When I woke, it was to firelight and the smell of smoke.
The ceiling above me wasn't the endless canopy of the forest, nor the shadow of death that had stalked me through the night. It was wood. Rough-hewn planks, lashed together, their seams leaking the glow of flames outside.
I blinked, my body refusing to move. Every muscle screamed, every cut seared. My chest felt wrapped in iron, tight and burning.
Then I realized it wasn't iron. It was cloth. Bandages.
"You're alive."
The voice cut through the haze. Calm, clipped, but softer than I remembered.
I turned my head with effort. Sylvara sat beside me, her pale hair catching the firelight, her hands busy at a small clay bowl. She dipped cloth into water, wrung it out, and pressed it gently against my temple.
The coolness made me shiver.
"…Surprised?" I rasped, my throat raw.
Her lips pressed thin. "Yes. A little."
The silence stretched between us.
I shifted, trying to sit, and regretted it instantly. Pain lanced through my side, and I sucked air through my teeth.
Sylvara's hand shot out, firm against my chest, pushing me back down. "Don't be an idiot. Half your blood is on the forest floor. The rest is still leaking out of you."
I let out a weak chuckle. "Sounds about right."
Her brow furrowed, eyes flicking to the bandages on my arms. For a moment, I thought I saw something like concern. But it was gone as quickly as it came.
"You were reckless," she said flatly. "No plan. No caution. Just… running headlong into claws and quills. You're lucky you're not carrion."
I wanted to argue. To say I did have a plan, even if it was half-mad. But the memory of those spined hares circling me, their eyes gleaming in the dark, stole the words.
Instead, I whispered, "But I did it."
Her hand paused in midair. For a heartbeat, she just stared at me.
Then she set the bowl down with more force than necessary. "Yes," she admitted. "You did."
The door creaked open.
"Is rabbit-boy still alive?" Borgu's booming voice filled the hut before his body did. He ducked under the doorway, a grin splitting his broad face. His tusks gleamed in the firelight as he stomped inside, carrying something skewered on a stick.
"Kael said no food yet," Borgu continued, waving the stick like a trophy. "But I thought—ha! Meat heals faster than leaves."
The smell hit me, and my stomach twisted painfully. Roasted something—probably not rabbit, thank the gods.
Sylvara shot him a glare sharp enough to cut stone. "Get that out before the stench kills him faster than his wounds."
Borgu blinked, then shrugged. "More for me, then." He took a dramatic bite, juices running down his chin. "Mmm. Delicious. You sure you don't want? Might make you forget all the blood leaking out."
Despite the pain, I snorted. "Save me some… if I survive."
Borgu's laugh boomed like thunder. "That's the spirit! Little man fights monsters, nearly dies, and still wants dinner. You'll make a proper fool yet."
Sylvara pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something in Elvish that sounded suspiciously like a curse.
When Borgu left, Kael entered. His presence was quieter, steadier—like the hush before dawn. He glanced at Sylvara, then at me, his sharp eyes taking in every bandage, every wince.
"How bad?" he asked simply.
"He'll live," Sylvara replied. "If he doesn't do anything stupid."
Kael crouched beside me, resting a hand on my shoulder. Not heavy, but grounding. "You did well, Lorian."
The sound of my name—spoken without scorn, without mockery—hit harder than any monster's claws.
For a moment, I couldn't speak. I just nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat.
That night, the fire outside burned high. I drifted in and out of sleep, the voices of my companions weaving in and out of dreams.
Borgu's laughter, booming and ridiculous.Sylvara's quiet hum as she mixed herbs, low and steady, almost soothing.Kael's calm instructions, spoken with the certainty of someone who'd survived a hundred nights like this.
And somewhere in the haze, I realized something.
I wasn't just surviving anymore.
I was… part of this.
Maybe not fully. Maybe not in Sylvara's eyes—not yet.
But I'd taken a step.
One bleeding, reckless step.
And for now, that was enough.