x
415Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdUySz52rd9
Sunlight poured in through the wooden shutters, bathing the room in soft golden warmth.415Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnjoOBvVfiW
Osira slowly opened her eyes, blinking away the haze of sleep. She sat up, instinctively glancing down at herself—only to find she was entirely unclothed… save for a meticulous wrapping of white bandage cloths that ran from the base of her neck to her ankles.
At her feet, Isaac sat in a wooden chair and lay sound asleep, his head resting just shy of her toes. Next to him, Gwen had similarly passed out, curled with her head near Osira’s shins like a napping cat. The room they were in was cozy and remarkably well-kept, with the scent of fresh linens and herbal salves lingering in the air. Plush rugs and carved wooden furniture filled the space, and warm sunlight danced lazily across the walls.
In the corner, seated in a high-backed chair with his arms crossed and eyes half-lidded, was Osirus. Onyx was sprawled out on the adjacent bed beside him, snoring softly.
Perched atop Osira’s head, a high-pitched, chipper voice chirped, “You’re awake! Thank the stars, Osira!”
Esmeralda—the ever-bubbly fairy companion of Gwen—fluttered down and settled gently into Osira’s lap. Her translucent wings twitched as she added, “We were starting to worry. Kitsune said you spoke to her right after her healing spells, but after we found you in the woods and brought you back, you’ve been out cold for nearly two full days!”
Osira blinked again and slowly wiggled her toes. Then she tested her arms, including the one that had been fractured. To her surprise, everything moved smoothly—without pain or resistance.
“Huh,” she muttered. “Seems like Kitsune’s magic worked wonders… and maybe I just needed a ridiculously long nap.”
She stretched her arms high over her head, letting out a yawn that echoed through the room. Oddly, no one else stirred.
Esmeralda, cheeks tinged pink, leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “Well, it wasn’t just Kitsune’s magic.”
Osira raised a brow.
“When we found you in the woods,” Esmeralda began, “you were still… um, naked. Isaac picked you up, carried you to a nearby pond, and gave you a bath. He poured this glowing potion into the water first—it lit up like starlight! After a minute or two, your burns just… melted away. Then he wrapped you up in those bandages himself!”
Osira turned scarlet. “Wha—wait, what?! You let Isaac—?!”
Esmeralda nodded innocently. “Mhmm! Said it was some rare essence-draw potion that helps absorb mana directly from nature. Since you’re, you know, a Wood Elf, it worked really well. He said you’re attuned to forests and water like it’s part of your soul.”
Osira flopped back onto the bed, pulling the blanket over her entire face with a groan. “Uuughh… but still! He saw me!”
Right on cue, Isaac stirred at her feet. With a half-snort and a sleepy stretch, he blinked blearily at her from beneath his tousled hair.
“It’s not like you’ve got anything I haven’t seen before,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Kitsune healed the inside. I handled the outside. You should be thanking me—there’s not a single scar on you now. That potion? Worth a hundred gold coins easy, and the grove it was brewed in is long gone.”
Osira shot up, still red-faced but now glaring through the blanket. “Well I’m not paying you back for it! I don’t have that kind of money!”
Isaac shrugged and laid his head back down. “Didn’t ask for coin. Just maybe try not to grumble so hard next time someone saves your life while you’re arse-naked in the woods.”
Under the covers, Osira let out a muffled scream of embarrassment while Esmeralda giggled from her lap, wings buzzing in delight.
Isaac stood from his chair with a faint smile. The warm sunlight spilling through the window caught his features in just the right way to reveal the exhaustion beneath his calm.
“You already paid me back,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “By staying alive.”
He paused, letting the words hang in the quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes after grief nearly settled in.
“I don’t always say it, but… you guys mean everything to me. Losing even one of you—” He exhaled slowly, like the thought itself was poison. “I don’t think I’d come back from that. You and your brother were some of the first to join us. The others look up to you. So do I.”
Crossing the room, he knelt beside her and wrapped his arms around the cocoon of blankets Osira had pulled around herself. The gesture was awkward, gentle, and entirely sincere.
“I knew you’d pull through,” he murmured. “It’s Onyx I’m truly worried about.”
He pulled back, his expression growing grim as he glanced toward the other bed. Besides his snoring, Onyx lay motionless beneath the sheets, his white hair a tangled mess across the pillow. Beside him, Osirus sat slumped in a chair—arms folded, head kicked back, mouth slightly open as he snored like a thunderclap.
