Sarah's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the oppressive pre-dawn silence. The image of Lord Liam – bloodied, exhausted, yet moving with a desperate purpose – seared itself into her mind. Protocol warred with a burgeoning, instinctual concern. He was her lord, yes, but in that fleeting glimpse, she'd seen a vulnerability that transcended station.
Throwing caution to the wind, she slipped from the alcove, her soft-soled shoes making no sound on the cold flagstones. She followed the path he'd taken, her senses heightened, her gaze fixed on the servants' stairs he'd ascended. Each step was a silent prayer that she was mistaken, that it was just some terrible nightmare.
She reached his chamber door, which was slightly ajar. A low groan, a sound of pure agony, drifted out. Pushing the door open just enough to peer inside, her breath hitched.
Liam stood hunched over his washbasin, his back to her. The dark cloak and mask lay discarded on the floor, pooled like a shed skin. His shirt was half-off, revealing a blood-soaked bandage crudely tied around his shoulder, and angry red welts elsewhere. He fumbled with a small pot of salve, his hand trembling so violently he could barely open it. He swayed, his breath coming in ragged, painful gasps. He looked moments from collapse.
Sarah didn't hesitate. All thoughts of propriety vanished, replaced by an overwhelming urge to help. She pushed the door open fully and rushed in.
"My lord!"
Liam startled violently, whirling around, his amber eyes wide and unfocused with pain and exhaustion. He tried to straighten, to regain some semblance of composure, but his legs buckled.
"S-Sarah?" he slurred, his voice barely a whisper. "What…?"
"Hush, my lord," she said, her voice surprisingly firm despite the tremor in her hands. She reached him just as his knees gave out, guiding him to sit heavily on the edge of his bed. "You're hurt. Let me."
He was too far gone to protest. His head lolled, his gaze glassy. Sarah's heart ached at the sight. Without asking, she gently began to peel away the ruined shirt and the soaked bandage. The gash on his shoulder was deeper than she'd initially thought, inflamed and still oozing blood. Other cuts and bruises marred his torso.
Her fingers, usually so adept at mending torn linens or polishing silver, now moved with a desperate urgency. She cleaned the wound as best she could with a cloth dipped in fresh water from his ewer. As she touched the torn flesh, a fierce, protective warmth bloomed in her chest, an almost painful wave of empathy. She wanted, more than anything, for his pain to cease.
And then, it happened.
A soft, ethereal light, pale blue and shimmering, emanated from her hands as they hovered over his shoulder. Sarah gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief. The light pulsed gently, warm and soothing against her own skin. Beneath her touch, she felt the angry heat of Liam's wound begin to subside. The ragged edges of the gash seemed to soften, the bleeding slowing, then stopping altogether. The raw, torn look of the injury visibly lessened, knitting together with an unnatural speed.
[Skill Unlocked: Empathic Healing (Passive, Rank A) -> Empathic Healing (Active, Rank A)]
[Empathic Healing (Active, Rank A): Channels the user's empathy and a portion of their own vitality/mana to accelerate the natural healing process of another. Can mend wounds, reduce pain, and counter minor toxins. Effectiveness depends on the severity of the injury and the user's focus and energy.]
The System notification flashed unseen by her, but the sensation was undeniable. A drain on her own energy, yes, but also a profound sense of connection, of doing.
Liam, who had been on the verge of passing out, grunted softly as the first wave of healing washed over him. The intense pain that had been clawing at him began to recede, replaced by a dull throb, then a strange, comforting numbness. His eyelids grew impossibly heavy. His last conscious thought was of Sarah's worried face, haloed in a faint, warm light, before darkness claimed him completely. He slumped fully against her, deeply asleep.
Sarah, trembling from the experience and her own sudden fatigue, carefully eased him back onto the bed. She looked at her hands, then at Liam's shoulder. The once-grievous wound was now little more than a pink, healing line. Other minor cuts had faded entirely. She didn't understand what had just happened, how she'd done it, but a sense of awe, tinged with fear, washed over her. She gently covered him with a blanket, her gaze lingering on his peaceful, albeit pale, face. She had a secret now, a shared one, even if he didn't know his part in it yet.
Liam awoke with a gasp, disoriented. Sunlight streamed through his curtains, far brighter than it should be. He was late. Terribly late for training.
