FLICKER OF HOPE

The doctor exchanged a concerned look with Lucas, his forehead pinched with worry. "She's lost a lot of blood," he said nervously. "We need to get her stable fast."

Eleanor's eyes flickered open as he spoke, her vision foggy and confused. "W-what's happening?" She slurred. "W-what happened?" She muttered, her voice weak and raspy.

"You were injured during the training session," Lucas explained, his voice gentle but firm. "But don't worry; you're safe now. The healer is here to care for you."

Eleanor's countenance was contorted with anxiety as she attempted to prop herself up, her motions hesitant and uneven. "I have to... I have to stand," she insisted, her voice becoming increasingly urgent.

But before anybody could interfere, Eleanor made an attempt to get up from the floor, her energy dwindling as she tottered awkwardly. Just when it appeared that she might collapse again, a wave of disorientation overtook her, leading her to fall back to the floor with a soft thump.

The medic dashed over to where she lay, preparing his hands to examine her condition. He whispered, "The bleeding's too severe," with a fearful tone. "We need to get her out of here, now."

While the soldiers rapidly constructed a stretcher and put Eleanor on it, Lucas stood nearby, a weight on his chest. He was aware that Eleanor's journey to recovery would be difficult, but he was determined to be there for her at every turn.

They took her away from the arena, gently cradling her still figure as they went. Lucas promised himself that he would do all it required to ensure Eleanor emerged from this struggle stronger and more determined than before.

As Eleanor was carried away from the arena, Lucas followed closely behind, his heart heavy with concern for her safety. The healer led the way, his brow wrinkled in concern as he directed the soldiers to a nearby tent where Eleanor could be properly medically treated.

Inside the tent, Eleanor was carefully set on a makeshift mattress, her breathing short and strained as the healer began to tend to her injuries. Lucas hovered nearby, his gaze never leaving her pale, unmoving figure as he waited anxiously for any signs of improvement.

Eleanor's injuries were treated quickly and precisely by the medic, who carefully cleaned and treated each wound. Lucas's anxiety subsided as he watched, reassured by the competent hands at work, but a lingering fear stayed in his mind.

After completing his task, the healer took a step back, his features carved with concentration and gravity. "The worst is over," he announced, his voice tinged with tiredness. "Yet, the road to recovery is uncertain. She has experienced severe blood loss, and mending will take time."

Lucas attempted to contain his anxiety, his face twisted with concern. He was completely aware of Eleanor's difficult road, but he was determined to help her throughout her recuperation.

"I'll be right by her side," he said confidently. "I'm not going anywhere until she opens her eyes."

The healer flashed a warm grin of empathy and nodded in agreement. "She needs that support to speed up her recovery," he stated, his voice laced with a touch of sadness. "But I believe she will pull through. Despite her challenges, she has demonstrated great strength."

With these comments, the healer withdrew, leaving Lucas to keep an eye on Eleanor in the tent's faint glow. He waited by her bedside, his gaze locked on her serene yet delicate figure, waiting for her to stir.

The night went on, filled with the peaceful sounds of Eleanor's steady breathing and the odd whisper of cloth. Lucas's vigil was steady; his heart was sorrowful yet hopeful about her recovery.

Eleanor's eyes flickered open as dawn's light entered the tent, showing a tired but resolute expression.

Lucas leaned closer, his heart soaring in relief. "Eleanor," he said softly, his voice full of sorrow. "Can you hear me?"

She blinked, her gaze fixed on Lucas with a mix of surprise and recognition. "Lucas?" she responded, her voice scarcely audible. "What happened?"

"You got hurt during practice," Lucas stated quietly, his eyes welling up with empathy. "But you're safe now, here with the medic, and he's done a great job."

Eleanor grimaced as painful memories returned to her. She attempted to shift, but her body resisted.

"I'm sorry," she said with sadness in her tone. I was careless. I endangered myself and others.

Lucas clasped her hand in his and offered whatever comfort he could. "Don't blame yourself," he told her, his voice calm and sympathetic. "You were doing what you thought was necessary." And now, we'll make certain you have the relaxation and attention you require to heal."

Eleanor sank back into her cot, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Lucas remained by her side, his silent assurance of unwavering support and company.

And as she went off to sleep again, her thoughts filled with visions of a better future, and Lucas promised to do whatever it took to help her realize them.

Hours passed into days, but Eleanor remained unmoving, imprisoned in an apparently unending slumber. The physician paid regular visits to her tent, his brow wrinkled in concern as he checked her injuries with a skilled eye. With each visit, he'd sadly wag his head, his look darkening with each passing day.

Gaius, the boss of the 13th Legion, frequently stopped by to see Eleanor when she was sick, displaying a softer side that was a welcome contrast from his typical tough-guy persona. He would stand motionless at her cot, his gaze lingering on her pale, still form, full of pity and concern.

"She's strong," he murmured to Lucas, his voice low and emotional. "But even the strongest among us have their limits."

Lucas could only nod in mute agreement, his heart heavy with concern for Eleanor's well-being. He spent every waking hour by her side, his gaze never leaving her serene yet vulnerable form as he hoped for her quick recovery. Despite his constant care and the healer's best efforts, Eleanor showed no signs of improvement. Her respiration remained shallow and laborious, and her eyelids fluttered but never completely opened.

Time passed, and with each day, Lucas was gripped by a growing despair that seemed to eat away at him from within. He felt powerless as he watched the events unfold, unable to change their course.

"Why can't I make sense of this?" he asked Gaius one night, his tone heavy with dread. "Why isn't she opening her eyes?" Is there nothing else we can do?

Gaius placed a soothing hand on Lucas' shoulders, his eyes reflecting the anguish in his voice. "We've exhausted all of our alternatives. In times like this, the only thing left to do is cling on to hope." He said it with a hint of regret in his voice.

Lucas offered a mute nod, his gaze fixed on Eleanor's unmoving figure, which was filled with both sorrow and determination. He couldn't comprehend that this was her end. He stood beside her, his silent vigil demonstrating his undying faith in her strength. He was willing to wait for her to regain consciousness for as long as it took because he believed in her fighting spirit, and fighters do not give up easily.

As the days stretched into weeks, the tent became dense with tension, worry, and anticipation. However, Lucas' unwavering faith in Eleanor's recovery shone like a beacon.

Then, on an auspicious morning, as the first rays of daylight pierced the tent's fabric, Eleanor's eyes flickered awake, displaying exhausted but determined eyes.

Lucas was overcome with joy as he got closer, and his voice choked with emotion. "Eleanor," he said through tears. "You've come back to us."

Eleanor's gaze fixed on Lucas, a look of surprise and recognition on her face. "Lucas?" Her voice was a faint murmur.

Before she could finish speaking, her body began to tremble. Her arms flailed madly, and her eyes rolled back, revealing only white. The room was filled with piercing gasps and the sound of chairs scraping back as individuals recoiled in alarm.