Alph followed Nylessa into her partitioned space. The small wooden door stood ajar, heavy curtains scraped across its rod serving as the entrance. When he entered, the air shifted immediately, warmer now, holding body heat and the glow of a low oil lamp. Cedar cut through the mineral rot of basalt, a deliberate intrusion of civilization into stone. Her room was cramped: a bedroll bunched in one corner, a warped wooden chest beside it, shadows cast uneven across half her face.

  Nylessa sat on the bedroll with her knees drawn up, her arms wrapped around her shins. She didn't look at him.

  "Following me like a lost puppy now?" Her voice was sharp, each word a small blade. "What does Rook want? Did he send you to spy?"

  Alph closed the curtain behind him. The fabric muffled the ambient hum of the hideout. "He sent me to help. You're hurt."

  "I'm fine."

  She wasn't fine. Her left shoulder was rigid, the fabric of her tunic still clinging damp where the lightning had scored her skin. Her breathing was shallow, controlled in a way that suggested she was managing pain through discipline rather than recovery.

  Alph didn't argue. Instead, he asked quietly, "What did you see in there?"

  Nylessa's body went rigid. Her eyes, fixed on the dirt floor, didn't move. For a long moment, she didn't answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was hollowed out, stripped of its usual arrogance.

  "Children," she said. "There were children in the atrium. Bronze limbs grafted to small bodies. Arms. Legs. Replacements for flesh that should have stayed flesh. They weren't moving. The coffins were stacked in rows. Each one child-sized."

  Nylessa’s words twisted Alph’s stomach. He gritted his teeth, inhaling slowly through his nose to maintain control. He could not let her notice his reaction. Nylessa curled tighter, her fingers digging into her legs. She needed stability. Alph squared his shoulders, shoving the disgust down until his heartbeat evened out. His voice came out level when he spoke; no sympathy, no disgust, only focus.

  "Let me see the shoulder."

  Nylessa remained still. Alph waited. She finally pushed aside her cloak and pulled back the torn tunic from her left shoulder. The lightning burn had seared the skin in jagged branches, leaving charred flesh weeping fluid beneath. Surrounding tissue swelled crimson, fading to bruised purple at the edges.

  Alph knelt beside her. He positioned his hands a hand's width above the injury, careful not to touch. His will gathered in his chest, pooling behind his sternum like water behind a dam. He opened the channels, and the spell flowed.

  Emerald light from Nature's Mend spread across her shoulder. Alph intensified the flow, sacrificing willpower to amplify the healing. The sharp ozone stench dissipated, replaced by damp pine, then moss, then the rich scent of living greenery. Charred flesh darkened as the spell worked, edges retreating, swelling easing. His breathing turned shallow. Minutes passed. His hands trembled from maintaining the channel.

  Alph sensed Nylessa's mood lift a little bit, but not by much. He needed a distraction.

  "I didn't expect you to live here," he replied, matching her tone, offering her the distraction she needed. "Thought you'd have a room at one of the inns."

  "You think I want to live in a hole in the ground?" Her voice snapped back to its familiar edge, sharp and dismissive. "I'm saving for a house. A real house. With windows. Multiple windows. And a roof that doesn't leak rock dust into my bedroll."

  The words held no bite, just practiced theatrics. Her bratty facade rebuilt itself, layer by layer, burying the earlier vulnerability. The willpower expenditure exhausted Alph, but a slight smile touched his lips.

  When the healing was done, the burn was reduced to a faint discoloration, barely visible in the lamplight. Nylessa rotated her shoulder experimentally. She pulled her tunic back into place.

  Alph stood, brushing dirt from his knees. "I'm tired and it's late. Need to head back."

  Her eyes flickered with curiosity before she looked away. Neither spoke of destinations.

  He was halfway to the curtain when Nylessa called out, "Wait."

  She rose and crossed to the wooden chest, movements careful, still favoring her healed shoulder. She withdrew a bamboo scroll wrapped in faded leather cord, weathered and heavy. The scroll seemed misplaced in the cavern's grime, like something carried from another world.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  She tossed it to him. "Your reward, as promised."

  Alph caught it without thinking and unrolled the scroll, his eyes scanning the contents.

  "Only one?" He weighed it in his hands.

  "One job, one scroll. That's how it works." She folded her arms tight. "Help me next time, maybe I'll toss in a bonus." She hesitated, voice dropping. "And... thanks. For not making it awkward."

  Alph nodded. "Don't worry about it."

