I tried to open my eyes, but the attempt only drove a sharp pain through my skull, pinning me in place. Before I could piece together what had happened, Mnex's voice echoed in my head.
"Congratulations, hero. Twelve hours out cold. A personal best. Sure, twenty seven was worse, but hey, progress is progress. Not that I'm keeping track or anything."
"Doyle?" My voice came out hoarse, scratchy, every word scraping past a throat that burned like fire. Talking felt like punishment.
I struggled to sit up on the rough camp cot, but a hand pressed firmly against my shoulder, forcing me back down.
"You need rest. Your friend's stable… for now."
I turned my head toward the voice. The old man from the cage sat nearby, watching me with weary eyes.
"You…" The words snagged in my throat, breath shallow and broken. "You were in… the same cage… what happened?"
He said nothing at first. Instead, he dipped a cloth into a bucket of water and laid it across my forehead.
"You've got a fever," he murmured. "Exhaustion. Get your strength back. I'll fetch you something to eat, then we'll talk."
He stepped out, leaving me alone with my throbbing head and ragged breathing. The tent was neither large nor small, just a weathered piece of canvas over a simple cot and a few broken stools. Blood and smoke still lingered in the air like stubborn memories.
When the old man returned, he carried a wooden tray with a steaming bowl of soup, a hunk of stale bread, and a cracked jug of water.
"You've been through hell, son," he said gently, setting it down beside me. "Eat first. We'll speak after."
My stomach growled at the sight of food. I didn't bother with a spoon, didn't even care if one was there. I wrapped my hands around the warm bowl and drank. My split lips stung, my throat burned, probably from the beating I'd taken… but I didn't stop. The emptiness inside me wasn't just hunger. It felt like my soul was starving.
Mnex's voice slid into my mind, lazy and sarcastic.
"Elegant as ever, Henry. Truly the future image of nobility."
I didn't lift my eyes from the soup. Not now…
The old man sat on a rickety stool, his expression quiet but heavy. "Your friend," he said after a moment, "he's badly hurt. My wife stopped the bleeding, cleaned the wound… she's no healer, but she knows her plants. He's sleeping now."
The tension in my chest loosened slightly. I lowered the bowl, my voice barely a whisper. "How bad?"
He hesitated. "Bad. But not fatal. Luck's on his side."
My hands trembled. I clutched the bowl tighter. Every thought screamed the same thing:
Your fault. If you were faster, stronger… if you hadn't told him the plan… he wouldn't be bleeding out now.
The man studied me, curiosity sharpening into suspicion. "You're not from the village. I'd know if you were. Yet you've got magic… and a resolve user at your side. At your age? Strange."
I drained the last of the soup, set the bowl back on the tray, and forced my voice steady. "We were just passing through."
He didn't buy it but didn't push. "Passing through, huh…" he muttered, then stood. "Rest. I'll let you know when he wakes."
When he left, silence settled over the tent, yet in my mind, I could still hear Doyle's ragged breathing, echoing like a ghost that refused to leave.
Mnex whispered, almost soft this time. "For someone planning to change the world, you're doing a terrible job keeping people alive."
I closed my eyes. He was right. And that truth hurt worse than the pain in my skull. Doyle shouldn't die. Not him. If there was one promise I'd keep in this cursed world, it would be that.
I sat up slowly, head pounding, vision swimming. My legs threatened to give out but I forced myself upright.
"What you're feeling is normal," Mnex said, and for once there was no mockery in his tone, just concern.
I pushed aside the tent flap, stepping into daylight that stabbed at my eyes. The world was a haze of dull pain and ringing ears. Villagers moved quietly among the makeshift camp, exhausted faces etched with a kind of hopelessness that looked all too practiced. Yesterday this place was a den of bandits and cages. Now it was a fragile settlement haunted by blood and ash. The stench of death clung faintly to the air, though the bodies had been buried or burned.