Isaac stood again and turned back toward the door.
“Unfortunately, we’re stuck in a town where demi-humans are about as welcome as a plague. Everyone else is with the caravan outside the city gates. You needed a stable bed and some peace, so we brought you here to the inn.”
He reached for the doorknob and added over his shoulder, “Once you’re strong enough to walk, we’ll regroup and ride out to pick up Vlad and the others.”
As he opened the door, he continued, “Oh, and—just so you’re aware—you’re benched from field work for now. You’ll be helping Theo with inventory and clerical duties until we all agree you’re fit for combat again.”
Osira threw off her blanket like a thunderous wave crashing against the shore and sat bolt upright. “What?! Who the hell do you think you are—my father? I’m healed! Kitsune said so herself!”
Isaac turned slightly, raising a brow but not fully facing her.
“That decision came from your brother,” he said flatly. “And Vyncent backed it. Take it up with them.”
Osira scowled. “Oh, come on, Isaac. Everyone knows you’re the real leader. Just because you refuse the title doesn’t mean it isn’t true. So why don’t you talk to Vyncent and get me cleared?”
Isaac’s hand tightened around the doorknob.
“I’m not the leader,” he said with quiet finality. “I have a role to play, just like the rest of you.”
Osira crossed her arms and mimicked his tone mockingly, “‘We all voted for you to be leader, Isaac. You won the vote fair and square.’” Then, with a hint of sincerity slipping through, she added, “And we all swore to protect Lizyra. You don’t have to shoulder that burden alone. She’s not a kid anymore. Her magic might even outclass everyone here except Theo.”
Isaac’s expression darkened as he opened the door fully, letting the morning air drift in.
“That may be true,” he replied, “but she’s barely eighteen. Elves don’t mature like humans. One stupid mistake—falling for the wrong person, running off—”
He stopped, gripping the doorframe.
“She’s been with us since she was six. She doesn’t know anything else but this life. Hunting. Running. Surviving. You all made the same vow, but when the dragon came to me—he didn’t beg all of you.”
His voice dropped, heavy with guilt and memory.
“He begged me. A dragon. Asking a human to protect his child and Lizyra.”
Isaac looked back just once, his eyes far away. “What kind of world have we built… when a dragon begs a man for anything?” And with that, he stepped through the door and closed it softly behind him.
The room fell still, heavy with the weight of things unsaid. Then something warm wrapped tightly around Osira’s ankles.
She looked down to find Gwen coiled around her feet like a kitten, eyes still closed but voice muffled by sleepy contentment. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Osira,” she mumbled. “I would’ve been so sad if you didn’t pull through.”
Her eyes fluttered open just enough to look up at her. “Even though Kitsune’s healing is strong… you took a beating. Broken bones, deep burns. You scared us.”
Osira sighed and leaned down, brushing a hand across Gwen’s tangled hair. “Sorry to worry you,” she whispered. “Guess I’m not as indestructible as I thought.”
Osira beamed and stretched her arms high above her head. “Looks like everything’s turning out just fine on my end. So there's absolutely nothing to worry about!”
She leaned forward mischievously, her eyes glinting with a childish spark, and reached out to grab Gwen’s cheeks with both hands, squishing and stretching them playfully. The young elf squirmed and kicked softly beneath the blankets, trying to wriggle away.
“Stop that! Cut it out!” Gwen squeaked.
Osira laughed and teased, “What a beautiful little elf girl you are, worrying about little old me.”
Just then, the door creaked open.
Isaac stepped in, arms full with a bundle of neatly folded fabric. He crossed the room without a word and held the clothing out to Osira.
“Here,” he said. “I salvaged what was left of your tunic and cloak. Added some extra fabric, reinforced the seams, and patched up the damage.”
Osira took the bundle, her eyes going wide as she unfolded the garments. Her once all-green cloak and tunic were now masterfully reworked into a stylish blend of forest green and deep black. The stitching was seamless, the layering elegant—an adventurer’s ensemble with purpose and pride.
Isaac nodded toward the fabric. “Theo enchanted it. You’ve got some extra resistance to explosions now. Might save you next time you go playing with arcane toys again.”
Osira’s lip quivered as her eyes welled up.
