Scars Beneath
The last bandit crumpled to the ground, Riven's blade buried deep in her chest.
Silence.
Smoke curled in thick, choking coils, weaving through the wreckage. The fire had already begun to smolder, leaving only faint embers that hissed and flickered in the quiet aftermath.
Seren didn't move. Her grip on her sword was slack, the metal cool against her palm. Her legs felt weak beneath her, a tremor running through them. She swallowed, throat dry.
"Status?" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the stillness.
"Present," Lira's voice was shaky but steady enough.
"Still breathing," Riven muttered, reloading her crossbow with mechanical precision.
"Bruised and pissed," Nia added, pressing a hand against her ribs. "But alive."
Seren turned toward Elara, her eyes searching. "And Elara?"
"I'm here." The voice came from behind the trees, gruff and tired. Elara emerged, moving slowly, her armor scorched, hair singed. Her arm hung useless at her side, but her eyes remained sharp—albeit weary.
The knights looked at each other, counting the heads. Five knights. One princess.
Something was missing.
Seren's pulse quickened. "Where's Ryle?"
Silence.
Riven froze mid-reach, her hands going stiff. Lira faltered, her chant dying in the air. Nia's gaze flickered over the wreckage.
"Wasn't he with you?" Nia asked, voice tight with unease.
Elara's jaw clenched. " We were both thrown. He found me first... told me I was hard to kill. We talked for a moment, but after that, he slipped off. I didn't see him again."
Seren's eyes narrowed, the weight of the situation crashing down on her. "You left him behind? After everything we almost did to him? You thought he'd be fine?"
"Don't start," Elara snapped, her tone low. "We'll talk later."
"No," Seren insisted, stepping forward. "We should've—"
"Captain!" Nia called suddenly, pointing. "Movement! South side of the hut!"
Seren's breath hitched. "Stay low," Elara hissed. "Weapons down. We can't risk startling him."
If they startled him, he'd vanish.
Into mist.
Into shadow.
They moved fast, hearts pounding in sync.
The smoke thinned.
And then—they saw him.
For a moment, everything stopped.
They forgot the way he kept his distance. The way he never asked much. Never answered, either.
Forgot how strange he'd seemed from the beginning.
They'd expected him to run. To hide. Maybe cry.
Act like a child.
But the figure in the clearing wasn't the boy they remembered.
They didn't recognize him at first.
None of them moved. No one spoke.
Ryle stood there, blood and soot streaking his skin, his left side a ruin.
Burns marred his skin—raw, angry patches of flesh where it was cracked open. His left eye was swollen shut, his face a mask of pain and grime. His body was covered in wounds—deep burns, open sores, shredded skin.
The left hand was a mess—torn flesh, metal shards embedded deep.
His shirt was in tatters, revealing skin that was blistered and raw. Beneath it, old scars—jagged, thick, merciless—etched into his skin like a roadmap of pain.
Two dead women lay at his feet.
And there he stood. Silent.
Not crying.
Not calling for help.
Just... standing.
Lira's breath caught in her throat, magic flickering out of her control. "He… fought like that?"
Nia's voice trembled. "His burns... He shouldn't even be conscious." She took a half-step back, as if the sight physically hurt her.
Riven clenched her jaw, eyes narrowing. "With all that... he was still standing."
Elara didn't say anything right away. She just stared at him—at the kid she had left behind. The kid who had cracked jokes, despite everything. The kid she had let walk off, thinking he could handle it.
She cursed herself mentally, fists clenched.
The others couldn't look at him anymore. They were soldiers, they had seen warriors broken beyond recognition—but they hadn't seen this. A child, torn apart, worse than most seasoned warriors—and never once asking for help.
Then Ryle's eye locked on Seren's. Something flickered—recognition, maybe. Or surrender.
He gave her a crooked, exhausted smile. "Guess this is goodbye," he murmured, his voice barely a rasp.
And he fell.
Seren reacted instinctively, rushing forward, arms outstretched. She caught him before he could hit the ground, his blood soaking into her gloves.
