No. 2: Altprompt / Finding Old Messages

No. 2 : Altprompt / Finding Old Messages

OC Whump

Hi, here is my second contribution for Whumptober !

A bit of context : Edwin is a human who, following a traumatic event involving enemies of Silver (his friend), has made a pact with a god. He became a servant of a god responsible for guiding the souls of the dead and their memories. This gave him the power he needed to take revenge, but the pact also stipulated that with each use of the god's power, he would lose a little more of his memories, his friends, his life, etc...

Also, I just want to specify that « L’Ensorceleur » is the french translation for « The Sorcerer », but I’m way too used to the French word to change it.  

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for any TW and enjoy !

There's a narrow space under the single bed. A dark crevice where nothing lives but dust motes, a few forgotten tissues and a surprisingly clean sock...?

A hand suddenly appears under the bed, groping for something. Finally, after a long minute that only earned the owner a tissue and a sneeze, a body slumped at the foot of the bed and a disheveled brown head with piercing blue eyes peered out from under the bed. The sock was promptly retrieved as soon as it was spotted, but just as the teenager who had just grabbed it was about to get up and go (now shod) about his business, his gaze fell on the last inhabitant of the place.

Edwin raised an eyebrow at the sight of a notebook under his bed. It had probably fallen there by accident. Well, this was no place to keep a notebook. Might as well remove it.

After a series of unsuccessful attempts and the use of a broom to dislodge the reluctant object, Edwin found himself with a black leather notebook, bound with a sturdy red thread. Beautifully designed, elegant, even if the scratches on the weathered leather showed it had lived.

Probably one of the dozens of old notebooks he kept. He'd always been a keen draughtsman, even if he hadn't taken to it as much recently. The cities of the old kingdom teemed with spirits and souls that demanded his attention. He no longer had as much time to do the things he loved, such as drawing, as well as other passions. Fatigue weighed too heavily on his bones.

He thought of taking a look at its contents out of curiosity. But he had a program for the day, a handful of lost souls who needed assistance to find rest and stop mingling with the mortals of this plane.

A servant of the Gods was only an extension of the one he served, after all. Even so, Edwin's situation was nothing like that of a normal servant, left to his duty without guidance, depending on where his own footsteps took him most of the time, when he wasn't spending time with his friends, when he returned to the city where they lived. His friends, like Silver and Léa...

The young man pushed aside the superficial thought and placed his find on the bedside table. He'd have plenty of time to consult it when he returned tonight.

The Beacon left his room without looking back.

*

He didn't think about it immediately on the way back. He was almost ready for bed, mentally exhausted by the afflictions of the ghosts he had assisted.

But a battered leather cover caught his eye. He stared at the innocent notebook for a moment, fatigue heavy on his eyelids. Then he reached out and pulled the booklet towards him, noticing layers tucked between the pages. Pictures ? Photos from Earth ? He was almost tempted to unravel this peculiar mystery on the spot, but Edwin had always been reasonable.

-You look a bit familiar.  Let's see what's into you, murmured the young man, gently turning the front cover.

Disappointingly, the first page of the notebook, velvety if yellowed, was covered with abstract scribbles in his own hand. Little more than a decoration, pretty and eye-catching, a prelude to most of his sketchbooks.

He searched for a date, but couldn't find it. Before he takes on the habit of indicating the date, then.

The second page featured a pencil sketch of a superb trotting horse. The sketch had a raw air, intentional or not, and managed to convey the animal's power.

The next page was a drawing of two people napping in the sun, colored in soft hues. It took Edwin a long moment to recognize Silver and Nathan, or another name in the same style. After all, they weren't that close anymore...

The next following pages were just as normal, people he more or less remembered, people he would probably have to visit soon. They'd drifted apart a bit, but they'd gotten along well at one time. Becoming a servant of a God had forced him to leave the region more often than he would have liked.

Then, on the page following a sketch of a dragon of slightly exaggerated proportions compared to reality (he knew this, even if he couldn't remember the creature itself), he came across a note. Not his own, in airy script, in faded turquoise-blue ink.