Without warning, she sprang up from the bed—her blanket slipping down and bandages unravelling dangerously as she launched herself into Isaac’s arms.
“Oh, Isaac! Why don’t you just marry me already?” she squealed. “You’ve already seen me naked! And even though I’m twice your age—I want you to make my clothes forever!” She spun wildly in place, arms around his neck, laughing like a madwoman in pure delight.
Isaac, utterly unfazed, gave a flat, quiet response. “Falling in love with someone only makes it harder when they die or leave.”
A beat passed, the moment hanging in the air.
Then, from across the room, Esmerelda fluttered down from the windowsill, landing atop Gwen’s head with a tiny sigh.
“Could you two save your tragic love story for another time?” she groaned. “Vyncent is heading down the street right now—with a stranger, probably a healer for Onyx. And I’m pretty sure no one in this town wants to hear about a forbidden romance between a full-blooded elf and a full-blooded human.”
She crossed her arms. “If the townsfolk think you’re making halfling babies, we’re going to have more than a bar tab to settle—we’ll have a mob.”
Unbothered, Isaac reached into his coat and pulled out a tiny, palm-sized bundle.
“Ah—almost forgot,” he said, turning toward Esmerelda. “Here. I made something for you too.”
He held out a miniscule tunic and cloak—hand-stitched from the scraps of Osira’s original outfit. The tailoring was as refined as any dollmaker’s finest craft, and the colors mirrored Osira’s new garb. Tiny enchanted threads shimmered subtly under the torchlight.
Theo’s handiwork was stitched into every seam.
“Theo enchanted it too,” Isaac said. “Same wards. Around the waist are snappable belt loops—you can clip your rings there so they won’t slide off during flight.”
Esmerelda’s mouth dropped open slightly as she hovered in the air, stunned.
In a blur of motion, she zipped around in a flurry of wings and color before ducking behind Gwen’s head to change. Her tiny old clothes fluttered to the ground like discarded leaves. When she landed back atop Gwen’s head, she twirled once with a proud little curtsy. The cloak swirled behind her like a noble lady’s train.
Isaac gave a faint smile. “It suits you.”
Esmerelda looked up at him, tears threatening the corners of her bright eyes. Her voice was smaller than usual. “Why… why would you do that for me? I thought you didn’t even like me.”
Isaac crouched a bit and met her eyes squarely. “I never said I didn’t like you. You’re just as important to me as anyone else in this ragtag circus.”
He stood again and shrugged. “And if some of us weren’t arguing all the time, would it even be a real family?”
The fairy sniffled. “You’re such a jerk most of the time I don’t even know how to respond.”
Gwen stood abruptly and scooped the fairy up in both hands, grinning.
“You say thank you and bow like this,” she said proudly, holding Esmerelda in one palm and forcing a dramatic bow with the other hand. “I didn’t even get a new outfit, so be grateful, sparklebug!”
415Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbBkgICFi2H
Isaac crossed his arms and said with a smirk, “Once we make it to a proper town—somewhere with actual magic cloth and enchanting materials—I’ll make everyone new outfits. Let’s be honest, we’ve got enough people now we might as well start looking like an actual guild. Especially with Theo learning some enchantments that are actually useful for once.”
Gwen lit up like a firework. “Really?! I’ll love you forever if you do!” she cried, throwing herself into a hug around Isaac’s waist. “Osira might be taller than me, but we’re almost the same age! You could just marry us both and make us all new clothes forever!”
Osira leapt onto Isaac’s back with wild delight. “I don’t know how human marriages work exactly,” she said with a theatrical gasp, “but I approve! All three of us, married and fabulously dressed!”
The two of them burst into a chaotic harmony of laughter and overlapping chatter, each trying to outdo the other with elaborate, joking wedding plans—until Isaac finally grunted in annoyance and tossed them both back onto the bed like sacks of flour.
“You two can get married and ride off into the sunset for all I care,” he grumbled. “Some of us have real things to worry about.”
At that moment, the door creaked open, and Vyncent stepped inside followed by a tall man in pristine white robes trimmed in gold. The stranger quietly closed the door behind him, his presence calm but commanding.