A small voice pulled me from my thoughts. "You…"
The little girl from the cage approached, hesitant steps kicking at the dirt. Her dress was ragged, her hair a tangled mess. Big eyes stared up at me, fear barely masking gratitude.
"You really saved us. Just like you promised." Her words quivered, stabbing straight through my chest. "Thank you."
I couldn't answer. I only nodded, guilt clawing at my insides. Her face, last night's terror mixed with today's fragile hope, overlapped in my mind. These people deserved to never feel fear again. Yet I couldn't even keep my own friend safe.
"Margery!" A woman's voice called out. A weary looking mother hurried over, bruised and battered but alive. "Forgive her," she said to me, voice rough. "We've all been through too much. She's still trying to understand."
"It's fine," I said softly, meeting her gaze. "You're safe now."
Her expression cracked, lips trembling, but no tears came. Maybe she'd already cried them all out. "They burned our village," she whispered. "The bandits killed my husband. The baron's men never came. Kayer… he let it happen. Our home's gone. We've got nothing left to go back to."
Around us, other villagers picked through scraps of their old lives. A cracked pot being scrubbed. A charred blanket folded. My gut twisted, anger simmering like hot iron.
This world's nobility poisons everything it touches. They steal, burn, and leave only ashes behind.
"Technically," Mnex chimed in dryly, "you're the one who left those ashes. But hey, let's not split hairs. You're still right. And yes, you're a noble too. Food for thought."
I almost smiled.
I took a deep breath, turning to face them all. "We're heading for Godfrey's Cross," I said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "If you want, you can come with us. The road's long, but safer together. Once we get there, we'll find you a place to live, to work, to start over."
Matilda's eyes flickered with uncertainty. "We'd hate to burden you. You've already done so much…"
Margery tugged at her mother's sleeve, then looked up at me. For the first time, fear was gone from her face, replaced by a fragile spark of hope.
"Let's go, Mama," she whispered.
Matilda drew in a shaky breath, then nodded. "All right… we'll go with him."
Later, I searched through the camp until I found Doyle. He lay face down on a cot in the old bandit leader's tent, pale, swaddled in bandages. The old man and his wife sat by his side.
"Child…" the woman said softly, hesitant. "We overheard you speaking with Matilda. If you don't mind… could we join you too? Our home's gone, and there's nowhere else to go."
I gave a tired nod. "Anyone's welcome. The road's long, but Godfrey's Cross will be safe."
For the first time, her face eased, a hint of relief breaking through the grief. She bowed her head. "Thank you."
She glanced at Doyle. "He'll wake soon."
I crouched by the cot, taking Doyle's hand gently. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I should've protected you."
His eyelids fluttered before he slowly opened them, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "Protected me, huh?" His voice rasped, thin and weak. "Who was supposed to protect who again?"
"It's my fault you're hurt," I muttered.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then chuckled softly. "If I told people what we've been through, no one would believe me. But this?" He tapped his bandaged shoulder with a faint smile. "This scar's proof. Finally got myself a heroic wound. Makes me look cooler, don't you think?"
I frowned. "You almost died, Doyle, and that's what you're worried about?"
A hoarse laugh escaped him. "I've never been wounded before, Henry. Now I've got a warrior's mark. A badge of honor to show the ladies."
His smile softened, voice dropping. "Don't be sad. Be glad. You saved these people. And we're both…" he took a slow breath, "still alive. Barely."
My eyes burned. Words failed me. I just squeezed his hand, silently vowing never to risk another friend's life again.
"Hey, hey," Mnex cut in. "I seem to remember you making a similar promise to me. Guess I rank lower than Doyle, huh?"
No, Mnex… you're different.
"Oh, different, huh? What's that mean? I'm not as important?"
I shook my head slightly. There aren't words for what you mean to me. But back then… it was just about money. This time… it was about their lives.
The tent fell quiet. Outside, villagers murmured softly, a campfire crackled in the distance. Mnex's voice came low, almost hesitant.
"You two idiots are going to make me feel emotions I don't even have."
And for the first time that day, a real smile tugged at my lips.