Neither Cerwin nor the witch spoke as Geoffrey cried his heart out. Even if they did speak, he wouldn't have heard them. The euphoria had numbed his senses to oblivion, and everything had been relegated to background noise. Even the pain in his chest seemed to have abated, if only for a moment, when it shouldn't have.
It was as if a weight he didn't know he had been shouldering was lifted, and he slumped over his knees, gripping the blanket of fur with so much strength that his knuckles turned white.
How could such a miracle be?
He didn't know, and didn't care to know.
Marveck was alive, and that was all that mattered.
"—Take deep breaths, and calm down." At some point, the witch's voice traveled to his ears, almost like a whisper carried by the wind. "You're about to hyperventilate."
A gentle hand stroked his back, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.
Minutes passed until Geoffrey regained control of his breathing, and he wiped the tears on his cheeks. As he did, he caught sight of a bowl of water. Cerwin was silently handing it to him, and he didn't refuse it. His throat felt parched. An iron taste also lingered in his mouth.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Cerwin didn't say anything in response, only patting his shoulder.
He took a sip, and the cold water slowly soothed his burning throat.
Rationally, Geoffrey knew Marveck was alive; emotionally, it was hard to swallow. Someone he had thought wasn't of this world anymore had never actually departed it, and was, on the contrary, safe and sound. It was difficult to accept. If anything, a part of him couldn't fully believe it, and probably never would, unless he saw his unit leader with his own two eyes.
That was, if they ever met again.
Knowing that he's alive is already more than enough. Geoffrey let out a soft sigh. Don't be greedy.
"Now that you've composed yourself," the witch reminded him of his presence, "would you mind taking that deep breath for me?"
Snapping his head toward the witch, Geoffrey momentarily froze. The witch's smile wasn't so much of a smile, and once his brain registered the sight, he quickly nodded. That smile held too many similarities to Marveck's, and his survival instincts kicked in.
Still holding onto the bowl of water, Geoffrey tapped his fingers on it as he inhaled as much air as he could, which wasn't much. If he forced it, he knew another violent coughing fit awaited him, so he stopped before his lungs started to protest. His chest barely heaved.
"…Can you do it a second time?" The witch moved the stethoscope to the other side of his chest, and Geoffrey obliged. The man repeated the process on his back, and a groan left him as he lowered his arm. "I can hardly hear anything."
"That's not a good sign, I presume?" Cerwin asked.
"Of course not!" The witch threw daggers at the mountain spirit, who immediately lowered his head in shame. Geoffrey blinked. Was Cerwin getting scolded? "If I can't hear anything, it means his lungs are most likely filled to the brim with liquid! Breathing must be torture for him right now. Cerwin, you should have come fetch me much, much sooner…!"
"Is it too late…?"
"Most likely, yes!" The witch pinched his lips, his clenched fists trembling. "I don't have the necessary tools to perform a surgery and remove the liquid that has built up in his lungs. The miners blew up our underground clinic, and everything's been buried. If the infection had been taken care of earlier, it could have been treated with medicine, and he'd have made a full recovery. Why did you wait until it got to a point where a miracle would be needed to save him…? Witches aren't gods!"
"Don't be too harsh on him," Geoffrey interrupted, a meek smile on his lips. "I was the one who didn't want him to ask for your help. He was just respecting my wishes."
"Well, he shouldn't have." The witch scoffed, passing the cardigan over Geoffrey's thin shoulders. "That fool is old enough to know when and when not to listen to a youngster."
Geoffrey couldn't help but chuckle, fastening the cardigan around his upper body like a second blanket. The sleeves were puffy and long enough to cover the tips of his fingers. The wool was warm, too, and tightly woven, making him feel like he was wrapped in a cocoon.
"Don't laugh. This is no laughing matter." The witch flicked his finger on Geoffrey's forehead, just above his brow. "We're talking about your life, not the weather!"
Another chuckle was all the witch got as an answer.
"Solange," Cerwin called, "do you have something to lessen the pain, at the very least? I ran out of willow bark yesterday. It also didn't seem to be as effective lately."
"Yes, I have a few things that can help in my room." The witch nodded as he folded his stethoscope. "I was about to recommend that you two come over. Your dwelling isn't bad per se, but it's not adapted for a patient whose lungs are about to give up on them." Solange paused, arching an eyebrow as he threw a half-amused, half-annoyed glance at the dumbfounded Geoffrey. "Oh, you, don't look at me like that. My people won't mind. I'm already sheltering a soldier in my room, anyway, so what's one more and a mountain spirit?"
A soldier…? Geoffrey's heart skipped a beat. That has to be Marveck, right?