“Hey, Eddie ! Just to remind you, the gang and I made you a little memo to remind you a little of who you are. Since we talked about it not too long ago, you and I decided to create this notebook for you. You can use it as a memo of the things we've been through together, what you like and what we like about you, to tell you about us, the memories you may have forgotten. Oh, we've included dates and photos too, so don't panic ! Hope that helps. And remember, we all love you. Kisses and hurry back !”

It's signed Lea, and Edwin's heart beats hard in his chest. He stares at the message for a moment, not knowing what to make of it. Then, fingers trembling, he turned the page.

He was greeted by a photo of a dark-haired man with sun-kissed skin and bright eyes. His smile, on the close-up photo, conveyed an infectious joy.

“Hey Edwin,” said the note underneath. “It's Silver, your friend. Lea said we could tell anyone we wanted, so I'm going for it! Remember when I told you I was a wizard/werewolf ? It was at night, in September I think, and I'd just climbed in through your brother's window...”

What follows is an elaborate description of what happened that night, followed by a quick introspection of Silver's feelings towards Edwin, and ends with one of those “I love you” that comes so easily to him and an invitation to come back soon.

Eleanora is more careful in the way she writes, as she has always been in the way she is. The weight of her father's sins is felt in every word she addresses to him, every apology for what he has become. But the first memory she shares is warm and light, and leaves a longing in Edwin's chest.

The Ensorceleur’s message is hidden by a piece of paper taped over it. Some of the others have done this too, on messages of a more sensitive or private nature. This message is not sensitive, at least not in the usual sense. It’s filled with an honesty that the man rarely shows in the presence of an audience, and reminds him of an old promise. There's an invitation to return and a thinly veiled threat that revives other memories, some scarier than others and some full of reluctant affection. Sounds like him.

(Another message, coded as if it were a secret, is just a long list of colorful, imaginative insults that make him laugh.)

Some are more...difficult. Lucien's, or Valka's, give him a fairly precise idea of the emotions he's supposed to be feeling, but he doesn't actually feel them. It helps him situate their relationship from an intellectual point of view, but without feeling, everything remains cold and clinical. And that fills him with an all-consuming guilt that twists and turns in his stomach. Even the photos don't mean anything to him.

Nathaniel shares personal things about himself and what he's apparently entrusted to Edwin over the years, and hot tears roll down the Beacon’s cheeks.

Kara's page carries a strange smell of burnt wood and ashes, and a tender story of how she fell in love with someone. Tomas talks about the warmth of home and the person who convinced him he was worthy of love.

Kylsham talks about a trip they took together, and suddenly Edwin becomes aware that he's craving for a fruit he can't find here.

The notebook revives faded memories, makes him aware of others that have disappeared, and awakens emotions he now realizes he'd forgotten. The pages are worn, the words faded and the paper thinned by flipping through. How many times did he reread this diary before misplacing it ? How long has the notebook been under the bed, as forgotten as these memories ? What did he miss ? The dates make him dizzy.

All the messages have one thing in common. They all ask him to come back and see them when he can.

His mind made up, Edwin barely takes the time to put on a coat before leaving the inn, notebook under arm and ghost in step.

Whatever the pact with the god has stolen he will never fully recover. But he can try to delay the inevitable as long as possible. 

Edwin heads for home.

Is this a problem?

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIESUnconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | “It’s us or them.”

OC Whump

Hi, here is my contribution no.7 for Whumptober !

This one doesn’t need that much lore to be understood, but if you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

Brian was normally very good at saving his strength. For any lightning magician, this was absolutely vital, and a large part of the training of the members of his guild, mostly made up of lightning mages, consisted of learning to carefully control the flow of energy and determine the minimum level necessary.

There was a blur of movement to his right and he let his magic enhance his reflexes, the shortened nerve impulses enabling him to move in time to dodge the hammer that smashed the ground where he stood just in time. A splinter of rock cut into his cheek without him even feeling it, completely focused on his opponent's next moves. There was an opening !

