Eiden slept.
Not lightly, nor peacefully, but in a profound, unmoving stillness that felt less like rest and more like suspended time. For three long days, the castle existed in a strange stasis—a quiet shaped by routine, worry, and the unspoken weight of knowing the strongest among them lay broken.
Day One:
Each morning, Reia pushed open the door to Eiden's chambers with careful, rhythmic steps. Lantern light washed over his prone form—white hair spilling across the pillow like silk, chest rising in a faint, mechanical cadence, his fingers twitching only when his mana stirred in the deep.
She checked his pulse, his temperature, and the erratic pulse of his aura. Every time, she whispered the same jagged prayer: "Wake up soon… idiot." She would brush a stray strand of hair from his brow, then slip back into the shadows.
Deep within the castle's windowless war room, Yajin and Civilar sat over a map stretched across a table of scarred oak. It was marked with the geography of their campaign—villages lost, corrupted beasts purged, enemy outposts erased from existence.
Yajin leaned back, boots heavy on the table. "So, what's the move?"
Civilar tapped a dagger against a strategic X. "We wait. Eiden's the only one with the output to handle the next target. Without him, we're just walking into a meat grinder."
Yajin groaned. "I know. Doesn't mean I like sitting in the dark."
Civilar smirked, the blade of his dagger catching the light. "You never did."
In the stone courtyard, Uzak'me and Ou'weii sparred in silence. It wasn't about growth; it was about maintenance—keeping the body sharp so the mind wouldn't wander. Their blades clashed with a muffled ring, sparks dying in the cold air.
"You worried?" Ou'weii asked during a clinch.
Uzak'me parried, his expression a mask of stone. "He'll wake. He always does."
Ou'weii nodded, though his eyes remained troubled. "Yeah. But still."
Day Two:
Reia returned. Eiden remained a statue of flesh and bone. She stayed longer this time, sitting on the edge of the bed with her elbows on her knees, watching him with a cocktail of frustration and dread.
"You better not die," she muttered to the silence. "I'll kill you if you do."
In the war room, the tension finally snapped. Yajin slammed a fist into the table. "I'm bored out of my mind!"
Civilar didn't look up from his scrolls. "Then go spar with Ou'weii."
"He's busy!"
"Then spar with Uzak'me."
"He's meditating! Everyone is busy being still!"
Civilar finally looked up, his voice cold. "Then sit down and shut up."
Yajin hurled a chair across the room. It shattered against the masonry, but Civilar didn't even flinch. The air in the castle grew heavier, more viscous, as if the building itself were holding its breath.
Day Three:
The third day arrived with a different texture. The silence was no longer hollow; it was expectant.
Reia checked on him at dawn. He was still under, but his aura flickered—a brief, pale spark like a dying star catching its second wind. She froze, her breath hitching. "…soon," she whispered.
No one left the grounds. Even Yajin stopped his pacing, opting instead to sit by the hearth like a caged predator. They ate a silent dinner of roasted vegetables and bread Civilar had baked out of a restless need to do something with his hands.
Night fell, and the castle dimmed.
In Eiden's room, a single red candle burned on a bedside stand. Its flame swayed in a draft that shouldn't have been there, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone walls.
Then—his eyes snapped open.
Grey. Sharp. Alive.
He inhaled sharply, sitting upright in a single fluid motion. His gaze swept the room, taking in the amber glow and the scent of the healing herbs Reia had left behind. His body felt heavy, anchored to the earth, but the fire in his veins was returning.
He looked down at the soft white robe draped over him. Where are my clothes?
He scanned the shadows and found them neatly arranged on a wooden chair: his black cloak, cleaned and folded; his robe, repaired of its battle-scars; his belt; and his blades, resting beside his gauntlet.
Eiden exhaled, the sound steady and controlled. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet meeting the shock of the cold floor. A shiver ran up his spine—not from weakness, but from the stillness of a room that had watched him nearly slip away.
He turned toward the window.
Moonlight poured through the tall glass panes, pale and silver, drifting across his face like falling snow. The glow carved out his features—the sharp, aristocratic line of his jaw and the faint shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes.
And those grey eyes… they shone like polished marble. Cold, ancient, and clear enough to reflect the moon itself. They were like two quiet stars set into a tired face, shimmering with the remnants of a divinity he hadn't yet shaken off.
Outside, the world was a void of sound. No wind, no voices. Just the moon, watching. Eiden blinked slowly, his unbound white hair shimmering in the silver light, giving him the appearance of a ghost returning to the world of the living.
He looked calm. But he did not look peaceful.