Deadric dragged the girl with unsteady steps, his body swaying under the moonlight. Soft but sharp whimpers escaped her lips. The wound at the base of her thigh was still open, leaving a wet trail on the cobbled street. The legs that were supposed to be there—were gone.
He lifted her, not gently, but no longer as brutal as before. There was a brief pause in his movement, like a flicker of awareness piercing through the haze of alcohol.
As he pushed open the door to his usual inn, the room—once filled with chatter and the stench of booze—fell silent. Several heads turned, and the faces that had been laughing froze in confusion and horror.
"Oi, is that... is he carrying a corpse?" someone whispered from the corner.
"Shit... is that blood?"
Deadric didn't answer. His gaze was blank, his breathing heavy. He walked past them without a word, carrying the limp girl in his arms.
The innkeeper, a middle-aged woman usually full of chatter, fell silent at the sight of the girl's condition. But when Deadric glanced at her—his eyes red and dark—she stepped back without asking anything.
Deadric brought the girl to his usual room and laid her down on the bed. His movements were still rough, but more controlled. He sat in a chair, silent for a moment, then lowered his head and muttered with a hoarse voice that barely escaped his throat.
"Idiot... why did you have to end up like this…"
Cold night wind slipped through the cracks in the window, biting down to the bone. The room was silent, filled only by Deadric's heavy breathing and the soft moans of the girl lying on the bed—her skin pale, her face dirty with dust and dried blood, her hair tangled.
Deadric leaned his back against the wall, eyes almost closed. But then, a sound emerged—faint and barely audible, like a whisper slicing through the silence of night.
"...help..."
His eyes slowly opened, turning toward the source of the voice. His alcohol-drenched mind took a moment to grasp the meaning of the word.
The girl stirred, wincing from the pain of her still-bleeding stumps. Her hand gripped the bed sheet, her body trembling—struggling to endure the unbearable pain.
Deadric rose unsteadily, his steps staggering but his resolve intact. He reached into his coat, pulling out a modest healing salve. His gaze was cold as he approached.
"Don't move... or you'll die," he muttered, his voice deep and threatening.
He removed the dirty bandage covering the girl's stumps. Pinkish fluid mixed with blood trickled slowly, the scent of iron stabbing his nose. He cursed under his breath before applying the salve—not gently, but carefully enough to keep her alive.
The girl winced, enduring the pain, but said nothing.
Once finished, Deadric slumped into the chair, taking a deep, ragged breath. His body was exhausted to the core, his mind drowning in fog. Without a word, his eyes slowly shut, and sleep overtook him, worn down beyond his limits.
The room returned to silence, filled only by the sound of two heavy breaths—of two strangers caught in the depths of night.
That night, in a small quiet room, two lost souls were trapped—one fighting open wounds, the other drowning in the shadows of himself.
Morning crept through the small inn window, pale light sweeping across the still-dark room. Deadric opened his eyes slowly, his body heavy and head pounding—the remnants of a hangover not yet gone.
At first, his mind was foggy, buried under the weight of his headache. He struggled to move, adjusting to reality. But as his vision cleared, a figure lying in the bed beside him caught his attention.
A girl lay weakly, her face pale, hair a mess. The stumps of her legs were still raw, bandages soaked with drying blood. Her body looked fragile, like a shadow on the verge of fading.
Deadric sat still, chest tight. Guilt crept in, pressing down hard. Not because he feared losing a slave, but because of how broken she looked—and that he had let her suffer this far.
He took a long breath, sitting gently at the edge of the bed, fingers brushing against his aching temple. Inside, his thoughts spun between exhaustion and regret.
"Why the hell did I bring her here..." he murmured, voice low and hoarse, full of meaning.
He knew—in a world this cruel—even a sliver of kindness was a luxury he rarely allowed himself.
The room stayed quiet, filled only by their breaths and the faint rhythm of hearts still beating.
Time passed in silence. Then, a slight movement broke the stillness—the girl began to open her eyes, her gaze unfocused and confused. Her weakened body tried to move her arm, but pain held her back.
Deadric, sitting close to the bed, watched intently. When the girl fully opened her eyes, there was a faint flicker in them that made his heart beat just a bit faster—a feeling he rarely let himself feel.
He took a deep breath, looking at the girl with an expression no one else had ever seen from him. His voice was low and filled with weight as he spoke, "Wake up. This world is harsh, but I won't let you face it alone."
He held out a piece of bread with a slightly trembling hand, letting it touch her hand gently. "Eat this. You need strength. And I... I'll be here with you. Not just as your owner, but as someone who cares."
The girl's eyes widened, staring at Deadric—now different. No longer just hard and cold, but holding something warm and honest deep inside.
"You may have nothing now," Deadric continued, voice quieter and more sincere, "but here, I promise... you'll never be truly alone."
He held her gaze longer, as if trying to convey something through his sharp eyes now softened by warmth. His voice dropped lower, deeper.
"I know this world is cruel, and you may feel tired... but believe me, as long as I'm here, you'll never fall alone," he whispered.
His hand still gently held hers, offering a safety she'd never known.
"Whenever you feel weak, remember... there's someone who wants to see you survive—not as a slave, but as someone who matters," he said, voice full of hope and promise.
The girl stared at him, sensing a warmth she'd never expected, and a faint smile began to form on her dry lips.
The room felt more alive, filled with the subtle tremble of two souls slowly connecting.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking the bread in her hand, but she didn't care. Every bite was a struggle—not just against physical pain, but the suffocating weight in her chest.
Deadric looked away for a moment, rubbing his throbbing temple. But his eyes never left her for long. There was something in him shifting—a mix of duty and something deeper, something stirring that made him want to protect.
"It's okay," Deadric whispered softly, "take all the time you need."
The girl nodded weakly, trying to gather strength through the pain.
Silence returned to the room, but this time, it was filled with a faint hope beginning to grow.
Once she finished eating, Deadric let out a long sigh and stood carefully. He took a small box filled with medical supplies he'd always kept in the corner of the room.
With movements gentle but precise, he began removing the bandages from the girl's stumps. His eyes were serious, full of focus.
As he cleaned the wound with a damp cloth, he broke the silence with a low, firm voice, "You... what's your name?"
The girl looked down, hesitant. Her voice came out softly, unsure. "Calina... I think that's my name... I'm not sure," she answered, tone wavering like she was trying to remember something far away.
Deadric nodded slowly, his eyes meeting hers with meaning. "Then I'll call you Calina. It means 'warmth.' I hope you can feel that here."
The girl stared at him for a moment, lips trembling slightly, as if trying to accept something new.
Hearing her name spoken aloud, her lips quivered. For a few seconds, she said nothing, as if unsure how to react. But slowly, tears began to fall from the corners of her eyes. Her frail body trembled.
"Calina..." she whispered once more, tasting the meaning in the word.
Then she broke down in tears.