“Good day to you all,” the man said with a gracious bow. “I am Raphael, a priest from the Capital. I happened to be passing through this village when your friend here approached me with an offer of… rather generous compensation.” He smiled warmly, his voice soothing and confident. “As a man of the cloth, I cannot ignore those in need. And rest assured—the donation will go toward healing and aid back at the capital.”
Vyncent gestured to the bed. “It’s him,” he said, motioning toward Onyx. “He was stabbed through the chest with a cursed scythe. Our healer did what she could, but if there’s anything else you can do, I’m willing to offer more coin.”
Raphael chuckled, waving a hand. “My boy, you’ve already donated enough gold to heal everyone in this village twice over. I could not in good faith accept more.”
He stepped toward Onyx and extended his hand slowly above the man’s still form. A soft, radiant light bloomed across Onyx’s body, casting the room in a gentle, celestial glow. The mage closed his eyes for a moment, his brows furrowed in concentration.
“Remarkable,” Raphael muttered. “There’s still a trace of the curse—faint, like ash clinging to a hearth—but it’s been almost entirely neutralized. There’s not even scarring on the heart tissue. Whoever tended to him before I arrived… did a truly exceptional job.”
The light faded as Raphael drew his hand back, the aura dissolving like mist in sunlight. “Tell me,” he said, looking around the room. “Which one of these fine people is your healing mage? One of those young elven ladies, perhaps? Or you, young man?” He pointed at Isaac, who was still standing beside the bed with Osira and Gwen tangled up in giggles behind him.
Vyncent shook his head. “Actually… she’s not here right now.”
Raphael raised a curious brow. “A shame. Whether human or elf, I’d very much like to meet her someday. Her handiwork far surpasses anything I’ve seen from the priests and mages at the capital temple. Truthfully, she’s the only reason this man could be saved.”
Vyncent smiled politely, but his fingers fidgeted at his side. “She’s… complicated,” he said. “But yes—incredibly talented.”
Raphael turned to the group, his voice calm but resolute. “Alright, I’m going to begin the procedure to purge the curse from your friend.”
He withdrew a ceremonial dagger from his belt—its blade etched with ancient symbols and silver lining. The hilt was adorned with gold and inlaid arcanix gemstones that shimmered faintly with residual magic. He raised it above his head and began to chant in a low, guttural tone that reverberated through the room.
But before the dagger could descend, Isaac lunged forward, grabbing the mage’s wrists with both hands. His voice thundered, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! We asked you to save him, not finish him off!”
Raphael startled, freezing mid-ritual. “W-Wait! That’s exactly what I’m doing, good sir—just perhaps not in the way you expected.” He lowered the dagger, holding it harmlessly at his side, and continued quickly, “Apologies for the lack of clarity. I should’ve explained the process first.”
He took a deep breath, regaining composure. “This dagger is specially forged for curse extraction. I must pierce his heart with it—just briefly. The blade will draw the remaining miasma into the crystal housed in the hilt. His heart will stop for a few seconds, but during that brief moment, I will extract the dagger, heal the wound, and immediately cast a reviving spell before the soul slips away. It's precise work, but... it’s the only way to save him fully. Otherwise, the curse will regenerate and reclaim him, needing me to release his soul to save him.”
Isaac’s grip tightened briefly before he slowly let go. His glare didn’t fade.
“Alright,” he said darkly. “Just know—if he dies, you’re next. I don’t care what god you serve—I’ll send you back to him in pieces.”
Sweat beaded at Raphael’s brow. He nodded nervously. “Understood. I’ve performed this ritual before—on war victims, plague-bound nobles, even a demon-possessed bishop. I assure you... I have no desire to become a corpse today.”
He raised the dagger once more, this time without interruption, and resumed his incantation. The room dimmed slightly, the torches flickering in rhythm with the cadence of his voice. Then—like a bolt of lightning—he plunged the blade into Onyx’s chest.
Onyx let out a brief, harrowing scream. His body spasmed violently as dark, writhing tendrils of miasma surged up the blade, siphoned into the crystalline gem with a shriek like the wind of the void.
Raphael kept chanting. With one hand, he withdrew the dagger in a smooth motion, and with the other, released a burst of healing magic—bright azure light searing into the wound and knitting the flesh back together. He wiped the dagger clean, returned it to his belt, and placed two fingers from each hand near Onyx’s heart.
A sharp crack of electricity arced between his hands across Onyx’s chest.