Brian threw himself forward in a burst of white light, aiming for the vital points.

The man he was up against straightened up, too quickly for it to be natural, and ploughed through the air with his weapon.

Brian leapt back with a cry of rage, forced to retreat again, skidding on the wet ground. He barely recovered and put a few more steps between himself and the enemy.

The latter, instead of continuing his attacks, watched him with a hallucinatory gaze, a euphoric sparkle in his eyes.

For God's sake, a guy of his build wasn't even supposed to be wielding a war hammer ! He was skinny, weak and obviously barely trained to fight ! Not even a challenge for a certified guild leader !

Brian gritted his teeth as the faint metallic taste in his mouth became more noticeable. In theory, the guy should have been on the ground by now, yes. If he wasn't the worst kind of opponent for a lightning mage.

A Berserker. Or at least, a pale imitation of one. Completely drugged with black henbane, insensitive to pain, endowed with enhanced strength and, worst of all, delirious stamina.

Brian's grip on his sword had been trembling for a good two minutes. He tightened it as best he could and tried to think above the panic that was beginning to mount. They were in the sewers, narrow and shifting spaces, in which using his increased speed was difficult and dangerous, especially when relying only on his imperfect night vision. Running away was not an option, and the very thought of it stirred a deep revolt within him.

But so was continuing to fight against such a resilient man.

Mages with an affinity for lightning essentially fought in two ways : by using their ultra-speed in a refined way to beat the enemy in a matter of seconds, or by unleashing huge discharges of power in just a few bursts. Brian couldn't count on the latter after putting his powers to work all the day, especially given the state he'd been in the week before, right after another seizure. As for the first...part of the problem stemmed from the Berserker's own reflexes.

The other came from Brian's deep-seated fear of what would happen if he missed. Or if the Berserker got up as if nothing had happened.

If the guild leader went all out, he could certainly give him one hell of a beating. But the price to be paid for this success...

The madman rushed at him with a scream, and Brian felt his power roar through his veins, tingling in his fingertips, in his legs, vibrating in every muscle. He barely dodged, swollen with adrenalin mixed with indecision. He pivoted and in a second of quick thinking lacerated the assailant's flank. He was rewarded with a satisfying spurt of blood. The man didn't scream or even slow down : he stretched out his leg to trip Brian. The lightning magician moved to dodge it too...

...And a sudden muscle contraction in his calf caused him to stumble anyway. He barely recovered, compensating with his good leg to transform his fall into a roll that allowed him to get up hastily and unleash a bolt of lightning from his fingertips that kept his opponent at bay. His outstretched fingers twitched spasmodically, as did his right leg. He'd dropped his sword in his fall, his strained muscles unable to keep a firm grip on the movement.

Oh shit, he was absolutely losing this duel, wasn't he ?

The gunman stared at his fingers for a second, then a delighted smile stretched across his face. He raised his eyes, staring at Brian.

-You're dead, you bastard.

The voice was hoarse and the words garbled, painfully extracted from the depths of a brain clearly not at its best when it comes to word.

The guild leader didn't reply, his heart in his throat, unable to think of an answer at the same time as his survival.

This wasn't the first time he'd found himself in this situation, and each time it felt like the last. And maybe it was the last, Brian mused, his leg and arms twitching spasmodically and unceasingly. A dull terror gripped his throat, soaking his palms with a sweat that had nothing to do with the effort. How many times had this same terror pressed against him in recent years?

Saving his strength, planning every necessary move, retreating as soon as possible at the slightest doubt. The daily routine of a lightning mage, the precepts that all those who employed these particular spells had to follow. He knew this. He knew exactly what consequences he was exposing himself to by neglecting these basic precautions.

And yet, he continued to end up in this position, always.

Brian exhaled slowly, the breath trapped in his lungs.

This wasn't the first time.

The Berserker launched a final charge to finish off his enemy.

