After the Fire

The air was cool and smelled faintly of incense and herbs. Soft light filtered through stained glass windows, casting colors that danced gently on the walls. My eyelids fluttered open, heavy as if weighed down by lead, and for a moment, everything was a blur.

Where am I?

My body felt stiff, every movement reminding me of pain I couldn't yet place. As awareness crept back, so did the fragmented memories — the attack, the struggle, the roar that had echoed through the manor. Panic prickled at the edges of my mind, but I forced it down.

Slowly, I tried to sit up, my muscles protesting. The smooth stone beneath me was cold, and the room was unfamiliar — simple, yet suffused with a quiet, comforting light. I glanced around, searching for any sign of Eiran or the child.

A soft rustling caught my attention, and I spotted a figure seated nearby, clad in simple robes embroidered with symbols of the temple. Their eyes were kind but alert, watching me carefully.

"You're safe now," the stranger said gently. "You're in the Temple of Fate. You were brought here after the attack."

I swallowed hard, the pieces clicking together. The attack. The explosion. Eiran. The child. Where were they? Were they safe?

"My head… What happened?" My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

The healer nodded, stepping closer to offer a cup of water. "You were badly injured, but you're healing. You're not alone—your companions are here as well, resting nearby."

Relief surged through me, but so did a gnawing worry. How had we all ended up here? And what awaited us beyond the sanctuary of these temple walls?

For now, I would rest, but my mind refused to settle. The world outside was still dangerous — and I was no longer the same girl who had left the village with dreams of adventure. Something darker had touched our journey.

I closed my eyes briefly, steeling myself for the days to come.

The moment my senses sharpened, a single, urgent thought surged through me: the child. Without hesitation, I pushed myself up, ignoring the dull ache spreading through my limbs. My legs felt like lead, but fear lent me strength as I stumbled toward the sound of soft breathing.

Turning a corner, I found the child curled beneath a simple blanket on a narrow cot, eyes closed but chest rising steadily. Relief washed over me in a warm tide — the child was alive, safe for now. I knelt beside them, brushing a stray lock of hair from their face, heart pounding fiercely.

But my relief was short-lived. My next thought, burning brighter, was for Eiran.

I moved quickly, though my body protested, until I reached a larger chamber where murmurs and the scent of healing herbs filled the air. There, I found him — Eiran — lying pale and broken on a raised cot, surrounded by healers clad in white and gold robes. Their hands glowed faintly with magic, pressing gently against his wounds.

His breathing was shallow, each rise and fall of his chest seeming like a battle. His eyes were closed, lips parted as if struggling to draw air. A heavy weight settled on my chest, and I fought back a sob.

"Is he going to be okay?" I whispered to the closest healer.

The healer's eyes met mine, filled with a mixture of hope and caution. "He is strong, but the wounds are deep. The magic he used to defend you has taken a heavy toll. We will do all we can."

I nodded, unwilling to accept anything less than his full recovery. I reached out, gently taking Eiran's hand in mine. It was cold, but the faint pulse beneath his skin told me he was still fighting.

"Stay with me," I murmured. "Please… don't leave me."

The room felt heavy with unspoken fears, but I vowed silently that I would be his strength — as he had been mine. Whatever darkness had fallen upon us, we would face it together.

As I knelt beside him, my eyes traced the devastating marks etched across Eiran's body — wounds that spoke of a battle far beyond mere steel and strength. His skin was torn and charred, patches blackened and blistered from the fierce, untamed magic he had unleashed. Jagged burns traced swirling patterns along his arms and chest, some glowing faintly with residual power, as if the very runes on his skin had fought against his will.

Here and there, the damage was worse — broken bones jutting out sharply beneath torn flesh, white and cruel against the darkened scars. One arm was nearly skeletal, the muscles and sinews around the elbow melted away by the heat of his unleashed fury. Despite the healers' hands moving over him, their magic glowing warmly, the pain must have been unbearable.

I swallowed hard, choking back the lump in my throat. It was hard to reconcile the image before me with the strong, steadfast warrior I knew — this broken figure was proof of the price he paid for protecting us. A silent vow burned within me: I would do everything in my power to save him.

I fought the rising tide of panic that threatened to overwhelm me. How had it come to this? The boy I'd known since we were children—the one who carried the weight of so much on his shoulders—now lay so broken, so fragile. My heart clenched painfully as tears pricked the edges of my vision, but I refused to let them fall. Not now.

He was still breathing, and that meant there was hope. But the scars of his power, the cost he paid to protect me and the child... it tore at something deep inside me. I hated that he had to suffer like this. I hated that I couldn't have been there to stop it, to share the burden.

But beneath the fear, beneath the helplessness, a fierce determination kindled in my chest. I would not lose him—not to this darkness, not to the fury that nearly consumed him. If the gods themselves had marked him, then so would I stand by his side, no matter the cost.

Eiran wasn't just the boy I'd grown up with anymore—he was the guardian of our futures, the keeper of hope. And I would fight with everything I had to see him live through this.

And pay any price that was asked…

The healers moved around him with a mixture of urgency and disbelief. Their faces were pale, eyes wide as they took in the extent of his injuries. I caught snippets of their hushed whispers, each more grave than the last.

"He's been burned beyond what any ordinary battle could cause... this isn't from mere fire magic," one murmured, shaking his head. Another ran careful hands over his charred skin, grimacing at the exposed bone beneath the torn flesh. "Such wounds… it's like he fought a dragon and barely survived."

They worked quickly, their practiced hands weaving healing magic over the burns, knitting tissue back together, and closing wounds inch by inch. Yet even their spells couldn't erase the depth of the damage. The raw, angry scars beneath the surface seemed to pulse faintly, like a reminder of the immense power that had ripped through him.

Despite their skill, the healers exchanged worried glances. I could see the unspoken question in their eyes: Who is this young man, and what darkness did he face to come back like this?

I felt a shudder run through me. If they only knew what he truly was—a Warden, a bearer of wild, untamed power, wrestling with forces far beyond their understanding. Instead, all they saw was a broken warrior, marked by a battle no one should have survived.

I squeezed his hand gently, hoping he could hear me, hoping somehow my presence could anchor him back from the edge of this abyss.