Still what? Still mine to protect, even though she isn't mine at all? Still connected to my magic in ways I don't understand and probably shouldn't explore?
I push through the door without knocking. Zurkar glances up from his work with knowing violet eyes but says nothing. And there, on the sleeping platform beneath layers of furs, Serah watches me with those sharp amber-hazel eyes that see too much.
Our gazes lock across the room, and something in my chest settles.
Like finding home in the middle of chaos.
Like standing at the edge of something terrifying and inevitable.
Like falling.
5
SERAH
The fever breaks on the fourth day.
I wake without that cottony thickness filling my head, without fire crawling beneath my skin. The pain in my side has dulled to something manageable—a deep ache instead of the sharp agony that made breathing feel like punishment. For the first time since collapsing in that canyon, my thoughts arrange themselves in proper order.
Which means I can finally assess my situation clearly.
I'm alive. That fact alone defies every expectation I carried through those desperate days of running. The infected wound should have killed me. Exposure should have killed me. The thing hunting me through the darkness should have killed me.
Instead, I'm wrapped in soft furs that smell like herbs and smoke, wearing clean clothes that aren't mine, in a structure carved partially into canyon rock. The walls are decorated with woven tapestries and weapon racks. Firelight flickers from somewhere nearby, casting shadows that dance across the ceiling.
And there are orcs here who haven't hurt me yet.
The "yet" matters. It's the only thing that matters, really. Because kindness always has a price, especially when it comes from creatures strong enough to break you without effort.
Lola arrives as morning light filters through the doorway, carrying a tray of food that actually smells appetizing. Roasted meat, some kind of grain porridge, sliced fruit I don't recognize.
"You're awake." She sets the tray beside me with that same careful gentleness she's shown since I regained consciousness. "How do you feel?"
Like I've been trampled by something large and angry. Like every muscle in my body is made of bruised rope. But the fever's gone, and that counts for something.
"Better," I manage. My voice sounds rough from disuse.
"Good." She settles onto a low stool near the sleeping platform, folding her hands in her lap. "Zurkar says you're healing well. The infection is clearing. In a few more days, you should be able to move around without risk of tearing anything open."
Moving around. The concept feels foreign after so many days of horizontal existence. But staying immobile makes me vulnerable, keeps me trapped in this single room with no knowledge of exits or defenses.
"I can move now," I say carefully.
Lola's expression shifts into something that might be amusement. "You can try. But if you collapse in the middle of the settlement, Zurkar will be extremely irritated with both of us."
The settlement. That's what she calls it—not a camp, not a stronghold, but a settlement. Like it's permanent. Like these orcs have built something meant to last beyond temporary survival.
"How big is it?" I ask.
"The base?" She considers. "Maybe three hundred people total, including children and elders. We're built into the westerncanyon system, protected on three sides by rock. The eastern approach is heavily guarded."
Three hundred. That's smaller than I expected. Vulnerable, maybe, if someone attacked with enough force.
Stop. Stop calculating escape routes and potential weaknesses. You're barely strong enough to walk, let alone run.
"Eat something," Lola urges, gesturing toward the tray. "You need to rebuild your strength."
I pick at the food slowly, testing how my stomach handles solid meals after days of broth and medicinal water. Everything tastes better than it should. The meat is seasoned with unfamiliar spices that warm my throat. The porridge is creamy and rich. Even the fruit carries a sweetness that feels almost decadent.