Barely had he completed his first step when a flash of white blinded him. Then, a detonation, so powerful that he screamed in pain as his eardrums exploded, the destruction of delicate organs enough to briefly overcome even the insensitivity of the Berserker trance. In the confusion of the moment, he felt something going through his neck.

The afterimage on his retina finally dissipated. He wobbled, blinking wide-eyed to take stock, warm liquid dripping onto his shoulders from the two points of pain on either side of his head and on his chest.

The magician had disappeared.

For a second, he just stared at the last place he had stood. Gone...gone...a flash...

He turned around.

Crouched in the dust and leaning his shoulder against the wall to keep from collapsing, the man was staring at him with something that could only be terror on his blood-spattered face. And a kind of disbelief. Clearly, he hadn't expected to lose to a guy with almost no experience. His little escape attempt had failed.

The Berserker stepped forward to finish him off. Then the world turned, his legs gave up and he collapsed. He grunted in bewilderment, tried to lean on his arms to get up, but they gave way too, and he found himself flat on his back. His extremities were strangely numb, and for some reason his top was soaked through. He couldn't move enough to see, though. All he could do was growl at the mage, because the bastard had done something... !

He growled, struggling as he rapidly weakened, and as he flailed his gaze landed on an object on the ground beside the guildmaster. A small, blood-stained dagger.

His mind was no longer clear enough to make the connection, and he bled to death in a matter of seconds.

Brian could have fainted with relief. He had sincerely believed that this madman would manage to get up and kill him. But apparently, even Berserkers needed blood to live.

He'd managed to use what little stamina he had left in a final, full-speed thrust, pulling out his dagger to slit the man's throat. He'd finally won.

But he wasn't out of the woods yet.

Another violent muscle spasm painfully contracted his leg for a few seconds. Teeth clenched, Brian managed to tear his cape from around his neck quickly. Fortunately, the pin had been specially designed to detach easily. Better to lose a cape than a man. He threw the pin on the side, then maneuvered his body shaking with tiny uncontrollable tremors to the side as fast as he could, clumsily putting the cape under his head. He only had a few seconds left before the worst of the crisis struck. He lay on his side as comfortably as he could, his vision devoured by dazzling white flashes.

Reinforcements were on their way. A location enchantment was bound to the cape pin and he'd gone deep into the tunnels hours before. They were probably looking for him now. This wasn't the first crisis he'd suffered after overusing his powers.

He was still repeating these thoughts over and over to himself when a sudden wave of muscular contractions seized him.

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you.”

Hi, here is my contribution no.3 for Whumptober !

A bit of context : Helios is a delusional, tyrannical and powerful demigod who seeks to build a family by “adopting” (i.e. kidnapping) people. Justine is one of the people he’s trying to adopt. She’s a 14 years-old teenager.

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

Justine is beginning to think she's good at controlling her reactions. Or maybe she really is getting used to the situation, which is a more unpleasant thought than she can tolerate at the moment.

However, she can't repress herself when the officer who's supposed to bring back a translator invites Helios into his office.

She's never been one to scream when she's in the grip of strong emotion, but everyone has their exceptions, and she throws herself out of her seat to slam against the wall, screaming in panic when the demigod immediately moves towards her, hand outstretched.

-No, no! NO!

The officer studies the scene with a relaxed air, watching as the tall, intimidating man grabs the handcuffed teenager by the arm and pulls her towards him with harsh words in another language. The girl sobs and tries to wriggle free, but the adult's strength is far superior and he shakes her a little, his voice sharp, until she gives up and bows her head, trembling all over.

Helios turns away to exchange sentences she doesn't understand with the officer, a member of the militia, supposed to protect and serve the citizens, supposed to hide her and help her join her father. The mage keeps a painful grip on her upper arm, holding her so close to him that she almost has her nose in the light tunic he's wearing.

The officer approaches and unlocks the handcuffs with a chuckle in response to what Helios tells him. Both men's tones are relaxed, even if Justine detects a hint of tension in the mage's. He tightens his grip as soon as the cuffs drop and she bites her lip to keep from letting out a sound of pain.

