The sound of Rowan's sword hitting the ground still seemed to hang in the air.
Dry.
Final.
He remained bent forward for a moment, his hand pressing against his thigh as the pain surged again, pulsing outward as if the muscle itself refused to go on.
The circle of soldiers, once murmuring and laughing, was now quiet.
Watching.
Truly watching.
There was no more open mockery—but neither was there acceptance. It was that heavy kind of silence where men still hadn't decided what to think.
Lyra stood before him.
Sword still in hand.
Eyes fixed.
She didn't look impressed.
But she didn't look indifferent either.
Just… evaluating.
Rowan exhaled slowly.
His hand still braced against his leg.
His whole body asking for rest.
He began to move.
Slowly.
Instinctively.
Not to attack.
Not to continue.
But to leave.
One step.
That was all.
His leg answered with pain, but held.
He didn't look at anyone.
Not even at Lyra.
He just took the first step.
And then—
— One more step without my permission…
Her voice cut through the space with precision.
Cold.
Clear.
— …and I'll have you killed where you stand.
Rowan froze mid-motion.
The silence returned, heavier than before.
Some soldiers exchanged quick glances.
Others simply watched.
Waiting.
Rowan stood still for a second.
Breathing.
The pain still there.
His body urging him to keep walking.
But he knew.
This wasn't about walking.
He turned his head slightly toward her.
Unhurried.
— May I leave?
The question came out simple.
No challenge.
No exaggerated submission.
Just… direct.
A small silence settled between them.
And then—
Lyra smiled.
Slowly.
A smile that held nothing gentle.
— Now you may.
A few soldiers let out low chuckles.
Others simply looked away.
Rowan gave a slight nod.
And started walking again.
Another step.
This time permitted.
The circle slowly opened before him.
But before he could take a third—
— My lady.
The voice came from outside the circle.
Firm.
But respectful.
A woman stepped forward through the soldiers, making space with her body without waiting for them to fully yield.
Simple clothes.
Hands stained with herbs and dried blood.
A steady gaze.
She stopped a few steps from Lyra.
— Permission to speak.
Lyra turned her head slowly.
Observing.
Measuring.
One second.
Two.
Then she gave a minimal nod.
— Speak.
The healer didn't waste time.
— If he isn't treated now… — she gestured slightly with her chin toward Rowan — he may lose the use of his leg.
Silence.
Some soldiers looked back at Rowan.
Now with a different kind of attention.
Less judgment.
More calculation.
Lyra shifted her gaze to him.
From the leg.
To his face.
Expression unreadable.
Rowan was already looking at the woman.
Instinct.
Nothing more.
She was a way out.
Maybe the only one.
And he started walking toward her.
Without thinking.
One step.
— I just said—
Lyra's voice came lower now.
More dangerous.
Rowan stopped.
Again.
His body locked mid-motion.
She stepped forward.
Close enough for all to see.
— Do you have a habit of forgetting who gives the orders?
The silence around them tightened completely.
Rowan exhaled slowly.
The pain still there.
But now something else as well.
He turned fully back toward her.
— May I go?
This time, clearer.
More aware.
Lyra held his gaze for a few seconds.
Long enough to unsettle anyone watching.
Then the smile returned.
Slow.
Subtle.
Dangerous.
— You may.
A pause.
Her eyes slid briefly toward the other soldiers.
— Take it easy.
A few muffled laughs slipped out.
Rowan didn't react.
He simply gave a small nod.
Then turned again.
This time walking toward the healer.
She was already beside him, ready to help, slipping his arm over her shoulder without asking.
— Move.
He shifted his weight.
His leg protested.
But he kept going.
As they passed through the circle, the looks had changed.
They weren't the same as before.
Some still held contempt.
Others… something different.
Harder to name.
Behind them, Lyra watched.
Motionless.
Until she spoke, without raising her voice:
— Take good care of him.
The healer paused for a brief moment.
Turned her head slightly.
— I will.
Lyra tilted her head, satisfied.
— I expect you to.
Then she turned away.
As if it no longer mattered.
But not before casting one last look at Rowan.
Short.
Precise.
Like someone who hadn't finished understanding something—
and had no intention of letting it slip away.