He sat up, expecting the agony of his wounds to protest. Instead… there was nothing. A slight stiffness in his shoulder, perhaps, but the burning pain, the deep ache – all gone. He looked down at himself. His skin was clear, save for a few faint, fading bruises. Even the deep gash on his shoulder was a barely visible, thin pink scar.
"What in the…?" he whispered, utterly bewildered.
His gaze fell upon the discarded cloak and mask on the floor, the bloodied rags beside his washbasin. Last night hadn't been a dream. The fight, the Vipers, saving the Vangorias… it was real. But this healing… it was impossible. He remembered Sarah… her worried face… a faint light? Had he hallucinated?
A sudden commotion from outside his chambers jolted him from his thoughts – hurried footsteps, raised voices, the distant sound of carriage wheels on cobblestones.
He scrambled out of bed, his mind racing. He quickly donned a fresh tunic and breeches, his eyes darting to the A-Rank Weapon Selection Voucher now showing in his System's inventory. He'd deal with that, and his mysterious healing, later. Right now, something was happening.
He threw open his door and nearly collided with a harried-looking servant.
"My lord! You're awake! The Vangoria family has arrived! Your father and mother are in the main hall receiving them!"
The Vangorias. They were safe. A wave of relief washed over Liam, quickly followed by the need to maintain his composure. He nodded curtly and headed towards the grand hall.
The atmosphere was one of polite, yet slightly strained, cordiality. Lord Baren stood tall and imposing, with Maria at his side, her smile warm and welcoming. Opposite them stood Lord Gareth Vangoria, looking remarkably well-rested despite his ordeal, and Lady Narine, her fiery hair a vibrant splash of color against her elegant traveling gown. She looked less terrified now, though a shadow still lingered in her eyes.
"Lord Gareth, Lady Narine," Baren was saying, his voice resonant. "We are most honored to finally welcome you to Lithian Hold. Your journey, I trust, was… uneventful after reaching our borders?" There was a subtle emphasis on the last words.
Lord Gareth Vangoria, a man clearly fond of recounting a dramatic tale, puffed out his chest. "Uneventful after we met your fine honor guard, Lord Baren, yes! But before that… ah, before that, we faced peril! A dastardly ambush, in the dead of night! Craven assassins, vipers in the dark!"
Lady Narine shuddered delicately, her hand going to her throat. "It was terrifying, Father."
Liam entered the hall, feigning a slightly sleepy, apologetic demeanor. "Father, Mother. Lord Vangoria, Lady Narine. My apologies for my tardiness."
Maria smiled. "Liam, dear, come and greet our guests."
As Liam offered polite bows, Lord Gareth's attention fixed on him. "Ah, young Lord Liam! A pleasure. Your father speaks highly of your recent… dedication."
Before Liam could respond, Gareth launched back into his tale. "We were set upon by at least half a dozen cutthroats! My own guards fought valiantly, but we were outnumbered! Then, from the very shadows, a champion appeared! A masked warrior, silent as the grave, swift as a striking falcon!"
Lady Narine chimed in, her voice filled with a mixture of awe and lingering fear. "He moved like a whirlwind, Father! His sword… it was like a silver flame in the darkness. He was wounded, I'm sure of it, yet he fought on, protecting us."
Liam kept his expression carefully neutral, though his heart hammered. He could feel Sir Lucas's sharp gaze on him from the edge of the room.
Lord Gareth continued, gesturing animatedly. "He dispatched several of the villains and incapacitated their leader – a brute of a man! Then, as quickly as he appeared, he vanished into the night, without a word, without asking for reward! A true hero! If not for him, I dare not think what might have become of us."
From a discreet position near the refreshment table, Sarah was refilling a pitcher. Her hands stilled as she listened to Lord Gareth's account. The masked warrior… silent… swift… wounded on the shoulder… It all clicked into place with sickening clarity. Her eyes darted to Liam, who stood listening with polite interest, his face a perfect mask of youthful composure. But she had seen him last night, stripped of that composure, broken and bleeding. She had touched those wounds.
Her gaze softened with a dawning, awestruck realization. Her young lord, the boy she had practically grown up alongside, was the mysterious hero. A wave of protectiveness, stronger than ever, washed over her. She lowered her eyes, her secret safe within her, a silent vow to protect his. The world had just become a far more complicated, and far more dangerous, place.