With Angellon gone from the tent, Zen faced the task before her. A sigh escaped her, a sound laden with a weariness that ran deeper than a simple interrupted sleep. "Just do my job... hmm, it's always the same," she murmured to herself.
She knelt beside Aiden. His skin had a waxy, almost greyish tone, and his lips were tinged with a pale blue that screamed of massive blood loss. His breathing was so faint that Zen had to lean in close to confirm it, barely feeling the meager puff of air against her cheek. Wow, Angellon, you nearly brought me a fresh corpse, she thought with genuine concern. This one's two steps from the grave with one foot already slipping.
Ever since Zen had arrived at this makeshift refuge, it had always been like this: a series of jobs she didn't want to do, sometimes healing people at the most inopportune moments, other times burying the unfortunate ones. But she had no other choice. She went to her cot and from underneath pulled out a worn leather medical kit she always kept with her and a small bucket of clean water.
Returning to Aiden's side, her professional mind took over. She had no idea of the exact number of wounds hidden by his tattered clothes, nor how severe they truly were. With a speed that contradicted her apparent listlessness, and wincing in disgust at the touch of the cold, soaked fabric, she began to remove his garments with the utmost care, using only her fingertips. As the clothes came away, a putrid aroma of coagulated blood and sewer filth was released. "Ugh, a feast for the senses," she grumbled, removing his shirt, trousers, and undergarments until he was completely naked.
The injuries were critical. She could discern three improvised tourniquets that, though tight, were crushing some of Aiden's flesh. Definitely Angellon's handiwork, she thought, shaking her head. She needed to focus. The bandages were barely containing the main hemorrhages. Alright, this can't wait.
Zen opened her kit, taking out sterile gauze, scissors, and a flask of antiseptic. First, she removed the bandages with the scissors, causing blood to well up. Then she used the gauze to apply pressure until the bleeding slowed, used the water to clean the edges of the wound, and poured some of the antiseptic's contents onto it to disinfect. To stop the bleeding completely, she searched for a vial of coagulant powder. She applied the greyish material and placed a new, much tighter bandage with swift movements. She repeated the procedure on his leg and head. It's the first time I've seen someone in this state and still alive, she thought as she worked. Usually, they'd be dead by this point. His body is quite cold. Maybe it has to do with his Terum, or his genetics. Where is he from? He doesn't look like an inhabitant of Zhailon.
Though her mind was a chaos of thoughts, her hands moved automatically, a product of countless years dedicated to the art of healing. Only then, with the hemorrhages temporarily under control, did she go to a wooden chest near her bed and pull out a wool blanket, which she used to cover him from his neck to his knees in an attempt to preserve what little body heat he had left. The stench, however, still lingered. She reminded herself that the smell was a bad sign and decided to take out an antiseptic herbal lotion with a penetrating floral scent, applying it to the abrasions and minor cuts, wrinkling her nose at the cacophony of odors.
She took the blood-soaked clothing as if handling animal remains and left the tent with a wide wooden bucket. Near one of the communal bonfires, she filled it with fresh water from a barrel and returned. Upon submerging the garments, the clear liquid was stained an intense red, with murky greenish tones from the sewer filth. Zen began to wash the clothes energetically, watching as the blood separated and joined the water. When she felt she had removed as much as possible, she approached Aiden and, with a clean cloth, wiped down his body, collecting the dried blood that covered him to add it to the bucket. She repeated the process until Aiden's skin was relatively clean.
Now, she sat beside the bucket, closed her eyes, and her hands floated just above the surface of the bloody water. A trace of Terum, an almost invisible, pale blue luminescence, began to form around her outstretched fingers and radiate into the liquid.
"Alright, you disgusting little miracle, work," she whispered. A deep concentration took over her features, though a small tic of disgust twitched at her lips. Slowly, small bubbles began to form in the mixture as the filth vanished and the red intensified, growing darker, denser. The volume of the liquid gradually decreased as the blood, induced by her Terum, absorbed and transformed the water. After a few minutes, the only thing left in the bucket was pure, concentrated blood.
Right, now for the fun part, she thought with sarcasm. Moving all this. She knew she would need help. She stood up and her eyes instinctively sought the light of the main bonfire. Towards them.And who do I call now? she thought with annoyance. Kaelor is surely still on guard duty, and I'm not in the mood to put up with Toker's vanity.
It was a small group that was always awake during the night. She already knew them and chatted with them from time to time—not because she wanted to, but because they were always the ones to start a conversation with her; a habit that, while annoying at first, secretly brought her a shred of happiness in the gloomy camp.
The orange glow of the fire painted dancing silhouettes in the twilight. They were sitting on a pair of rough wooden logs. Zen's gaze found Lira, one of the few people whose company she genuinely didn't mind. A young woman with straight brown hair with whom she had a good friendship, dressed in her usual coffee-colored leather outfit that gave her more the look of a mercenary than a soldier. She was sitting with her chin propped in her hand, her face, illuminated by the flames, reflecting a monumental boredom. Perfect.