"No," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Stay with me. Ryle—look at me. You're okay. I've got you. You're safe. You're not alone, you hear me?"
His eyelids fluttered, but he didn't respond. His body was limp in her arms. His blood stained her hands.
The knights stood frozen, watching. But Seren didn't care. She cradled him closer, her breath ragged. This wasn't how it was supposed to end—not like this, not him.
"Ryle, please." Her voice cracked, but she held on tight. She wouldn't let him slip away.
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Shattered Light
They gathered around him, their faces etched with fear and disbelief. The group was no longer the confident, battle-hardened unit they had been just hours ago. Now, they stood at the edge of panic, their focus on the boy lying motionless in Seren's arms.
Blood soaked the ground where she knelt, Ryle's limp body cradled against her. His chest barely rose, his breath shallow and ragged. The once-clear lines of his face were now marred with soot and blood, pale and broken from the blast.
Lira dropped to her knees beside them, muttering under her breath as she moved her hands over Ryle's body. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and the healer's robes of the palace's order shimmered faintly in the dim light. The gentle hum of magic surrounded her as her fingers hovered uncertainly just above his chest.
Light began to bloom in her palms—soft, golden, and warm—but her fingers hovered uncertainly just above his chest. She set the spell circle into the earth, and ancient runes flickered beneath him. She had done this countless time before, healing soldiers from the brink of death, but this was different. She could feel it. She wasn't sure why, but something wasn't allowing the magic to work.
The others watched in silence. They had all seen Lira heal grievous wounds, bring people back from the brink of death, and save lives that should've been lost. But Ryle was different. His survival instinct was strong—he wasn't like the others. He didn't cry out in pain when he fought, didn't beg for help when he was cornered. He had simply endured. The scars on his body, old ones etched deep into his flesh, suggested he had known suffering long before they met him.
The golden circle beneath Ryle's body flickered weakly, then snapped apart, the magic crackling and fracturing in the air like glass breaking. Lira recoiled, eyes wide with confusion and panic.
Nia stepped forward, her breath quickening. "What… what's happening?"
Lira didn't answer. Her lips moved, but no sound came. Her face was pale, her hands shaking as she tried to focus on the spell once more.
"Try again," Riven's voice was low, direct, and without hesitation.
Lira nodded and raised her hands again. The runes flared to life in the dirt, golden flames forming into a perfect circle around them, but then… it shattered again, violently. Sparks shot through the air, scattering like embers in a firestorm.
The air around them grew thick with tension.
Nia staggered back a step. "That's not possible…" she muttered, staring at Lira in disbelief. "What's wrong with him?"
Seren's voice shook. "Why won't it work? What's happening?" She clutched Ryle tighter, but he didn't respond, his body still and far too light in her arms.
Lira looked at her hands in frustration. "I don't know," she whispered. "He's rejecting it—or something. I can't get through. It won't let me heal him."
Seren's grip tightened. Her gaze flicked to Elara, then back to Lira. She was still processing everything that had happened in the last few hours. the explosion, the chaos—it all seemed so unreal. And now this. Ryle, the boy who had somehow survived all of it, wasn't responding to their magic.
Lira's voice cracked as she turned to Elara. "I've never seen this. I can't heal him. I don't know why."
Elara's face darkened with a mixture of anger and frustration, her brows furrowed as she stepped forward, her voice low but sharp. "No more excuses. We're not losing him here."
Elara moved quickly, grabbing the cloth to bind Ryle's wounds. She ignored the blood that soaked through her gloves as she worked.
"Lira, stabilize what you can. Riven, with me."
Seren opened her mouth to protest, but Elara cut her off. "If we don't move him, we'll lose him for sure. The saint's in town. It's our only shot."
Elara worked quickly, fastening bindings to stop the bleeding as best she could, all while Ryle remained eerily silent, his body limp and unresponsive. His head rested against her shoulder as she lifted him, her own body aching under the weight of him. He was too light, too fragile, and that only made the fear in her chest grow.
"Elara…" Lira's voice trembled.
"Don't look at me like that," Elara muttered under her breath. "Just clear the way. We need to move."
