Three weeks.
Three painfully slow, suffocating weeks had crawled by since the night Kael's condition worsened and he was taken to Gondor. Since then, Lyria had never left his side. Not for a moment. She stayed to change the damp cloth Gondor placed on his head whenever the fever surged. She stayed to cradle him when the seizures wracked his body, each spasm stealing another piece of him. She stayed even when his screams quieted to a shallow, breathless silence. And through it all, she prayed—fervently, endlessly—that somehow he would be whole again.
Despite the weight of Kael's suffering, something unexpectedly warm had blossomed in the shadows of that room. Lyria and Gondor had grown into something like friends. Casual conversations and occasional jokes flickered between them like fleeting sparks, softening the edges of the pain they both carried.
One quiet afternoon, Lyria called out.
"Hey, Gondor."
His ears twitched, immediately attentive. "What's wrong? Did something change with Kael?" He rushed toward the room in alarm.
"Umm… no. Sorry." She looked down, almost guilty. "I just wanted to talk. Do you have a minute?"
"Yeah, sure," he exhaled, settling beside her.
"It's been over three weeks since we got here," she began, her voice tinged with frustration and weariness, "and the only change is that the black veins have stopped spreading."
An intentional silence stretched between them like a thin wire pulled taut.
Gondor finally broke it, his voice quiet but steady. "Like I said before… there's only so much I can do. I've been using the strongest herbs and potions I know to stop the spread. But…" He paused, running his hand through his pale hair. "I've spent these three weeks studying his condition, and I think… I understand what's happening to him now."
Lyria's eyes widened with a mix of hope and cautious skepticism. "And how long have you known this without telling me, you bastard?" she teased, forcing a playful glare despite the ache in her chest.
He smirked. "Easy now, I just figured it out this morning."
"Well, then, don't keep me in suspense. Spit it out."
Gondor's expression turned grave. "The core of the black veins—it's the pulsing burn on his side. That's the source. If we remove it, the veins should stop and die off naturally."
Relief flooded Lyria, and she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
But Gondor's voice turned somber. "There's no guarantee he'll survive the removal. Given how far the veins have spread, I doubt he'll make it through the procedure."
Her heart sank like a stone in deep water. Elves didn't sugarcoat things. They told the truth with brutal precision, indifferent to how it would shatter the hearts of those listening. Gondor was no different.
"Normally," he continued, "this would be a fifty-fifty chance. But in Kael's case… it's more like thirty-seventy. Thirty percent he survives. Seventy percent he doesn't." His gaze locked onto hers, unwavering. "If you want any hope of saving him, this is the only way. But now that you know the odds… what's it going to be?"
The world seemed to freeze. The weight of the choice crushed her, suffocating her lungs and blurring her vision. Her gaze drifted to Kael's pale face. He looked so peaceful now, but she knew the agony that waited just beneath the surface.
For someone like her, making decisions should not have been this difficult. She had made hundreds of them in battle, some even more dangerous than this. But this was different. This was personal. This was… Kael.
No one should bear this burden alone.
If she chose the core's removal, he could die on the table before the procedure was even complete.
If she did nothing, he would linger in agony until the end came for him anyway.
"Dammit," she whispered, her fists trembling at her sides.
Without a word, Gondor rose and began walking toward the door, giving her space, time, and silence to process her torment. Even an elf—typically cold and detached—understood the cruelty of this moment.
"No one should have to make this choice. Especially not him," her voice cracked as tears streamed freely down her cheeks.
Gondor halted at the doorway, his back to her.
"If I choose the core's termination, he could die?" she asked, as if begging for a different answer.
"Yes."
"If I let him remain as he is, he could still die?"
"Yes."
"I'm caught in a real dilemma, aren't I?"
"Yes."
There was nothing else Gondor could offer. Only the truth. Only the reality she had to face.
Humans… Gondor thought, his hand tightening around the doorframe. Of all the five races, they are the most fragile, the most unstable. And yet, their bonds… their bonds are both their greatest strength and their fatal weakness. It is something no other race has ever fully understood or replicated. Perhaps that is why they continue to surprise us…
If she chooses to go through with it, I may have to reveal the full extent of my elven heritage—to maximize Kael's chances. I've hidden it for years. But… perhaps she is worthy of that trust. Perhaps…
His thoughts tangled like vines as he stood there, waiting.
Lyria wiped her tears roughly with her sleeve, forcing herself to breathe.
"What kind of friend would I be if I let him continue to suffer? Where's my pride…?" She clenched her fists. "In the end, the hardest choices require the strongest of wills."
Her decision rang clear in the air.
"How long will the procedure take?"
Gondor glanced over his shoulder. "I've never done anything like this before. I can't make any promises or guesses. But… it's going to take a while."
"Then let's begin. If he dies during the process… at least he'll be free from his pain. And if he lives…" She gave a small, bittersweet smile. "I'll take it as a miracle from the gods."
Without another word, Gondor nodded and left to gather his equipment.
Lyria leaned closer to Kael, brushing his damp hair from his forehead, her voice soft as a breeze.
"It won't be long now, little hawk. Hold on for me… just a little longer."