If it were truly his unit leader, could he dare entertain the foolish hope of meeting him one last time?
And offer him a final goodbye?
***
The biting cold of winter air whipped his skin as Geoffrey curled up in Cerwin's arms. He was bundled up in his cardigan and the blanket, but that wasn't enough, and small coughs kept shaking his body whenever he breathed.
"We're just about to arrive," Solange said. "Hold on for a bit longer."
Peeking over Cerwin's shoulder, Geoffrey stared at the witch, who had no difficulty whatsoever following behind them despite the steep, slippery slope. He wasn't covered in layers of clothes either, yet the cold didn't seem to bother him. Admittedly, the mountain spirit couldn't care less, too, as he was still only wearing that thin, revealing dress of his.
"There we go," Solange announced as he pulled on an unassuming dead sapling. A moment later, a rumble resounded as a boulder slid to the side, revealing the entrance to a corridor that led deep inside the mountain. "Follow me, and don't go astray. The maze has changed over the years, so even you, Cerwin, could get lost. To be honest, I'm surprised you didn't when you came knocking on our door earlier."
"Witch, the mountain is and will always be my domain."
At the reminder, Solange's shoulders stiffened, and Geoffrey threw a puzzled gaze at Cerwin. How could it always be his domain if he was dying? But he decided not to ask, for it might not be something the mountain spirit wanted others to know. He also wasn't so sure about the underlying meaning behind his words.
So, he pretended not to have heard anything and leaned his head against Cerwin's shoulder instead, his eyes half-closing. He was too tired to speak, anyway.
Their footsteps echoed in the silent corridor. Crystals embedded in the wall glowed as they made their way further inside until, ultimately, they reached an opening.
"Oh, Solange, you're back! So, what did the—" The woman stopped talking mid-sentence, and Geoffrey curiously peered at her.
She looks shocked. So, maybe not every witch was at ease with scolding a mountain spirit? Was Solange the odd one in the lot? He couldn't help but scrutinize the young man again. The witch oozed confidence: he held his back straight and his chin high, his eyes piercing, unlike the woman whose head was lowered.
"They will be staying in my room with Marveck." Solange waved her concerns away. "You can tell the others. Not like anyone has the guts to loiter around my room, to begin with. Also, how has the excavation been going? Have you made any advancement? I know I've said it before, but I need those tools now."
"Well, it's not going as smoothly as we'd have liked…"
"Is that so?" A sigh, and Solange massaged his temples. "We'll talk about it later. I have to lay down a patient first."
With a tilt of his head, he gestured toward the half-hidden Geoffrey in Cerwin's arms, and only then did the woman dare lift her gaze to meet his. Her mouth fell agape as she brought a hand to her lips, something akin to pain welling in her eyes as she stared at his emaciated face. Self-consciousness made Geoffrey shrink into himself, embarrassment tainting his cheeks red.
"Oh, my poor child! He's just skin and bones…!"
She repeated the same words Solange had said in Cerwin's dwelling, and even if Geoffrey would have liked to refute her, he knew he couldn't, not when his cheekbones seemed about to pierce his skin. It wasn't because Cerwin hadn't been feeding him. No, he even hunted birds for dinner, despite his aversion to killing living beings.
At the thought, a memory followed, and Geoffrey instinctively gripped Cerwin's dress tighter.
The first time Cerwin brought a bird to him, his downcast expression carried so much sorrow it felt like an arrow had pierced his heart. He had been bedridden with a slight fever at the time, and the mountain spirit had to pluck the feathers and prepare the meat himself. The bird was cut and cooked, presented to him alongside some dried vegetables. Cerwin hadn't said a word.
Even if he hadn't been hungry at the time, Geoffrey had forced himself to eat.
It was just that no matter what he ate, he threw it up and kept losing weight.
"As you can see, yes, he is." Solange sneered, a touch of annoyance in his voice. Against who? Geoffrey couldn't tell. "Can you ask Veronica to prepare some light soup? I fear his stomach can't hold anything too substantial for the time being."
"Yes, right away!" The woman turned on her heels and disappeared, leaving a dumbfounded Geoffrey behind. She didn't even ask who he was, nor did she seem to care, either. Cerwin appeared to have shocked her, but beyond that…
"It's a little cramped," Solange's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, "but welcome to my humble abode."
The sound of a squeaking door echoed, and a tidy room appeared behind. The walls were lined with bookshelves, encasing two twin beds and a massive desk. The smell of medical herbs assaulted Geoffrey's nose, and he instinctively pinched his nostrils, feeling nauseous.