He's going to punish her. He's going to kill her. No one cares. The militiaman has seen her reaction to the demigod's entrance. It's not the reaction of a runaway child, but that of a girl terrified for her life. He sends her back to her nightmare without the slightest hint of guilt. How much were they paid to ignore their duty ?

Helios turns to her :

-If you behave even a little less than perfectly on the way home, I'll kill everyone involved and make you regret it. Is that clear ?

It takes her a moment to find the words, long enough for him to press his fingers into her flesh, causing her to yelp in pain.

-Is that clear ?

-Yes ! Yes ! I'm sorry ! the girl adds hastily, desperate to find the answer that will make him release the pressure.

His grip loosens as a fresh wave of tears wells up in her eyes.

Instead, he takes her hand and slips the militiaman a few more coins before leaving.

Justine keeps her eyes lowered to her feet until they reaches the carriage, crossing the building without attracting more than a glance from soldiers too busy to notice her distress, unless they actively choose to ignore her.

Helios pulls her up beside him, not in front of him. He still doesn't loosen his grip on her hand either, though it's more cautious than the one on his arm. She doesn't dare try to free herself, afraid of the outburst of violence this might provoke.

The first few minutes of the trip are spent in stony silence. Justine is unable to completely stop her hiccups, let alone the uncontrollable trembling that runs through her. Her quiet cries are the only sound in the cabin.

Then Helios lets out a long sigh and slumps back against the seat. He stays like that for a minute, then turns to consider the absolutely terrified child beside him. Her scruffy hair hides her face, and he leans over to clear it a little. Justine lets out a loud sob at the touch. Her eyes are closed and she tenses in anticipation of a violent gesture.

He doesn't hit her, just looks at her intently.

-I warned you.

She cowers a little.

-I told you I trusted you to behave. I told you that you didn't stand a chance and that you'd be punished if you tried to run away.

-I'm sorry, murmurs the child, almost too low for his superior hearing to pick it up.

Oh, Justine's a smart kid. Unlike some, she rarely hesitates to tell him what he wants to hear to ensure her safety. Unfortunately, he's no fool. She also doesn’t hesitate to try to flee when the opportunity presents itself, and now she has to face the consequences. Learning that their actions have consequences and setting limits is essential in the development of a well-balanced child and in their relationship with the people who take care of them.

-If you must know, the arresting officer didn't even recognize you until he got his hands on you. Normally, they don't bother bringing a thief to the barracks for such a small amount of food, so it's lucky he remembered your face.

She got captured for stolen food ? Is she going back to that hellhole because she couldn't get that potato galette quietly enough ?

The idea nearly sends her into a fit of hysterical laughter, which immediately dies in her throat as Helios leans towards her.

-Every member of the militia knows what you look like. They all know who to contact if you end up in one of their barracks.

The demigod is an imposing, menacing presence hovering over her.

-You never had a chance to escape, a velvet voice breathes softly in her ear.

-I've told you this before, but it seems you learn better from practice than from theory.

Helios straightens up so abruptly that the movement makes her flinch again. The grip on her hand tightens briefly.

-Well, I guess you weren't ready for this level of freedom. It looks like we'll have to give up the outdoors for a while. And of course, probably some extra homework, since you're so full of energy.

And Justine should be relieved that these are her only punishments (if she doesn't count the throbbing pain in her upper arm, which is already starting to bruise), but it's not just access to the outdoors that she's lost. All the fragile freedom she'd gained by dint of obedience has just vanished in the space of a failed test. Almost two months of delicate construction crumbled before her eyes.

-Clearly, the trust between us is more fragile than I thought, comments Helios. A little closeness can only do us good.

His thumb has begun to gently rub Justine's palm in what could be a comforting gesture.

-I can't wait.

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY’RE INJURED

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | “It’s not my blood.”

OC Whump

Hi, here is my contribution no.6 for Whumptober !