Without wasting a moment, Zen headed towards her. The irritatingly familiar voice of Dalton soon reached her ears.
"I swear, man, it was a whole pack. Shadow leopards in the highlands, with eyes like coals," Dalton was saying, gesturing with a metal tankard. "Rhys, tell him, you were there."
Lira let out a mocking laugh. "Oh, come on, Dalton. How would you survive that? You nearly had a heart attack yesterday when Commander Ciro gave you a dirty look during patrol."
Dalton's expression darkened. "That's different, and you know it," he retorted. "Ciro is the commander and a survivor of the Frozen Keep. But animals are another thing. That's where my instincts shine. Right, Rhys?"
Rhys, who had been lost in the flames, simply shrugged.
"See? Even Rhys is ignoring you," Lira blurted out.
It was at that moment that Zen decided to intervene.
"Sorry to interrupt such a... fascinating chronicle," she said, her voice cutting through the bravado.
Lira turned immediately, her brown eyes shining with relief. "Zen? What's up now?"
"I need your help with someone," Zen indicated in a conspiratorial whisper, gesturing toward her tent. "It's... an interesting case. Give me a hand, will you? You can come back to hearing how Dalton traversed all of Terrazir in just three days later."
"Of course!" Lira exclaimed, getting up enthusiastically. Anything is better than this, she seemed to think.
"Hey, where are you taking her?" Dalton protested. "Come on, Zen, don't be like that. Join us, there's still room," he said, patting the log beside him.
There's the old Dalton, Zen thought. So predictable. She forced a polite smile. His insistence sometimes seemed almost endearing, but only when it didn't cross the line into poor taste, as it was about to do. "Sorry, but I'll pass for now. I have an urgent matter to attend to."
"Urgent?" he repeated, his smile turning mischievous. "Well, if it's something keeping you up at night, you know you can count on me to... help you relax."
And there he crossed the line. The endearment vanished, replaced by a grimace of disgust. Yeah, right. Maybe never. "I think I'll stick with Lira's help, thanks," she snapped with barely concealed annoyance.
"Your loss," Dalton said, waving his hand dismissively, though Zen noticed his smile fade.
"Come on, follow me," she told Lira, and they both walked away from the circle of light.
Behind them, they heard Dalton's voice. "See that, man? I've got her wrapped around my finger."
A silence. And then, Rhys's deep, monotone voice: "You're hallucinating, mate."
Once inside the tent, Lira was met with the sight of Aiden's prone body. "And who's this?"
"Not the faintest idea. He arrived with an urgent tag and under Angellon's protective wing, can you believe it?" Zen replied, lowering her voice on the last part, making sure only Lira could hear.
"But Angellon has never brought anyone here. I'm surprised she brought him half-dead, too. Are you sure she doesn't want him to disappear?"
"I asked myself the same thing," Zen said, touching her temple.
Lira shifted her gaze from the topic, focusing instead on Aiden. "Poor guy. It'd be a shame to let him die. He's got a good build, and I bet there's someone attractive under that ragged beard, don't you think?"
"Attractive? Lira, your days in this camp are affecting your judgment. Come on, help me get him ready before we lose him completely."
"Well, he survived Angellon. That's attractive. By the way, did you get a look at his...?" Lira asked with a mischievous grin.
"Get out of here. Just help me and let's get this over with."
"You're no fun," Lira replied, crossing her arms.
After that, they both took their positions, Zen by the legs and Lira holding Aiden by the shoulders, this so the latter wouldn't get any ideas. Aiden's body was toned, which made him heavier. Luckily, Lira was able to use Terum energy just like Zen; channeling a little, they reinforced their muscles and moved the body with considerable effort until they managed to lay him inside the wide bucket, his head resting on the edge. Lira passed a clean bandage to Zen, who wiped her sweat before placing a blanket beside it.
"Thanks for your help."
"Hey, don't mention it. Anything you're doing is better than the stories from those two out there. Don't let him die, I still want to meet him," Lira said, leaving with a final, knowing glance.
Zen just shook her head, a resigned smile on her lips. "Well, it seems you already have admirers," she murmured, turning back to her patient. "Moment of truth."
* * *
With a hint of concentration and drowsiness, Zen invoked her energy again. She submerged herself in the process, time losing its meaning, until, halfway through the healing, a groan escaped Aiden's lips.
His eyelids trembled and then slowly opened, revealing eyes clouded with pain and deep confusion. The tent, barely lit by the candle, spun gently around him. The first thing he perceived was an aura. In front of him, the figure of Zen, whom he could barely make out in his feverish state, was enveloped in a serene and constant, bluish luminescence. He tried to focus his own energy, and a faint layer of emerald green seemed to adhere to his skin, fluctuating and terribly weak.