With a guttural gasp, Onyx jolted upright in bed, eyes wide and lungs heaving.
“There he is!” Raphael grinned, exhaling with relief. “Back among the living!”
Onyx blinked rapidly, trying to focus through the haze. “...My name’s Onyx,” he rasped. “And I was pretty damn sure I was dead.”
Raphael’s smile widened. “You were... for about three seconds. But thanks to your healer mage friend’s earlier work, the groundwork was already done. I just removed what was left. I assure you, the death part was strictly temporary—and well worth it.”
From across the room, Osirus stirred from his slumped position in the chair, eyes groggy. “Well, damn,” he said with a lazy grin. “Guess you weren’t just some washed-up con man after all, eh, white robe?”
Vyncent’s expression soured. “Watch your mouth, Osirus. That ‘white robe’ just saved Onyx’s life. You were acting party leader when we brought him in, so any failures here would’ve fallen on you.”
Osirus raised his hands, still half-asleep. “Alright, alright. He’s alive—I’m grateful. Just... don’t get all high and mighty with me before coffee.”
Vyncent gave him a sharp glare, but said nothing more.
Raphael stood tall, brushing sweat from his brow. “His vitals should stabilize fully in the next hour. He’ll be sore—he was, after all, stabbed twice through the heart recently—but there shouldn’t be any lingering damage. Your friend’s magic gave him the chance. I simply finished what she began.”
Osirus flared, “Shouldn’t his vitals be stable after healing him? Isn’t that like part of the process or are you holding out on us after getting all that coin?”
Vyncent turned to Osirus and began to say angrily, “Can you just shut–,”
Raphael raised a hand gently to silence Vyncent before he could scold Osirus again. “No, Vyncent... your friend isn’t wrong to question me. I’ve earned a poor reputation recently, especially among my peers in the Capitol. My departure from there wasn’t exactly... timely.”
He looked down at his gloved hand, flexing his fingers slowly. “I couldn’t stomach it any longer—the cruelty, the caste system, the sanctioned slavery of demi-humans and beastfolk. I left my post not just to escape, but to serve. To bring healing to those the Empire would deem ‘lesser.’ All life is sacred, whether it’s born in the halls of nobility or in the shadows of the wilds. Even the monsters we fear... some can be reasoned with. Some want peace.”
Vyncent visibly relaxed. There was still tension in his shoulders, but his expression had softened. “If you feel that strongly... why come to a place like this? This village doesn’t exactly welcome your kind of thinking.”
Raphael nodded solemnly. “Even the misguided deserve healing. That’s what I believe. People can change. Sometimes slowly. Sometimes never. But life—life always holds that chance for growth. I may despise their views, but I won’t deny them mercy. Perhaps someday they’ll remember compassion, the way the kingdom of Enos once did.”
His hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist as he spoke that name, the knuckles trembling slightly—as though he were squeezing a wound that never quite closed.
Isaac crossed his arms, his voice lower, more thoughtful now. “It’s good to know there are still people in the Capitol who think like that. I’ll be honest... our healing mage is a young demi-hume—she’s a Foxkin. Bright girl, being trained by our head mage. We didn’t bring the whole caravan into the village because, well... not everyone would’ve made it out.”
He hesitated, then offered a rare, sincere nod. “I was... skeptical earlier. Of your methods. Of you. But I misjudged you. I apologize.”
Raphael returned the gesture with a small bow. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You were only protecting your people. That’s an honor I respect.”
Then, more quietly, he added, “I did lie about one thing, though.”
Vyncent’s brow lifted, but he didn’t speak.
“I said I was going to send that payment back to the Capitol—to be donated. But I’m not. If I did, it’d vanish into the Emperor’s treasury, never to be seen again. I’ll use it instead to make salves, medicine, healing kits. The villages out here need those more than the Imperial coffers do.”
Vyncent gave a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Use it however you see fit. You saved our friend. That’s all that matters.”
While the conversation continued, none of them noticed Osira quietly dressing in the corner. Now fully changed into the new outfit Isaac had made her—a striking blend of dark forest green and obsidian black—she approached the sleeping Onyx and looked down at him, snoring peacefully beneath the covers.
She glanced over at Isaac, then back at Onyx. “I still can’t believe he’s alive after what happened... it was horrifying.”