A bit of lore : All the children here are between 14 and 20 years old. Justine is the same Justine of day 3, but four years older. Will probably made it more clear when i’m not dissolving from exhaustion anymore.

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. This one is not very graphic, but check the tags for TW and enjoy !

Aaron didn't take the time to question the caregivers further when he overheard one of them talking about “Silver Shein's kids”, which for anyone who knows anything about Silver is a way of referring to the small band of various children, teenagers and young adults who gravitate around the guild.

It's entirely by chance that he's here to hear this. He has a magically-reinforced radius to check and the splint removed, and since one of Api's healers took care of it, the easiest thing to do is to come back to the clinic.

But last night, he learned from Aurore that most of the gang had planned to spend the day together. They're pretty reckless and impulsive, unsurprising for kids who've flirted with death and suffered enough for a lifetime, most of them long before puberty. They get into impossible situations and end up injured more often than normal kids.

It's probably not serious. They're reckless, but it's often benign stuff.

He ignores the little voice reminding him that Lucien is a healer himself, that he could easily handle minor injuries.

Then again, maybe they've just come to say hello to Api or look for Justine. The healer and his daughter are close of the children (of Lucien and Loan, especially, unsurprisingly. What they've all been through at the hands of Helios has brought them terribly close). Justine is as much a part of the gang as any of the other kids.

Aaron strides up the stairs, concerned but not really worried. It's probably nothing. He'll just check it out as a precaution. He has to admit, the little gang has certainly risen in his esteem with their exploits. Besides, his daughter is with them anyway, so he can say hi.

The corridors of the clinic are busy, and as he glances down each corridor and open room he passes, people linger on his face before looking away sheepishly. The gnarled scar that disfigures him tends to create a morbid fascination, even more so in places of care where the frequency of such terrible injuries dissipates the modesty of upbringing.

He has learned not to care, and even less so when he's in the midst of such an important task as finding the children.

He wanders for another 10 minutes without finding or hearing anything, and he's beginning to think he's understand wrong when he turns the corner of a hallway and comes upon them.

He recognizes Jonah first, standing off to the side, partially blocking the other’s view, in profile. The teenager's clothes are stained with dirt and dust, and rust-colored streaks down his back.

Lea is the first to see him, her green eyes widening as she rises from the bench where she's sitting. Her features are tense and the right side of her hair is plastered to her head with clotted blood.

Lucien, sitting next to the bench leaning against the wall, is startled and follows his friend's gaze. He looks haggard, but the sight of Aaron seems to bring him back to consciousness. A gleam passes through his eyes. Aaron has seen enough fear to recognize it in a flash.

Halsyl, who spotted him at the same time as Lea, stands back beside Loan, his eyes reddened and lips trembling.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, precisely because Loan is at the end of the corridor, sitting on another bench, pale and silent. He's wearing a vermillion tinted of brown tunic, half up, while a healer is bent over his abdomen, hands glowing with magic.

Aaron rushes into the corridor, all remaining calm evaporating to give way to cold, cutting fear.

-Aaron...!  begins Lea, but he ignores her, because parts of Loan's tunic are an off-white color that clashes with the rest, and his brain has already made the connection, has already come to the logical conclusion: that Loan is covered in blood, probably seriously injured, because life can't leave this kid alone.

The unmistakable metallic smell that catches his nose as he stumbles up beside them seems to point to this theory and Aaron hopes, really hopes, that maybe it's not so bad. That Loan will be fine and that he won't have to contact Silver in a hurry to get someone to pull Nathaniel out of whatever place he's practicing his talents at the moment.

-Loan, Aaron said, his voice steady but urgent. Loan, kid, where are you hurt ? Hey, he scolds the healer without waiting for the boy's response, what happened ? Where's he hurt ? Why is he being treated in the corridor ?

The healer, looking very calm, doesn't even look up from his task as he answers.

-He’s fine, sir, don’t panic. Just a broken rib and a few others cracks, it repairs very well, and considerating of the flow of patients we have, I prefer to do it quickly in the hallway.

