Chapter Three: A Rescuer's True Face
Darkness had become familiar.
For the little girl, it was a place she kept returning to, a place where the pain briefly disappeared and the world could no longer hurt her.
But it never lasted.
Sooner or later, she would awaken, and the suffering would begin again.
When consciousness finally returned to her, she found herself lying in an unfamiliar room.
A strong herbal smell filled the air, so overwhelming that it made her head spin. The scent reminded her of the strange plants her mother had occasionally gathered when she was still well enough to leave their hut, but this was different.
It was heavier.
Bitter.
Almost suffocating.
She tried to make sense of her surroundings.
White walls surrounded her, and several shelves filled with bottles and bundles of dried herbs stood against them. The room was dimly lit, with shadows gathering in the corners.
Where was she?
The question had barely formed in her mind when the screaming returned.
AAAAAAAH!
Countless voices erupted inside her head.
The sudden noise made her remaining eye widen.
The wailing was louder than before, an unbearable cacophony that seemed to tear through her thoughts. She could not distinguish words from screams, nor could she tell whether the sounds came from a great distance or from something trapped inside her own mind.
She pressed her lips together.
Not again.
She had hoped the voices would disappear after she escaped the cave.
Apparently, she had been wrong.
The pressure continued to build, making her head throb. She tried to focus on something else, anything that might distract her from the unbearable noise.
Her hand.
She needed to know what had happened to her hand.
Slowly, she attempted to lift her left arm.
Nothing happened.
She tried again, only to discover that her limbs were bound tightly to the bed beneath her.
Panic stirred inside her.
She twisted her wrists and struggled against the restraints, but they held firm.
Then pain exploded through her left arm.
"Ah!"
A strangled cry escaped her throat.
She immediately stopped moving.
Her breathing became shallow as she slowly turned her head toward the source of the pain.
For a moment, she could not understand what she was seeing.
Her left arm was a ruin.
Everything below her elbow had been mangled beyond recognition. Torn flesh and thin strips of muscle were all that held the damaged limb together. Beneath them, fragments of white bone protruded at unnatural angles, crushed and shattered into pieces.
The bleeding had stopped, but the wound looked even more horrifying without the flow of blood to distract her from its condition.
She stared at it.
Her mind went strangely quiet.
Was this really her hand?
The hand she had used to gather fruit from the forest?
The hand she had used to carry water to her mother?
The hand she had stretched toward her mother's face when she wanted to comfort her?
She tried to move her fingers.
Nothing happened.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
A cold realisation settled over her.
She might never be able to use that hand again.
She did not cry.
Perhaps she had already shed too many tears.
Perhaps there was simply nothing left inside her capable of producing them.
For a long moment, she stared at the ruined limb without moving.
Then she slowly shifted her gaze away.
She needed to understand where she was.
If she wanted to escape, she first had to learn something about her surroundings.
She tried to turn her head.
The herbal scent grew stronger as she looked toward the shelves. Small containers filled with unfamiliar substances occupied almost every available space. Some held dried leaves, others contained powders of different colours, and a few were filled with liquids that shimmered faintly beneath the dim light.
She could not identify any of them.
The walls were bare.
There were no windows.
Only a single door stood at the far end of the room.
She was still examining it when she heard footsteps approaching.
Her body stiffened.
The footsteps stopped outside.
A moment later, the door creaked open.
A middle-aged man entered.
He was of average height, dressed in green robes that appeared slightly worn around the edges. A scruffy beard covered his chin, and his otherwise ordinary face was made unsettling by his sharp, penetrating eyes.
He looked around the room before directing his gaze toward the little girl.
She froze.
The man did not speak immediately.
He simply stared at her.
His gaze moved from her face to her left arm, then to the bandages covering parts of her body.
For several seconds, he remained silent.
Then his eyebrows rose.
"Well, now. This is unexpected."
He approached the bed and examined her ruined arm.
"Remarkable."
He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied the wound.
"The bleeding has stopped completely..."
He touched the skin near the injury, seemingly unconcerned by the little girl's trembling.
"Even with damage like this?"
He paused.
Then a faint smile spread across his face.
"Interesting."
The little girl watched him warily.
Was this the man who had killed the fox?
She remembered a silhouette standing beside her, followed by a calm male voice asking what he had found.
This had to be him.
He had saved her life.