Seren nodded sharply, unsheathing her sword. She stood tall, eyes scanning the dense forest around them. "Go."
They moved as one. The forest stretched ahead, dark and filled with shadows. The trees pressed in, their branches whipping against them as they ran. The air felt colder now, tinged with the lingering smoke from the blast, but none of that mattered. Their only focus was getting Ryle to safety.
Elara's legs burned with each step, The boy had been through so much already—he'd fought, he'd bled, and he'd nearly died in that explosion. And yet, here he was, so still and silent in her arms. Too light. Too fragile. Too silent.
Seren moved beside her, sword in hand, her eyes constantly scanning the dark woods around them, prepared for any threats. Behind them, Riven and Lira kept pace, each of them pushing forward despite the fatigue that must have been weighing on them.
Then, Nia broke ahead, disappearing into the trees with swift precision. "I'll warn the guard!" she shouted, her voice strained with urgency. "Make sure they don't stop us!"
Nia's fearlessness gave Elara a slight sense of relief, but only just. They were still a distance from the town. They weren't there yet.
Lira's chant shifted, and the air around them seemed to grow lighter, their steps quicker, faster. Buff magic. It wasn't enough. They still weren't moving fast enough.
Riven pulled in close to Elara's side, her expression unreadable. Her eyes flicked toward Ryle. "You saw the scars, right?" she asked quietly, her voice carrying a cold edge.
Elara's grip on Ryle tightened, her thoughts flickering back to the marks she'd noticed on his body. The deep, old scars, too many to count. Scars that spoke of years of pain. The kind of scars that didn't come from accidents.
She gave a sharp nod.
Riven's face darkened further. "He didn't get those here, did he?"
No. He hadn't. Elara realized the extent to which she had misjudged him. The marks on his body weren't just the scars of a child who had been neglected or hurt—they were the scars of someone who had survived violence, someone who had learned to fight back long before he crossed paths with her and the knights.
She had tried to control him, thinking that her duty as a knight, her responsibility to protect Seren, gave her the right to dictate what was best for Ryle. But her attempt to keep him at arm's length had only pushed him further into the shadows. When she had forced him to come with them in the face of danger, thinking he was just some boy to be kept safe, she had never considered the toll her decisions were taking on him. She had dismissed his boundaries, his quiet resistance, as arrogance or stubbornness, never seeing it for what it truly was—pain. The same pain that had shaped him, that had turned him into someone who didn't ask for help, who didn't believe anyone would help him.
The truth hit her like a blow to the chest. She wasn't any different from the ones who had left those scars on him. She had pushed him, forced him into situations he hadn't asked for, all while thinking she knew better, just like those who had scarred him in the past. And she had done the same thing. In the name of protection, she had treated him like something to be controlled, not someone with his own experiences, his own pain. And now, seeing him lying in her arms, silent and broken, Elara couldn't deny it. She had hurt him too.
Elara pushed forward, her mind racing. If she had only noticed sooner… If she hadn't been so focused on controlling him, on keeping him in line, maybe things would be different. Maybe she could have asked better questions, offered more help when it was needed, seen the pain behind his stubbornness instead of dismissing it.
But now, all they had was this: moving forward, through the darkness, toward the town, and toward the saint.
The trees began to thin. Moonlight pierced through the canopy, casting pale shadows across their path.
"We're close," Riven said, her voice tight. "A quarter-league, maybe less."
Ryle still hadn't moved.
Elara forced herself not to look down at him. She just kept running.
They finally broke through the trees, the town coming into view. The stone buildings loomed, faintly illuminated by lanterns. The faint murmur of distant voices and the quiet sounds of town life carried in the cool air.
Nia had already reached the gates, her voice urgent as she spoke to the guards. "We need immediate passage. The child's badly injured. Don't delay us—he won't last much longer."
Within moments, the gates creaked open, and the soldiers ushered them through. The knights barely broke stride as they continued their mad dash to the church, where the saint was stationed. Their feet echoed on the cobblestone streets, and the cool night air felt like a slap to their senses, a reminder that time was running out.