Debt

Lucius's eyes fluttered open, the world around him coming into focus with a clarity that felt alien after the depths of unconsciousness he had been submerged in. For a moment, he lay still, trying to orient himself, his mind grappling with the lingering shadows of fatigue and the sharp edges of recent memories. The bed beneath him was soft, far removed from the hard ground of the forest where he last remembered being, and the room was bathed in the gentle light of early morning, filtering through a window he didn't recognize.

Panic fluttered in his chest as he realized he was not in familiar surroundings. The walls were made of bamboo, and the roof thatched with palm leaves—a stark contrast to the stone and mortar of the places he usually frequented. His armor, that second skin he'd worn through countless battles, was nowhere to be seen, replaced by simple, clean garments that were foreign to his touch.

Sitting up, Lucius scanned the room for his equipment—his sword, the whip, his shield. Each was an extension of his will, tools of his trade that had never been far from his side. Yet, there was no sign of them here, in this peaceful room that seemed to belong to another world entirely. A surge of vulnerability washed over him, the absence of his weapons leaving him feeling exposed in a way that battle never had.

His mind raced, piecing together the fragments of memory before darkness had claimed him. He remembered the battle with the Aswang, the betrayal of Ingram, the rescue of the villagers... and then, nothing. How had he come to be here, in this place of calm and light? Who had brought him, and where were his belongings?

As Lucius grappled with these questions, the door to the room creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. It was Bran, the herbalist, whose knowledge of healing and the natural world had snatched Lucius back from the brink. Bran's presence brought with it a sense of calm, a reassurance that, despite his disorientation, Lucius was safe.

Bran, noticing Lucius's wary gaze darting around the room, raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Easy, friend. You're in Eldoria, a village hidden away from the troubles of the world. Your weapons are safe," he explained, his voice gentle but firm. "You've been asleep for days, healing from the wounds you sustained. It was I who found you and brought you here."

Lucius, absorbing Bran's words, felt a mixture of relief and gratitude. Yet, the absence of his weapons gnawed at him, an itch that spoke of unfinished business and battles yet to be fought. "My weapons," he began, his voice hoarse from disuse, "I need them. There's still..."

Bran nodded, understanding the warrior's concern. "I'll take you to them, but know this: Eldoria is a place of peace. The weapons that saved your life are respected here, but they also carry the weight of violence we strive to avoid. For now, rest, regain your strength. There's time yet to plan your next move."

Lucius, still trying to reconcile his presence in this haven of peace, turned his gaze back to Bran, curiosity and a trace of suspicion weaving through his thoughts. "Why?" he asked simply, the question laden with layers of meaning. "Why save me and bring me to Eldoria? You know who I am—a sellsword. This village... Eldoria does not welcome my kind."

Bran, understanding the complexity behind Lucius's question, took a seat at the edge of the bed, his demeanor calm yet reflective. "It's true," he began, his voice carrying a note of somber acknowledgment. "Eldoria is a sanctuary, a place where the wounds of the world are healed, not created. Sellswords, warriors... they remind us of the violence we've turned away from. But," Bran paused, choosing his words carefully, "not all who wield a sword do so for conquest or coin. Some, like you, fight to protect, to keep the darkness at bay."

He sighed, looking past Lucius, as if into the distance of his own memories. "Years ago, I was beyond the borders of Eldoria, gathering herbs. I found myself in the path of danger, the kind from which there's no escape. A sellsword, much like yourself, came to my aid. He saved my life, asking nothing in return. He... he looked a lot like you, Sellsword."

Lucius listened, the story unraveling a part of Bran he hadn't expected. The herbalist's eyes held a depth of gratitude and a hint of pain, the memory of his rescue a poignant reminder of the good that existed beyond Eldoria's borders.

"That man showed me that bravery and honor can exist even in those who live by the sword. When I found you, wounded and on the brink of death, I saw a chance to repay that debt, to honor the memory of the man who saved me by saving you," Bran continued, his gaze returning to Lucius. "Perhaps it was fate, or simply chance, but I couldn't leave you there. Eldoria may not welcome sellswords, but we do not turn our backs on those in need. Your presence here... it's a test, for both of us. For Eldoria to remember that compassion must extend beyond our fears, and for you, perhaps, to find healing not just in body, but in spirit."

Lucius absorbed Bran's story with a composed, unreadable expression. The tale of a sellsword's unexpected heroism in Bran's past clearly resonated on some level, yet Lucius remained enigmatic, his thoughts veiled behind a stoic demeanor. He understood Bran's point, the underlying message of compassion transcending fear and prejudice, but chose to keep his own counsel, his reaction cloaked in the mystery that often surrounded men of his profession.

After a moment of reflective silence between them, Bran shifted the conversation to a more immediate concern. "I've told you my reasons for bringing you here, shared a part of my past. But I realize, amidst all this, I've never asked your name," Bran said, his tone carrying a mix of curiosity and courtesy.

Lucius, who had been a listener for the most part, responded with a simple, "Lucius." His voice was even, revealing nothing of the thoughts that lay beneath.

The name hung in the air between them, a simple declaration that had an unexpected effect on Bran. His eyes widened, a look of profound shock crossing his features. For a moment, he simply stared at Lucius, as if the name had unlocked a floodgate of realizations and memories.

Without a word, Bran abruptly stood and hurried out of the room, leaving Lucius alone with the mystery of his reaction. The door closed softly behind him, leaving Lucius in a state of bemusement and contemplation. The sudden departure, driven by the revelation of Lucius's name, hinted at a deeper connection, a piece of the puzzle that Bran had yet to share.

Lucius, left to ponder the significance of Bran's reaction, could only speculate on the reasons behind the herbalist's shock and sudden exit. The room, once a place of healing and revelation, now echoed with the silence of unanswered questions. What was it about the name Lucius that had struck such a chord in Bran? What secrets lay buried in Eldoria's peaceful facade, and how did Lucius's own story intertwine with them?