It was evening. Lucid had grown curious about where Andrew would head off to during the late hours. Initially, he had assumed Andrew was simply going home—he didn't think the man actually lived in the tavern. But something felt different this time. Andrew left with a sense of urgency.
Lucid had observed from the top of the stairs, crouched like a sniper watching a mark. Just as he was about to follow, something moved behind him, making him jolt.
"GYAH—!" he exclaimed in a hushed tone, relaxing only when he saw who it was.
Alice stood behind him, quiet as ever, her green eyes wide. "Where are you going?" she asked in a hushed tone.
"I'm going to follow Andrew," Lucid replied. "Something's up with him… and I want to help."
"Can I come too?"
Lucid almost opened his mouth to protest, but paused. It had been a while since they'd done something together—just the two of them. He sighed.
"…Sure."
Moments later, they followed Andrew through two sectors, eventually arriving at what looked like an infirmary. From a distance, they watched as Andrew wheeled a hospital bed down a dim, moonlit corridor, humming softly to himself. He kept glancing up at the pale ceiling tiles above, as if searching for reassurance.
In the bed lay a woman, that may be his mother. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow.
Lucid and Alice stayed back, footsteps silent on the polished floor. They didn't speak. They simply watched, sharing the weight of Andrew's quiet urgency. Lucid's glass mask reflected the faint light of the ward, while Alice's gaze remained fixed and gentle, ever observant.
Andrew parked the bed beside a window and pulled out a small wooden chair. With a long sigh, he sat down and gently took his mother's hand in his own, his fingers trembling.
"They said your condition's worsening…" he whispered. "Didn't even bother bringing you back to your room. They just… hinted I should do it myself."
He swallowed, guilt thick in his voice.
"I'm sorry, Mom. If only I could've been better."
He hesitated, then spoke again, his voice tight with nostalgia.
"He died two years ago… after proposing that brilliant idea to the nobles. He was a talented engineer, you remember? They took his work—and disposed of him just so they could claim his work and you… you never got over it."
His shoulders sagged as he leaned forward.
"I kept coming back to this place. Always afraid it'd be you next."
He closed his eyes, the grief rising in his throat.
"I promised him I'd take care of you. But… how do you take care of someone when you don't know how to live without the other?"
Lucid glanced at Alice. Neither moved to interrupt. This was Andrew's moment, and he had earned it. The soft hum of healing wards filled the silence, broken only by the steady breath of the woman in the bed.
"He's gone too," Andrew whispered again. "And I feel like I owe her—my brother—everything. But sometimes… I wonder who I'm doing this for anymore."
The question lingered in the quiet like smoke—unanswered, but not unheard.
A gentle knock broke the stillness.
Andrew turned, startled. At the doorway stood Lucid and Alice, their presence calm and unassuming. No judgment. No pity.
"Can we come in?" Lucid asked, voice low and respectful.
Andrew blinked but didn't hesitate. "Of course." He gestured to the bed. "She's… sleeping."
They stepped inside.
Alice quietly approached the bedside. She stood beside the bedframe and gently placed her small hand on the woman's forehead. A faint glow lit up her palm. it was subtle, soft—and pulsed across the woman's skin like ripples in still water.
Andrew watched, confused… and hopeful.
"Don't worry she'll be fine" said Lucid
His mother's eyelids fluttered. Slowly, she opened them. Her gaze met Alice's, then shifted to Andrew. Recognition crossed her tired eyes, followed by a brief confusion… and at last peace. She blinked once more and, as if reassured by something unspoken, drifted back to sleep.
Alice withdrew her hand slowly. The glow dimmed. Lucid stood nearby, watching. Tears welled in Andrew's eyes. He swallowed hard, trying to blink them away, but the emotions overwhelmed him. "No, its ok,"
"wait im.. not crying, am i?"
He rubbed at his eyes, his voice was barely coherent almost cracking up.
"She… she hasn't woken up like that in days. Thank you. All of you."
His words broke at the end. He brushed his sleeve across his tears, a futile attempt at composure. Lucid stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Andrew's back. "She's strong. You've done well."
Alice looked up at Lucid, then back at Andrew. Her eyes shone with magic.
"No need to say more," Lucid added. "Sometimes just being here… that's enough."
The three stood in silence, surrounded by the dim hum of healing wards, the soft light of the moon casting pale gold across the sleeping woman's face.
Time passed.
Not a word was spoken. Only the sound of their breathing and the distant hoot of owls under the moonlight filled the silence. The room was filled with the shared presence of people quietly holding one another up.
Eventually, Andrew let out a long, slow breath. He gave a faint smile. A shaky one that, but a genuine one for once.
"Thank you… truly."
He looked at each of them in turn. Alice gave a small nod and returned his smile. Lucid said nothing, but nodded back, his presence steady.
Andrew gently lifted his mother's hand and pressed it to his cheek, holding it there for a quiet moment before letting it rest again on the blanket.
Then he stood.
As the door closed behind them, Andrew walked out with a wide smile of relief. Alice followed quietly but cheerful as always. Lucid lingered, his gaze was fixed on the bed. It reminded him of someone, perhaps of long-lost friends. He said nothing though. He Just turned, a faint smile lingering on his lips, and gently shut the door behind him.
Andrew's mother was finally asleep… at peace.