Aaron opens his mouth, then closes it. That’s... good. That’s good, but...

-Broken ribs wouldn’t bleed like that, he whistles. Where did it come from ? What’s all this blood ? Loan ?

-Sir, relax, he’s fine, it’s the most important, declares firmly the caregiver.

-Aaron, it’s okay, I... I can explain...

Lea’s tone is cautious and hesitant. She is Silver’s sister, who turned the Ensorceleur and made Helios so mad that he hates her even more than his brother. She is never hesitant, she is too impulsive and hot-headed for thar. He would knows, he has fought beside her countless times. This girl is not afraid of anything.

-Explain what ? The reason why Loan is in this state ? What did you all do ?!

-It’s not my blood, mumbles a faint voice.

-What ?! barks the mercenary as he turns around to glare at Loan. Halsyl flinches.

He feels an old fear begin to rise, a terror from his deepest nightmares.

Aurore is not with the group. She must be in the bathroom. Or out for coffee. Or somewhere else, in top form.

-It’s not my blood, the young man repeats half hidden behind his black hair, and he closes his eyes.

-I’m sorry.

-Where is Aurore ?

Aaron’s pulse is racing as a parent’s worst nightmare comes to life right before his eyes. They just left for a day out together in the city. In a relatively safe environment. What could have happened ? How ? Aurore must be somewhere else. It can’t be her blood on Loan’s tunic. That’s too much, right ? So at least not just her blood, maybe also from others people ?

-Where...where the fuck…

-In the operating room.

The caregiver is the one responding. He stood up at one point and faced Aaron, his posture open and deliberately non-threatening, as if trying to calm a beast. He has come between him and Loan, apparently unimpressed by the mountain of muscles with a deformed face that threatens to lose his composure. -She had lost a lot of blood and presented impressive injuries, but was treated immediately. It was the chief healer Api d'Estreya who took care of it.

The mercenary feels like he is underwater. Words are distant and muffled. His daughter is in the operating room with serious injuries. She has lost a lot of blood. This information is bouncing back and forth in his mind. From far away, he vaguely hears Lea trying to explain what happened. She talks about a street fight that went wrong, about stabbing.

Aurore was stabbed. Several times.

-Where is the room ?

-Right next door. Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you not to rush inside so you don’t put her in more danger.

Does he think he’s an idiot ? He knows that. He thinks about telling him, but the thought immediately dissipates as it sounds useless. Aurore is in danger. His duty as a father is not to put her in more danger, right ? If he can’t protect her, then at least he has to minimize the damage, right ?

The violent dizziness of the news passes a little while years of military training finally kick in and he suddenly grabs the doctor by the shoulders. The man tenses but doesn’t make a single move to escapes.

-I want every detail on her condition.

-Very well, the man nods. I’ll just ask you to sit down before you get sick.

He makes him put his head between his knees for a while, brings him a glass of water and explains that the quick reaction (Loan slowed the bleeding while Lucien teleported all three of them over a remarkable distance for his power. The others joined them on foot) had greatly improved her chances. The injury itself is impressive, but not complicated to heal. She should survive. Aaron still feels strangely detached from everything that’s going on, but he’s not about to get sick at least.

After the healer is done, they all sit in silence in this corridor. Someone takes Loan to get cleaned up and change. Aaron cannot put into words the relief he feels when his daughter’s blood-soaked garment disappears from his field of vision. He can’t put into words how he feels about the gang of teenagers at his side. They saved Aurore. They saved her... and maybe they put her in danger too. But these are thoughts he will have plenty of time to explore later.

It’s still half an hour before Api joins them in the corridor, looking tired but serene. This is the longest half-hour of Aaron’s life.

When the healer appears at the intersection, Aaron gets up fast enough for butterflies to burst into his vision. It doesn’t matter, because even through them he can distinguish the raised thumb from the healer and his reassuring smile, and the metal around his chest finally relaxes.