He lowered her gently onto the grass. The robe slipped, revealing bruises, cuts, wounds that hadn't begun to heal. She was little more than a skeleton wrapped in battered flesh.
"Damn it…" He dragged a hand over his face. "What the hell did they do to you?"
Her body didn't answer.
He pressed his ear against her chest, searching desperately. There...faint, fluttering, barely holding on. A heartbeat. The sound both relieved and terrified him. She was alive, but only just.
"I don't like all this," he muttered through clenched teeth, scooping her back into his arms. Her body was limp against him, as though she had already surrendered. His feet carried them swiftly through the trees until the faint sound of running water reached him. Ahead, the stream gleamed in the waning light, its surface rippling like glass.
Kneeling at the edge, he took in her condition. Not only the wounds; marks from lashes, burns pressed cruelly into her skin but the hollowness of her cheeks, the parched cracks of her lips. Dehydration was killing her as much as the injuries. His jaw clenched. "Hold on…" he whispered, though she could not hear.
He stripped away the robe that hung useless over her and stepped into the stream, the cold water biting into his skin. With both arms he cradled her and submerged her body slowly, careful not to let her slip beneath. The water lapped against her frail form, running over bruises and burns like a balm that could never hope to heal such torment.
He tilted her head back, prying her lips apart with a gentle touch. Cupping water into his palm, he poured it into her mouth, coaxing her throat to swallow. Again, again, until droplets slid down her chin. Then, taking a risk, he carefully submerged her head, letting the current wash through her mouth and over her face. "Wake up," he urged, his voice breaking. He pressed her against him, pouring more water down, shaking her gently. "Wake up! Wake up!"
But Ellie did not move. Her body lay limp, lifeless in his grasp. His heart pounded wildly, fear pressing into his veins. He pressed his ear close again, still faint, but so weak it terrified him.
Seconds stretched like hours. Then, her chest convulsed. A ragged cough tore through her throat, and she spewed out blood into the stream, her body jerking violently. She writhed in his arms, back arching in pain, groaning through clenched teeth.
He almost dropped her in his panic, eyes widening. "No, no....don't do this." His grip tightened as if he could tether her to life with his arms alone. Watching her suffering twisted him inside out. Whoever had inflicted this, whoever had left her like this, he wanted to tear apart with his own hands. Rage surged, but it was useless rage. He couldn't fight shadows. Right now, he needed to save her.
"Seems I have no other choice…" His words came out like a vow, heavy with dread.
Still standing in the stream, he shifted her so her body floated gently on her back, her head supported by one of his arms. With the other, he brushed aside strands of damp hair plastered to her face and pressed his palm firmly against her forehead. His eyes closed. His breathing slowed. He began to summon what he had hoped to never reveal here.
The world stilled.
Breath by breath, he sank into the rhythm of his cultivation. His chest rose and fell in precise measure. He pulled air deep into his core, holding, shaping, releasing. Power stirred inside him...slow, steady at first, then building with every inhale, every exhale.
The sky responded. Clouds gathered with unnatural speed, swallowing the light. Grey swirled overhead, darkening until the forest itself seemed to shiver beneath the weight of his power. The gentle stream beneath them rippled in agitation, as though recognizing the force he drew from the world around him.
His hand glowed faintly, threads of energy winding out from his fingertips and sinking into her skin. He focused, every part of him pouring into the fragile body beneath his touch. He could feel the thready pulse of her spirit, flickering weak, trying to let go.
"Not yet," he whispered, tightening his hold on her back. "I won't let you go."
The process demanded everything. His veins burned as though set aflame, his muscles straining to keep the flow steady. Energy flowed out of him, spiraling into her. Slowly, her skin shifted. The pallor faded, color blooming faintly across her cheeks. Her lips, once cracked and ashen, deepened into a soft flush.
The air itself trembled. Birds took flight from the trees, scattering into the distance as the sky rumbled. His body ached, sweat pouring down his face, but he held firm, breathing in controlled precision. He is a high-rank cultivator...power such as his was not meant to be used carelessly. But in this moment, there was no care, only resolve.
Her chest hitched. Then again. A slow, shuddering inhale passed through her. Her fingers twitched faintly in the water. Relief tore through him so violently he almost broke his rhythm. But he held on, channeling the last threads of energy until he knew...knew...she was tethered back to life.
Then her lips moved, barely a breath, carried away by the rush of the stream. "…Lucas…"
His eyes snapped open, shock slicing through his exhaustion. "What?"
Her eyelids fluttered, though they did not open. Her lips trembled, and again, a whisper softer than the wind: "…Lucas…"
The name struck him, rendering him still. Questions pressed hard in his mind, but they could wait. For now, she was breathing...alive.
He exhaled slowly, finally releasing his hold on the technique. The glow faded from his palm, the clouds overhead thinning until light broke once more. His body sagged with fatigue, but he refused to let her slip.
Carefully, he carried her from the stream, water dripping from their clothes, the weight of exhaustion heavy but not unbearable. He laid her gently on the grass once more, staring at her face. Her beauty was buried beneath bruises, but not erased. He found his gaze caught by the curve of her lips, the softness returning to her cheeks. His hand hovered, trembling, nearly brushing her mouth. For a fleeting second, temptation pulled at him. But he pulled back sharply, jaw tight. Not like this. Not when she was helpless, broken.
Instead, he set himself to work. He gathered branches, constructing a small tent for shelter. His body ached with weariness, but he did not stop until the shelter stood steady enough to protect her. Once she was inside, lying on a bed of dried leaves, he left briefly to search. He found roots and berries, herbs tucked into the wild brush, and returned with arms full.
He lit a fire, drying their clothes, grinding herbs into poultices for her wounds. Every action was done with precision, his focus never leaving her for long. The thought of someone stumbling across them clawed at him, but he pushed it down.
As the firelight flickered across her resting face, he whispered into the quiet, "Who are you really? And why does fate insist I find you like this?"
His fists clenched in his lap. Whoever had done this to her...whoever had owned her...he prayed they never crossed his path. Because if they did, he would not hesitate.
For now, his only prayer was that his decision...to save her, to carry her away...would not come back to destroy them both.