Before the mood could settle too deeply, Vyncent gestured toward Osira and turned to Raphael again. “She took some damage, too. Would you mind giving her a quick pass-over with healing? Just to be sure everything’s truly mended?”
“Of course,” Raphael said kindly.
He raised a hand, murmuring a gentle incantation as his palm filled with glowing, sapphire light. Osira’s body began to glow in response, her skin tingling with the soft warmth of holy energy as the magic swept through her.
Her face turned crimson almost instantly.
“U-uh, okay, that’s enough!” she stammered, eyes wide, her knees trembling. “Seriously—seriously—I don’t know why, but I can’t take much more of this!”
The blue glow intensified.
Osira’s legs buckled. She dropped to her knees, her breath shallow, sweat already dotting her brow. “Don’t look at me! No one look at me!” she shouted as she curled into a ball on the floor, trying to contain an involuntary moan of both panic and confused pleasure.
Raphael blinked. “Oh—oh dear. I forgot to attune the spell to neutral frequency. My apologies!”
He clapped both hands together and instantly dispelled the lingering magic.
Osira flopped onto her side, red as a beet, gasping. “That was... nothing like Kitsune’s healing magic...”
Gwen, now sitting on the bed, grinned like a troublemaker. “So that’s what ‘holy warmth’ feels like, huh?”
Isaac rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Someone get her some water. Or a pillow…”
Grinning ear to ear, Onyx said playfully, “Think you can zap me with that spell real quick?”
Raphael laughed, his voice light and good-natured. “Ah—apologies! That spell is quite potent and usually meant for unconscious patients, to spare them its... peculiar side effects.”
He paused, eyeing Osira still curled on the floor, blushing hard enough to steam the windows. “Though... truth be told, most who are awake when I cast it scream in pain, not squirm in... whatever it is you’re experiencing.” He gave a playful chuckle, clearly amused.
Still trembling, Osira groaned from her fetal position on the floor. “I’m going to kill him for suggesting that,” she muttered beneath her breath.
Raphael adjusted his robe, bowing to the rest of the group. “Well! It was a pleasure, truly. I have others to see—and perhaps, if fate allows, I’ll meet the rest of your companions someday.” He looked around the room, then bowed slightly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me... I think I’ve earned a drink.” With a final gracious nod, he stepped out.
Everyone—save for Osira—offered him their thanks while he closed the door behind him.
Once the door shut, Osira tried to sit up... and immediately flopped back down, her limbs twitching like her body was still being pummeled by a million prodding fingers.
“Isaac...” she moaned weakly. “I can’t move... It still feels like that damn spell is happening. There are hands—invisible hands—everywhere...”
Isaac furrowed his brow, kneeling beside her. “You mean... did he do something wrong? Are you hurt?”
Her voice was barely audible, trembling. “No... it doesn’t hurt. It’s just... it feels like I’m being massaged all over. Even in very... inappropriate places. It’s too much. Please. Send help...”
Isaac’s concern shifted quickly into a confused grimace, unsure how to react.
Vyncent burst into laughter. “Damn! Maybe I should’ve asked him to hit me with that spell too! Sounds like you got the premium version!”
Meanwhile, Gwen was crouched beside Osira, gently poking her back with a curious finger while Esmerelda floated near her face, doing the same.
“You okay, Osira?” Esmerelda asked innocently, giving her cheek a prod.
Every poke from their small fingers sent visible shivers through Osira’s limbs. Her entire body convulsed in overstimulated response.
“Please,” Osira managed, voice strained. “Stop. Stop before I—”
She didn’t finish the sentence.
Instead, with one final twitch, her eyes rolled back and she passed out cold on the floor, her limbs finally relaxing.
Gwen gasped. “Oh no! I think I broke her!”
Vyncent shook his head, still chuckling under his breath. “Who would've thought a healing spell could break someone... Isaac, you'd better carry her back to camp while she’s out. Gwen, Esmerelda—go with him and tell the others what’s going on. When Onyx’s final resting hour is up we’ll follow.”
Without hesitation, Isaac gently scooped Osira into his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder, still flushed red even in unconsciousness.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he muttered.
Gwen and Esmerelda followed closely behind him as he carried her from the room, shutting the door softly behind them.
The last sound to echo through the room was Gwen's voice saying, “Do you think it’ll wear off? Or is she just like that now?”
ns3.16.111.78da2