Then he saw it. From the bucket in which he was submerged, threads of a dark red liquid rose, enveloping and beginning to penetrate his body, heading for the points where the pain was most acute. He felt the substance enter his skin, and an intense burning, different from his wounds, began to spread through his veins, bringing with it a strange sensation of fullness. "W-what..." he tried to articulate.
Zen opened one eye, giving him an amused look. "Well, look who's awake! Just in time for the show. Don't move or talk, and let me work, okay?"
Aiden obeyed, too weak and disoriented to do anything else. He watched, fascinated, as the blood in the bucket diminished, flowing into him like an internal tide seeking to fill an immense void. The process continued for several minutes that felt like an eternity, until the last drop merged with his being. Zen exhaled deeply, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
"Well," she said, looking at him, the intensity of her previous concentration now replaced by a clinical evaluation. Aiden's deathly pallor had begun to recede noticeably, a hint of color returning to his cheeks and forehead, though his lips remained too pale. "How do you feel?"
Aiden took a breath, surprised by the ease with which air now filled his lungs, an almost forgotten sensation. The sharp, lacerating pain had subsided to a dull, manageable ache. The extreme weakness that had consumed him to the point of fainting was beginning to slowly dissipate. "Much... better," he managed to say. "What... did you do?"
Zen shrugged, her fatigue visible in her now-green eyes. "Healer stuff. Lots of energy and skill. I cleaned your blood, your clothes' blood too, disinfected it, and persuaded it to be useful again. A full laundry and healing service." She paused, her tone becoming a bit more serious as she pointed to the visible but no longer bleeding cuts. "If you move too much, the wounds will open again. We need to close them, so you can be at one hundred percent for tomorrow. To do that, I'll have to borrow some Terum energy from someone else. "By any chance, are you an awakened of Terum?"
"Tomorrow? What's tomorrow?" Aiden inquired, ignoring the question Zen had asked him.
Zen felt silent for a moment. "I don't know, Angellon just told me you'll be seeing Veilon tomorrow. Must be something important," replied, shrugging.
It's true, Aiden realized, clarity returning to his mind. Since I started following Angellon, I never asked where we were going. I just focused on keeping up. Surely, Angellon had brought him to a trusted healer, and seeing that he was in a tent, he was certain they were on the outskirts of the domain. But why out here? The royal army is in the First Circle of the Citadel, and the healers are in the Second.
"So, can you control your energy?" Zen asked again, pulling him from his thoughts.
Well, that can wait, Aiden thought to himself. Right now, the important thing is to get through this.
"I can control it," he nodded, his lucid gaze sweeping the interior of the tent.
It was a functional space, but with personal items that spoke of her: on a rustic wooden table, dark clay jars sealed with wax from which emanated a scent of dried herbs and antiseptics. Clean linen cloths were stacked in a corner, and from the canvas walls hung small amulets woven with vibrant threads—reds, blues, greens—that seemed like a small act of colorful rebellion in the austere environment. From this last detail and the brief conversation they had, Aiden could discern that Zen was someone completely opposite to Angellon. Does she also work with her, or just for King Veilon?
Afterward, he fixed his gaze on his healer. He discovered that the simple tunic she wore had, on the edges of the sleeves and collar, intricate embroideries of five-petaled flowers that he recognized immediately. "Are you from Clan Ysara?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
Zen looked at him, and the playful smile she had maintained since he woke up vanished, replaced by an expression of surprise. Her fingers went instinctively to one of the embroideries, tracing its delicate outline. "You know of it?"
"Yes," Aiden replied. "During my years at Eilhart Academy, I saw these patterns in several places. Ornaments, illustrations in the old tomes of medicine and Terum... they were used as a constant reference."
Zen didn't reply. This time, her gaze didn't meet Aiden's. Instead, it was lost on the embroidered flowers of her own tunic, as if she were seeing something far away through them. Her hands hovered over Aiden's chest and her eyes closed. Her breathing became an almost imperceptible pause, and her expression remained serene.
Suddenly, a dome of pale blue light, faint and translucent, began to form around him. Aiden felt nothing at first, but then a faint tingling spread across his skin, a familiar and almost forgotten sensation. The energy emanating from Zen was serene yet immense, an ocean compared to the puddle Aiden possessed.
Terum. The essence of existence.
The memory of his lessons at the academy struck his mind: not a gift, but the fundamental energy that flowed through every living thing. People, animals, trees, the wind... All possessed it, but only a few, the awakened, could channel it consciously.
And he, in another time, had been one of the fortunate ones. When they discovered his potential as a child, he received preferential treatment that set him apart from the rest, granting him entry to Eilhart Academy, the place where his true journey with the Terum began.