Erindor slumped against the fractured column, his breath ragged, one arm pressed tight against his splintered ribs as if his sheer will alone somehow mended the bone beneath. His discarded armor lay in a scattered heap at his feet. Blood had soaked through his tunic in a deep, spreading stain.
His head rose slowly as I approached, his face haggard from weariness, but a gentle light bloomed in his eyes. And in that moment, with the ruin of battle all around us, it said what neither of us could.
“You’re hurt,” I said softly as I reached him.
“I’m fine,” he replied, but he didn’t stop me when I knelt beside him and reached for the edge of his shirt.
“Let me see.”
His jaw flexed, but he let me lift the fabric. I sucked in a breath. A gash curved beneath his ribs, angry and red, still weeping at the edges.
“Fine!” I echoed. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not a reason to let it get infected. So, sit down.” I demanded, my eyes fixed on him before adding, “Now.”
For a moment, it seemed like he might argue. But then his jaw tightened, and he lowered himself onto a chunk of fallen stone with slow, grudging compliance.
He watched me with that unnerving stillness of his, the kind that always made me feel like I was being studied, weighed, and judged all at once.
His skin was hot under my hands. Too hot.
I dipped the cloth into clean water and began to quietly work on the wound. My hands were gentle, but inside I was shaking. His breath hitched when I pressed too firmly, and I caught the subtle flinch he tried to hide, along with the slight, tensed pull of his shoulders as if he was refusing to show me the pain.
“You didn’t stop,” I whispered, not looking at him. “Even when he threw you. Even when you couldn’t stand straight. You still got up.”
His gaze searched mine for a moment, then his hand lifted. His fingers lightly brushed my temple, where Riven’s action of slamming me into the stone had split and made the skin tender. His touch was feather-light, causing my breath to halt but also flinch a little.
“I had to,” he breathed. “He was going to kill you.”
A sudden constriction tightened in my throat.
And the silence in the air seemed to hum.
“I would’ve died,” I said. “For all of you.”
“I know.” His voice was rough. “That’s why I couldn’t let it happen.”
I finished wrapping the bandage and placed my hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat pulse beneath my palm, steady and strong.
“You scared me,” I admitted. “You looked at him like you weren’t afraid to die.”
His eyes met mine, and something in them flickered. “I wasn’t.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?” he asked. “Because dying should scare me?”
“No,” I said, swallowing hard. “Because I fear losing you.”
He stared at me as if I’d knocked the wind out of him. Like I was the blade now, cutting too close: “You spared him.”
I nodded.
“Why?”
My fingers curled where I had placed them on his chest.