"You're back already?" Geoffrey's ears perked up at the familiar voice, and his heart leaped to his throat. "What the… I thought spirits didn't exist."
"Well, you thought wrong." Solange snorted as he signaled to his guests to enter so that he could close the door behind them. "I said we don't worship spirits; I never said they didn't exist."
"You little—wait, Geoffrey?"
Marveck stood up, putting the book he had been reading on the desk before scrambling closer to his subordinate. Only his sunken face could be seen in that bundle of fur, but it was hard to miss the strands of ginger hair.
His lips curled up in a smile, and Geoffrey nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
There was a short moment where everything seemed to be at a standstill, then his unit leader stretched a hesitant hand to touch his face. Geoffrey noticed a finger was missing. Scars littered his hands and arms, the white marks unmistakable.
Still, Marveck looked healthy. If anything, he appeared even healthier than before the tragedy, having gained weight. His skin appeared smoother, and his brown hair, tied at the nape of his neck, more lustrous. Exhaustion also wasn't pulling his face taut, and life seemed to have returned to his eyes, giving his gaze a light he had never seen before.
"You look well," Geoffrey said with a smile.
"And you look terrible!" Marveck didn't mince his words and shot a glare at Solange. "What happened?"
"Why are you asking me?" The witch's mouth twitched. "Your subordinate is just as stubborn as you and didn't want witches to treat him, and here we are! I swear! Soldiers and their useless pride!"
Geoffrey could feel Marveck's calloused hand tense on his cheek. His unit leader had always been smart, and he had a hunch he had already figured out what exactly had transpired. The stern, paternal gaze he threw at him also validated that thought. So, he averted his eyes and mumbled in a small voice, "I didn't have the right to ask witches for their help, and I still don't have it. It's Cerwin who asked for Solange's help, not me."
"And I should have asked earlier." The mountain spirit's grip tightened, and Geoffrey was pushed against his chest a bit more. He didn't complain, however. He had grown used to being in Cerwin's arms and leaning against his chest. "It's my fault."
"It definitely is!" Solange didn't spare Cerwin, his sharp voice startling Geoffrey. The witch gestured to one of the beds and ordered in a tone that wouldn't allow disobedience, "Make yourself useful and put him down here. I want to check on his lungs one more time. Also, Marveck, we'll have to share a bed for a while. The others won't be at ease if your comrade sleeps elsewhere, and I'm not sleeping on the floor."
"As long as you don't grab my dick, I don't really care."
"Don't get a hard-on against my butt, then."
What…? His cheeks and ears felt as though they had been set on fire, and Geoffrey looked back and forth between his unit leader and the witch, uncertainty widening his eyes.
"Oh, come on!" Marveck stroked Geoffrey's defined cheekbone with his thumb one last time before taking a step aside, allowing Cerwin to walk to the bed. He didn't comment on the bright shade of red that had crept onto Geoffrey's face. "Sol, are you still holding a grudge?"
"What do you think?" Solange rolled his eyes as he flipped the blankets on one side, shifting his attention back onto Cerwin. "Lay him here. And—"
The witch's eyes grew wide as dark blood dripped from Cerwin's nose, cascading on his lips and chin. Geoffrey instinctively brought the blanket of fur under the mountain spirit's nose, expertly grabbing the back of his head so that he didn't throw it backward.
Cerwin never learned.
"I told you to keep your head lowered!" Geoffrey scolded, his brow furrowed. "You know your stomach gets upset when you let the blood fall into your throat and swallow it, don't you?"
"I know, but the blanket and the cardigan…"
"Both can be washed!" Geoffrey narrowed his bright green eyes. "I don't want you to start throwing up blood on top of your nosebleed!"
Rushed footsteps resounded to his left, and Geoffrey turned his head toward Solange, who had grabbed towels and was handing them over to him. His hands were trembling. So, it is normal to panic when a spirit has a nosebleed. A mocking thought that made Geoffrey grit his teeth. He had been hoping, oh-so-dearly, that the anxiety surging in the pit of his stomach was unfounded. Now he knew for sure it wasn't.
"What's going on?"
Pursing his lips, Geoffrey didn't answer, but took the towels and pressed them under Cerwin's nose. Thankfully, it wasn't a heavy nosebleed this time.
"Cerwin, please!" Solange's voice sounded frantic, and Geoffrey felt a lump form in his throat. It reminded him too much of his own despair. "Tell me what's going on."
"I'll be joining my siblings soon. That's all."
"But you… You're the last one remaining! You can't—!" The witch bit his bottom lip, and his voice grew faint. "You can't also disappear. Please, not you too."
The mountain spirit didn't answer.
He didn't need to, for his silence spoke of a thousand words.