  He ignored her moment of vulnerability, preserving their fragile balance. The scroll slid into his satchel as he turned toward the curtain.

  Alph heard Nylessa settle back onto the bedroll, heard the blankets rustle as she pulled them around herself. He did not turn back.

  I finished my work and got my reward; nothing else should concern me, stop feeling sorry for her.

  Butter and salt filled the cavern kitchen, steam from the iron pot coiling into the damp air. Rook stirred the mashed potatoes with slow, deliberate strokes of his wooden spoon. Orange light from the brazier danced on the basalt walls, casting long shadows across the dirt. He knew it was ready without tasting it; it was thick and creamy, exactly how she liked it. She always acted like she hated it, though.

  Heat seeped through the cloth into his calloused palms as he wrapped it around the bowl's rim. The walk to her room was short, but the bowl's weight stretched it. Mineral rot and damp earth gave way to buttery warmth.

  Rook knocked twice on her wooden door frame. Silence followed. A muffled "What?" came from inside.

  Rook drew the curtain back and stepped inside. Nylessa sat on her bedroll, arms crossed, back pressed to the cavern wall. Lamplight sharpened the defiant angles of her face, but exhaustion darkened her eyes. Her tunic's left shoulder remained damp where blood had soaked through, though the fabric no longer stuck to her skin.

  Rook set the bowl on the damp ground beside her bedroll. He reached for her shoulder. Nylessa remained still, allowing his inspection. The skin where the lightning had burned appeared pale under the lamplight. No mark remained.

  "The boy did good work," Rook said, approval in his voice. "Your shoulder looks clean, not even a scar remains."

  Nylessa gave a side glance. "I didn’t ask for your opinion."

  He ignored that. "That scroll you had me fetch from the village. It was for him, wasn’t it? Druid and Rogue variant. Haven't seen one of those in decades."

  Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t deny it. "So?"

  Rook exhaled. Stubborn as ever. He lowered himself to the dirt floor, deliberate, and left the bowl within reach. "Eat."

  "I’m not hungry."

  He kept quiet. The smell of potatoes thickened the air. She'd eat eventually. She always did.

  His eyes caught the emerald pendant on her neck, now visible. The stone was duller than usual, its vibrant green muted, like a banked fire. His stomach tightened.

  "The pendant," he said, voice quiet. "Its luster’s dimmed. You used it, right?"

  Nylessa jerked back, her fingers snapping shut around the emerald. The silence answered for her.

  Rook's jaw tightened. Cold dread coiled in his gut, familiar and unwelcome. He hated seeing her like this, vulnerable.

  "Do not worry about the pendant's luster," he said, voice softer than he intended. "The effects are not permanent."

  He reached out, his rough hand settling on her shoulder. The fabric of her tunic felt thin beneath his fingers, but he didn't squeeze. He let his touch convey reassurance.

  "The pendant was given to you for a reason. You used it as intended. You did what you had to do, given the circumstances of the mission. Next time we return to the village, Elder Lovia can recharge it for you. She always has."

  She didn’t look at him. "If that were true," she muttered, voice raw, "my parents wouldn’t have abandoned me."

  Rook’s chest ached. He opened his mouth, then closed it. The words—They did not abandon you. They sent you away to protect you—were not his to speak. Not yet.

  A low grumble sliced through the quiet, Nylessa's stomach a thunderous declaration. Her face flushed, the pale blue hue of her skin turning shade of purple. Rook nudged the bowl closer.

  Rook watched her, the weight of the unspoken pressing down. "If you don’t," he said, casual, "I’ll have to mention it to brother Sourash."

  Nylessa's eyes widened. Her breath hitched. She snatched the bowl, clutching it like a shield. "Don't. Please." The spoon clinked against the bowl as she stirred the potatoes, the sound too loud in the small space. "If you tell him, he'll make me go back. He won't let me leave the village again."

  She always caved at the mention of Sourash. He was strict with her in ways Rook never could be, and she knew it. That’s why she acted willful in front of him but never in front of Sourash.

  His hand rose, settling atop her grey hair, rough fingers smoothing the short strands with the careful tenderness of a man who'd watched her grow from a frightened child into something fierce. Something worth protecting.

  Rook smiled. "Alright. I won't."

  He leaned back against the cavern wall, the cold seeping through his tunic. He didn’t take his eyes off her. But his thoughts were bitter, worn thin by years of powerlessness.

  How much longer would she have to suffer for politics she didn't choose?

  The answer, he suspected, was longer than either of them could bear.