And yet, as she watched him inspect her injuries, she could not bring herself to feel grateful.
Something about him was wrong.
She could not explain it.
Perhaps it was the way he looked at her, as though she were not a person but an object he had discovered in the forest.
Perhaps it was the strange excitement in his eyes.
Whatever the reason, every instinct inside her warned her to stay away.
The man straightened.
"I thought you would have bled to death long before now," he muttered. "A fractured skull, a destroyed eye, and an arm that is barely attached..."
He shook his head in disbelief.
"Yet here you are, still breathing."
His gaze sharpened.
"Just what kind of little monster are you?"
The girl remained silent.
She wanted to ask him where she was.
She wanted to ask whether he knew the way back to the village.
Most importantly, she wanted to ask whether he could help her return to her mother.
But the words refused to leave her mouth.
The man's eyes frightened her.
There was something deeply unpleasant about the way he examined her, as though he were searching for a particular quality hidden beneath her skin.
Then he began muttering to himself.
"If you can survive injuries like these without proper treatment, perhaps your body possesses a degree of resilience I haven't encountered before."
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Yes... this could work."
The little girl felt a chill run down her spine.
The man suddenly laughed.
"Of course! Why didn't I think of this earlier?"
He turned toward one of the shelves, his eyes shining with excitement.
"You might be exactly what I need for my latest creation."
He began pacing around the room, speaking so quickly that his words nearly blended together.
"The previous subjects were too fragile. Their bodies couldn't withstand the initial reaction, and the results were disappointing..."
He stopped and glanced at her.
"But you..."
His smile widened.
"You have survived things that would have killed an ordinary child several times over."
He leaned closer.
"Perhaps you'll last a little longer."
The girl stared at him.
She did not understand everything he was saying.
But she understood enough.
He was not planning to help her.
He was planning to do something to her.
Something terrible.
The man reached out and gently lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him.
His eyes were bright with anticipation.
"Do you know how rare a discovery you are, little one?"
She trembled.
He smiled.
"From now on, this is your home."
The words were spoken in a tone that might have sounded welcoming if not for the coldness behind them.
Then he released her chin, turned around, and walked toward the door.
He left without another word.
The door closed.
Silence returned to the room.
The little girl remained motionless on the bed.
For a long time, she could do nothing but stare at the closed door.
Her home?
This place?
The man had said that this would be her home.
But she already had a home.
It might have been a miserable hut at the edge of the forest. The roof might have leaked, and the walls might have done little to keep out the winter cold.
But her mother had been there.
Her mother had been the only person who had ever cared for her.
And now, because she had gone looking for help, she had been taken away from the one place she still wanted to return to.
A bitter feeling rose in her chest.
She had thought the worst thing that could happen to her was losing her mother.
She had been wrong.
The world had found yet another way to hurt her.
She lowered her head.
Her left arm throbbed.
Her eye socket burned.
The voices continued to scream inside her mind.
She was exhausted beyond words, yet she could not bring herself to sleep.
What if the man returned?
What if he hurt her again?
What if she died here without ever seeing her mother's face again?
Her throat tightened.
She did not want to die.
Not here.
Not like this.
She had already decided what she wanted to do.
She would return to the hut.
She would bury her mother properly.
She would make certain that the woman who had raised her was not left alone in that cold, miserable place.
Only after that would she consider what happened to her.
She would not allow herself to die before fulfilling that promise.
Even if she had to crawl.
Even if she had to endure more pain than she thought possible.
Even if the entire world stood in her way.
She would return.
The little girl slowly closed her remaining eye.
For the first time since waking, she allowed herself to rest.
But the peace did not last long.
The door opened again.
Footsteps approached the bed.
Before she could react, the restraints around her limbs were undone.
The man slipped one arm beneath her body and lifted her from the bed.
She was so weak that she could barely struggle.
"Where...?"
Her voice was little more than a whisper.
The man glanced at her.
"What was that?"
She swallowed painfully.
"Where... are you taking me?"
He looked at her for a moment, seemingly surprised that she had spoken.
Then he smiled.
"Somewhere you'll be useful."
He carried her out of the room.
The little girl tried to memorise her surroundings as they moved through the corridor, but the effort was difficult. Her head was spinning, and the herbal scent clinging to the man's robes made her feel increasingly nauseous.
