still here?"
Cloud raised an eyebrow. "What, expected me to ditch you in a ditch?"
"I mean… maybe a shallow one. Easier to dig."
Cloud exhaled sharply through her nose—not quite a laugh.
Then her expression shifted, a flicker of something like annoyance breaking through the calm surface she always wore. She sat back, arms crossed now.
"You've been unconscious for over a week."
His eyes widened slightly. "A week?"
"Eight days, actually," she said, voice clipped. "You stopped tossing around on the fourth day. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad."
He tried to sit up, but instantly regretted it as pain lanced through his side. He winced and fell back against the pillow.
"And where are we?" he asked, more carefully this time.
Cloud's gaze drifted toward the shuttered window. "Not the forest, if that's what you're thinking. We're in the capital now."
"The… capital?" His mind tried to catch up, swimming through fog. "How?"
"I dragged you here," she said simply. "And paid for the room. And your healing. And food. You're welcome."
Cal blinked at her. "Right. Thanks."
Cloud's brow twitched. "You're lucky you didn't die. Or worse, start glowing and attracting every hunter this side of the Spine."
He let out a weak chuckle. "I knew you cared."
Cloud stood up. "I cared enough not to leave your half-dead ass rotting in monster territory. Don't let it go to your head."
She walked to the window and pulled back the curtain just slightly. The sound of distant bells and market chatter drifted in.
A Week Later.
The room smelled faintly of herbs, dust, and whatever thin soup the innkeeper kept reheating downstairs.
Cal stood near the window, shirtless, the morning sun painting gold across the pale skin of his back.
His frame had filled out a little more—still lean, but no longer gaunt.
A few old bruises remained on his ribs, but most of the swelling was gone. He flexed his shoulder slowly, testing the joint.
Cloud watched from the corner, arms crossed.
"Don't overdo it," she said, not looking up from the blade she was cleaning. "Just because you can stand doesn't mean you can run around."
Cal rolled his shoulder again, eyes drifting to the window. "I'm just stretching. Not trying to run a lap."
She glanced up.
Then stopped.
Her gaze lingered—for half a second—on his bare torso before narrowing.
"…Have you lost all sense of shame?"
He blinked. "Huh?"
Cloud stood, setting the blade down with deliberate care. Her expression was calm, but her voice cut like a cold wind. "This isn't some back-alley barracks. Do you think it appropriate to bare your skin before your superior?"
Cal hesitated, confused. "I mean… we've been in the same room for a week. I thought—"
"You thought wrong," she snapped. "This is not about comfort. It is about discipline. You stand shirtless in the presence of your benefactor? Have I taught you nothing?"
"I didn't know I was being graded," he muttered, reaching for his shirt.
"Then start acting like someone worthy of instruction," she said coolly, arms folded. "Next time you feel the urge to parade around half-dressed, do it in a stable. You'll find better company there."
Cal pulled the tunic over his head, suppressing a groan as the fabric brushed healing bruises. "Okay, okay. Clothes on. Lesson learned."
Cloud turned away, adjusting the curtain without looking at him. "You may lack strength. Do not add a lack of dignity to the list."
"…Are you always this intense, or am I just special?"
She didn't turn back. "You're still breathing. That's special enough."
A short silence followed.
"…Sorry," Cal muttered.
She said nothing for a moment.
The next morning, Cloud tossed him a cloak.
"Get dressed. You've rested long enough."
Cal caught it mid-air, the fabric soft and a little dusty. "Where are we going?"
"You've been cooped up too long. Time to stretch your legs. See the city."
The capital was nothing like Cal imagined.
The capital spread before them like a dream.
From the overlook, Cal saw a city of soft pastel rooftops and sunlit spires, nestled between winding blue canals that shimmered like veins of glass.
Bridges arched gracefully over the water, connecting vibrant districts that stepped upward in neat, terraced layers—each one cleaner, grander than the last.