The Master and Disciple

Lara turned at the sound of Alaric's voice, her brows furrowing slightly. Why was he calling her?

"Come here a moment." His tone was not a request—it was a command that expected immediate compliance.

Without hesitation, Lara passed the leaf bowl and spoon to Asael. "Eat slowly. Your stomach is still weak," she reminded him, her voice gentle but firm.

Then she rose and strode toward Alaric, her steps measured, eyes assessing him.

"Help me up."

She stared at him, momentarily speechless. This was the same man who had climbed the treacherous, hidden passage of Mount Roca with nothing but sheer determination. And now, he was suddenly helpless?

Doubt flickered in her mind, but she said nothing. Instead, she crouched beside him, slipping a steady hand behind his back while gripping his other hand. As she pulled him up, warmth radiated from his skin, and she caught the faint, uneven hitch in his breath. The closeness was unexpected—almost intimate.