She caught glimpses of other doors, shelves filled with strange containers, and walls that looked almost identical to those in the room where she had awakened.
The building was larger than she had first imagined.
But she had no idea where she was.
Nor did she know whether she would ever be allowed to leave.
After what felt like a long journey through the corridor, the man stopped before another door.
He pushed it open.
A wave of herbal odour rushed toward them.
The little girl instinctively turned her face away.
This room was much larger than the previous one.
Its walls were stark white, and the floor was so clean that it looked almost unnatural. Shelves and compartments lined the walls, packed with dried plants, glass bottles, bowls, and unfamiliar instruments.
But it was the beds that caught her attention.
There were at least seventeen of them.
Each was occupied by a child or teenager, with only a handful of beds left empty.
Some of the children lay perfectly still.
Others trembled beneath their blankets.
A few stared blankly at the ceiling, their eyes hollow and lifeless.
They all looked terribly ill.
Their cheeks were sunken, their bodies unnaturally thin, and their skin pale beneath the dim light.
Some had bandages wrapped around their limbs.
Others bore wounds that had been poorly concealed.
The little girl stared at them.
They reminded her of her mother during the final months of her life.
Weak.
Helpless.
Barely clinging to existence.
For a moment, she forgot about her own injuries.
What had happened to these children?
Why were they here?
And why did they all look as though they were waiting to die?
The man carried her toward one of the empty beds and lowered her onto it.
Then he turned toward the others.
"Everyone, we have a new addition."
His voice echoed through the room.
"Meet your new roommate."
No one responded.
Not a single child greeted her.
Some did not even move.
The man seemed unconcerned by their silence.
He turned away and approached a compartment at the far end of the room.
The little girl watched him retrieve a small object.
Her stomach tightened.
She had a terrible feeling about what would happen next.
The man returned to her bedside.
Before she could ask what he intended to do, he seized her right hand.
A sharp prick pierced her skin.
She flinched.
Something cold entered her body.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the pain began.
It started in her right hand, spreading rapidly through her arm and into her chest.
The little girl gasped.
Her entire body seized.
It felt as though molten metal had been poured into her veins.
The pain spread through her muscles, her bones, and every part of her body, burning from the inside out.
She tried to scream.
Her throat produced only a strangled sound.
The man watched her with undisguised interest.
"Ah, yes. Let's begin with something simple."
He examined the instrument in his hand, then glanced at her face.
"A poison I've been working on."
The little girl writhed against the bed.
Her remaining eye widened as the agony intensified.
The voices in her head grew distant for a moment, drowned out by the unbearable pain coursing through her body.
She could no longer tell whether she was screaming aloud or only inside her mind.
Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
Her fingers curled tightly, and her muscles contracted against her will.
The man leaned closer.
"Heh. Let's see how long you can last."
His voice was almost cheerful.
"I do hope you won't disappoint me, little one."
He stepped back and continued observing her.
The girl could barely hear him.
The world had narrowed to pain.
Every breath felt like dragging broken glass through her lungs. Her body burned, and her mind seemed to be slowly dissolving beneath the torment.
She wanted it to stop.
She wanted her mother.
She wanted to return to the hut and lie beside the familiar stone bed, listening to the wind rustle through the cracks in the walls.
She wanted to wake up and discover that everything had been a nightmare.
But the pain was real.
The man was real.
And her mother was dead.
A bitter laugh escaped her.
It was a small, broken sound, almost swallowed by the groan that followed.
How had things come to this?
She had gone looking for help.
She had only wanted to bury her mother.
That was all.
She had never asked for power.
She had never asked for wealth.
She had never asked to become special.
Why, then, did the world continue to torment her?
What had she done wrong?
Her vision blurred.
The herbal scent filled her lungs.
The voices in her head returned, their wailing rising until it seemed to shake the very foundations of her mind.
She bit down on her lip.
She would not beg.
She would not give this man the satisfaction of hearing her plead.
And she would not die.
Not yet.
Not before she returned to her mother.
The little girl clenched her teeth and endured the poison burning through her body.
She did not know how long the torment would last.
She did not know whether her body could survive it.
She did not even know whether she would ever escape this place.
But one thought remained, clear and unwavering amid the chaos.
I will return.
No matter what happens, I will return.
And as the poison continued to tear through her fragile body, the little girl held on to that promise with everything she had left.