“Since when do you ask?”
“Since now.”
Because something in you shifted when you saw her blood,his corruption whispered.Because she matters to you more than she should.
She nodded. I examined the wound—three parallel cuts, deep but clean.
The golden threads in her blood were already knitting the wounds closed, flesh mending at a pace that would have taken a human days.
“You heal fast,” I observed, watching the process with clinical interest. “Faster than yesterday, even. The transformation is accelerating the regeneration.”
“Apparently being part plant has benefits.” She tried to sound casual about it, but I caught the tremor in her voice. Fear of what she was becoming, probably. Or fear of how quickly it was happening.
“Don’t rely on it. Fast healing makes people reckless—they start taking risks they shouldn’t because they know they’ll survive them.” I pulled bandages from my pack, the motion automatic after years of field injuries. “Then one day they take a risk just slightly too large, and the healing isn’t fast enough. I’ve seen it happen.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Yes. Multiple times, actually. I’m a slow learner when it comes to my own mortality.” I gestured for her to hold still while I wrapped her shoulder. “The corruption speeds my healing too, in its own twisted way. It’s kept me alive through things that should have killed me. But every time I rely on it, it claims more territory.”
She was tense under my hands but didn’t pull away. The bandage work required closeness—my fingers brushing her skin, her breath warm against my neck as I reached around to secure the wrapping. I focused on the task, ignoring how aware I was of her pulse, steady and strong beneath my fingertips.
“Why did you really bring me out here?” she asked quietly.
“Training—”
“Don’t.” Her voice was sharp. “The Sage would never approve this. They’d say I needed more controlled practice before facing constructs in the field. So why?”
I finished with the bandage, stepping back to put necessary distance between us. The truth sat heavy on my tongue, and I considered lying. Would have lied, usually. But something about her directness demanded the same in return.
“The constructs would have found our camp tonight. I saw the signs this morning—tracks converging on our location, probably drawn by the powerspike from your threshold crossing.” I met her eyes. “Better to face them here, in daylight, with preparation, than have them attack while everyone’s sleeping. The Sage wouldn’t have approved, which is why I didn’t ask.”
“You could have just said that from the beginning.”
“Would you have believed me? Or would you have thought I was using it as an excuse to get you alone and test your abilities?”
She considered that. “Probably the second one.”
“Then my initial approach was more efficient. Sometimes a small deception prevents a larger argument.” I started walking back toward camp. “Though I’ll admit the efficiency argument loses some merit when you end up injured anyway.”
“Everything’s about efficiency with you.”
“Survival requires efficiency. Sentimentality is expensive.” But even as I said it, I was remembering the rage that had flooded through me when she was wounded, the way I’d let corruption spread unchecked. That hadn’t been efficient. That had been pure reaction, and I didn’t know what to do with that information.
We stood there in the circle of death and growth—my corruption having killed everything, her power already reclaiming it. The contrast felt significant somehow. I wanted to move, to return to camp and the safety of routine, but something held me there.
“Kaelren?”
“What?”
“Thank you. For the save.” She was looking at me with an expression I couldn’t read. Not gratitude, exactly. Something more complicated. “I know you did it to protect Josephine’s investment or whatever justification you’re using, but… thank you anyway.”
“You would have survived without my intervention. The healing would have kicked in.”
“Maybe. But it would have hurt a lot more, and I might have panicked and done something stupid.” She flexed her shoulder experimentally. “So. Thanks.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to say more. The walk back to campstretched in silence, but it wasn’t the uncomfortable kind. Just… quiet. Contemplative.
When we arrived, the Sage was waiting at the camp’s edge, arms crossed, disappointment radiating from them like heat.
