The nurse cleared her throat.
"Well, that's something we can manage," she said, responding to Andreas's need for food. Have your meal here first; subsequently, we will determine your stability.
Andreas blinked, as if remembering his body needed nourishment. He glanced at the nurse, afterward at his mother's worried face, and let out a sheepish sigh.
"…right," he admitted.
Margaret relaxed, though her hand remained on his arm as the nurse guided him back toward the nearest bed. Someone had already prepared a tray on the side table: a shallow bowl of clear broth, a heel of bread, and a cup of watered wine.
He sat down and ate. The first mouthful of broth felt almost unbearably hot and salty on his tongue, and the bread turned to a dense lump in his throat, but he forced himself to finish every bite. All the while, he was aware of his family watching—Clara twisting her braid between nervous fingers, Julian pretending not to hover, Margaret cataloging every tremor in his hands.
He left the wine untouched after realizing it was alcohol, and he leaned back with a quiet sigh. It wasn't much, but the warmth in his belly made him a little more lively.
"Better," he murmured, offering them an awkward smile.
Margaret gave a small nod. "I brought fresh clothes," she said, gesturing to the folded garments stacked on a chair at the foot of the bed. "When you're ready."
He glanced down at the plain hospital tunic and the bare skin of his ankles, aware of how exposed he was. "Thank you," he said, grateful.
Clara ducked her head, her eyes darting away, and Julian made a show of studying a distant crack in the plaster.
With their help, Andreas changed into a clean linen shirt and soft trousers the color of dark brown. A dark wool coat followed, smelling of home—sun-warmed stone, and lavender soap. He ran his palm over the coarse fabric, comforted by the weight of it around his shoulders.
"You look more yourself," Margaret said, pressing a hand to his cheek.
The nurse excused herself and tended to her other duties. She took the tray along with the dishes and slipped from the room, the door swinging shut behind her with a muted click.
For a moment, there was only the hush of the ward and the soft, uncertain breathing of his family.
The hinges groaned again.
Kaelin stepped inside, and it was as though the temperature dropped a degree.
Her presence carried a certain weight—one that made even seasoned officers stand straighter. Her movements were deliberate and precise as she approached. The lamplight caught the polished brass buttons of her uniform, fitted across her chest, tapering at the waist before flaring in crisp pleats to mid-thigh. Wide epaulets marked her rank, the gold embroidery on their edges catching in the light as she shifted two slim blue volumes in her gloved hand.
A gold medal hung neatly over her heart, proof she was one of the Awakened.
"Andreas." Her voice was low and precise, carrying easily across the ward. "I'm glad to see that you recovered enough to stand."
He studied her, searching for hidden sentiments behind the formality. Despite everything, her composure unsettled him more than any open hostility might have. How could she look so unbothered—so perfectly composed—while carrying books like those?
"Captain Kaelin," he murmured, inclining his head to show respect.
Without preamble, she extended a folded letter, sealed in blue wax stamped with the crest of the General Staff. She said evenly, "They summoned you for a debriefing."
Margaret's hand came up to rest lightly on Andreas's shoulder as if she might shield him. "He's barely on his feet," she began, but Kaelin raised a hand in quiet assurance.
"No immediate travel is required," she said. "I'm only here to deliver the summons—and to convey the Command's recognition of your…exceptional skill."
Andreas blinked, unsure whether to laugh or grimace. Skill, he echoed inwardly. If they knew how much of it had been luck—and desperation—they might not have sounded so impressed.
Kaelin's mouth curved in the faintest suggestion of a smile. "More than your regiment noted your actions," she continued. "And though the cost was high, there are few who could have done what you did."
He swallowed, unable to meet her eyes. Behind him, he felt Julian shift uncomfortably.
Then Kaelin lifted the two slim books she held in her other hand. Their covers were rich blue, the color striking against her black gloves.
"These," she said, "are yours as well. They contain two very powerful spells. It's very impressive that a soldier managed to get his hands on them."
He hesitated before taking them, glancing at the gilded titles embossed along the spines. How had she come by these? He hadn't seen them since the night everything went to hell. Did she know their contents and the reason for their being locked away?
When he finally accepted them, their weight felt out of proportion to their size—as though they were already a burden he wasn't sure he was ready to bear. He realized, uncomfortably, that her calm gaze made him feel like a child again, caught holding something he shouldn't.
"You'll have time to recover," she whispered. "No one expects you to return to duty tomorrow. But a week should be enough."
"Sure…" Andreas finished hoarsely, closing his fingers around the blue volumes.
She inclined her head again. "Good."
Kaelin's attention shifted to Margaret and the others, her smile turning almost mischievous instead of kind. "You should be proud," she told them. "Your son has shown remarkable fortitude, and I hope to know him better."
Margaret nodded slowly, her fingers curling protectively around the edge of Andreas's coat. "Thank you," she said, though her voice trembled.
Kaelin turned back to Andreas, her eyes clear and unreadable. Does she enjoy watching me squirm? He wondered, heat prickling in his ears.
"Rest as much as you can," she advised. "We will expect your report at thirteen forty."
With that, she pivoted on one polished heel and strode back through the doorway, the hem of her green coat whispering against the tiles.
Only when the door closed behind her did Andreas remember to breathe. He looked down at the books again, trying to ignore the uneasy twist in his gut.
Why did she come herself, when any courier or soldier could have brought a letter? he wondered, his fingers tightening on the blue volumes.
And why give these back to me, of all people? She knows exactly what's in them.
He exhaled shakily. No, considering the scary thing I fought this isn't going to be some chill isekai where I get to make friends. I might have to make some plans to survive.
The idea made him grimace; nothing was more exhausting than thinking three steps ahead of everyone else.