Soon is the time of blood

We returned to Taskhand with Monday. Time had blurred—maybe a couple of days, maybe more—but it still felt like home. The hospital scent hadn't left my clothes, yet the warm wood and familiar walls of Taskhand did enough to numb it.

Wanora walked in that very second, as if she'd been waiting for our arrival. Her eyes swept across the room, locking onto me, Sinus, and Shalap. With a small smile, she pulled each of us into a hug like a mother greeting her tired children.

"Welcome back. Good work," she said. "Now onto the details."

Sinus raised a hand and spoke before anyone else could. "Yea, I'll tell you. Let them rest."

Wanora nodded in quiet understanding. Without another word, Shalap and I made for our rooms. Our steps were heavy, not from exhaustion, but from the kind of weight that settles after surviving something unnatural.

Inside my room, I collapsed onto the bed. The springs creaked beneath me. I sighed.

We had met a tempest of the sea. And somehow, we beat him. Well… Sinus did, technically. Now what? The Emperor would reward us? Throw us a ceremony?

A knock interrupted my thoughts.

When I opened the door, I saw Evena standing there. She was smiling faintly, her hands clenched at her sides. Her breathing was slow, steady. She always took her time—each word a stone being gently placed rather than thrown.

"Wel...come…back…" she said.

I smiled, relieved. "Yeah, I heard about you. Did you make a new friend?"

Evena blinked in surprise and then nodded quickly, once. "She…is…very…nice."

"Ah, is that so?" I leaned on the doorframe. "Why don't you tell me about her more?"

Her smile grew the tiniest bit. "O…kay."

We left the room and walked down the corridor, her steps measured and faintly uneven, the soft sound of wood tapping every few steps. She never seemed to mind it.

"Are you going to meet her regularly now?" I asked as we stepped outside into the evening air.

She nodded. "How…was…your…trip?"

"Well, it wasn't really a trip," I replied. "But yeah, it was alright, I guess."

Evena's gaze lowered, her eyes tracing the bruises and half-healed wounds on my arms. Her expression flickered, but she didn't say anything.

"Hey, it's not your fault," I said quickly, voice softer now.

The streets beyond the gates of Taskhand were alive. It was festival night—though not one celebrated by the world at large. The Temple made this one up. A ceremonial evening to prepare for the 'Time of Blood.' A private thing, yet the people of Menyurl embraced it with open arms.

Laughter echoed in every direction. Children dashed between stalls with colored ribbons trailing from their hands. Adults leaned over grills and open pots, shouting prices and teasing one another. The scent of grilled meat, spiced soup, and fried sweets mingled thickly in the air. Every breath felt like a meal.

I instinctively reached for Evena's hand in the crowd, in case she got lost. She flinched, just barely, then relaxed. She didn't pull away.

We walked in silence mostly—well, I talked. She nodded when she could, her gaze moving from stall to stall, curious but hesitant. She wasn't used to crowds. I could tell. But she was trying.

"Want to try that one?" I pointed to a stall covered in golden dumplings steaming in bamboo baskets.

She tilted her head. "M…maybe…"

We stopped at three different stalls. One sold honey-roasted skewers, the other had something that smelled like cinnamon bread, and another gave out tiny, syrupy fruits in paper cups.

Evena tried them all. She didn't say much, but she smiled more often than usual.

At one point, we passed a circle of dancers spinning to the beat of drums and string instruments. Evena paused. The firelight glinted in her eyes as she watched them.

I stood beside her, hands in my pockets.

"You don't want to join?" I asked, half-teasing.

She looked up at me slowly. "No…"

I grinned. "Yeah, me neither."

That was so fucking embarrassing, I thought to myself. But then—I looked at her. She was just smiling. Not at me. Not at anything in particular. Just… smiling.

Around us, people were dancing. Spiraling through the lantern-lit square like they had no weight, no worries. I didn't even realize when I smiled too. And when Evena looked up at them, I stayed by her side and watched with her. Together.

The two of us moved through the crowd, and for once, everything felt peaceful.

Until it didn't.

A blur. Then children—running, dashing, screaming in joy. One of them collided into Evena with enough force to make her lose balance. Her wooden leg couldn't hold the sudden shift, and she nearly fell. She reached out on instinct. Her hand caught one of the kids—

He screamed.

"MY LEG! MY LEG!"

His shrieks cracked through the noise like lightning. The entire crowd turned.

The boy had collapsed, clutching his leg as though it had been sawn off. His face twisted with a kind of terror I'd never seen in a child. Tears streamed down his face as he stared at Evena in horror.

Evena had fallen beside him. Her breathing was shallow. Her eyes wide. She looked… scared. More than that—haunted.

She struggled to get up. Her hands trembled. Her wooden leg scraped the ground as she tried to run.

"HEY! WAIT—" I reached for her, but she was already gone.

In her panic, she pushed a man in the crowd.

His voice boomed.

He screamed, high and broken like the child before him, crying out as if the world had turned against him in an instant.

I realized what had happened. It wasn't hard to guess.

Evena had accidentally activated her Clarion of Pain.

The ability to transfer pain. She had transferred the agony of a severed leg to them.

She must've been nervous. Scared. That's when it always triggered.

I could see her now, desperately trying to cover her hands, as if they were poison. Her eyes were pleading, lips quivering. She pushed through the crowd like a cornered animal.

The other people rushed to help the child and the man.

But I didn't stop. I ran. I reached her.

"WAIT—" I caught her hand.

And then I knew.

God, I knew.

The pain hit me like a tidal wave.

My leg—it was as if something was hacking it off. No clean cut. No clean pain. Just raw, gnawing, blinding agony.

I almost vomited right there. I slapped my hand over my mouth, sweat bursting across my forehead, my lungs trembling. My knees buckled.

But I didn't let go of her hand.

Evena stared at me—terrified. As if I'd hate her. As if I'd run, too.

I looked up, slowly. My hand was still clutching hers.

And through clenched teeth, barely able to breathe, I said:

"Please… wait."