Chapter 8 - The memory Of Careful Hands

At first, there was only darkness.

Not sleep.

Not peace.

Darkness.

The kind that pressed against the skin and crawled behind the eyes. The kind that smelled of damp stone, old blood, bitter smoke and fear that had been trapped too long in one place.

Lysa floated inside it.

She did not know whether she was standing, lying down or falling. Her thoughts moved slowly.

Too slowly.

Every time she reached for one, it slipped away.

A sound came from somewhere nearby.

Chains.

No.

Not nearby.

A memory.

Chains scraping against stone.

A voice followed.

Soft.

Kind.

Wrong.

“You’ll be safe if you cooperate.”

Lysa tried to move.

Her wrists would not answer.

Her throat felt thick. Her tongue would not shape words.

Another voice laughed.

Farther away.

Rougher.

Male.

Then another.

And another.

The voices blurred together until they became a shape in her mind.

Boots.

Hands.

Rope.

The smell of sweat and iron.

A whisper near her ear.

“Don’t bruise her.”

Another voice answered.

“She’s worth more clean.”

The words slipped apart before Lysa could hold them.

Worth more.

Clean.

Alive.

Her chest tightened.

There had been other times.

Other hands.

Other men emerging from dark places with greedy eyes and careful orders.

The memories did not line up.

They flashed.

A window opening when it should not have opened.

A guard shouting.

Mira grabbing her hand and pulling her down a corridor.

A man’s voice saying, “That’s her.”

A door slamming.

Her father’s face, distant and pained.

No.

That memory vanished before it became clear.

The darkness swallowed it again.

Then came the carriage.

The festival.

Lanterns.

Music.

Mira laughing beside her.

For one precious moment, Lysa remembered warmth.

Then a hand closed over her mouth.

Cloth pressed against her nose.

Sweet.

Sharp.

Wrong.

Mira screamed her name.

The world folded.

Lysa’s eyes opened inside the memory.

The cave ceiling swayed above her. Torchlight smeared across the stone.

Someone dragged her by the arms.

Her heels scraped against the ground.

She tried to speak.

No sound came out.

A bandit cursed.

“She awake?”

“Not enough.”

“Good. Keep her quiet.”

The memory broke.

Darkness swallowed it.

Then light.

Not sunlight.

A beam.

Huge and white-blue, tearing down into the cave as though the sky had stabbed the earth.

Bandits shouted.

Someone cursed.

Someone laughed in surprise.

The stone floor burned with a circle of light.

Lysa saw it through half-open eyes.

No.

She remembered seeing it.

Her body would not move, but her mind trembled around the shape.

A figure appeared within the light.

A young man.

Strange clothes.

A strange face.

A shirt far too bright for the cave.

Something dark covered his eyes.

A necklace rested against his chest.

He looked around as though the world had given him a gift.

That made no sense.

No one should have looked happy there.

Not inside that cave.

Not near Vrok.

Not surrounded by chains and frightened people.

Lysa wanted to move away.

She wanted to make herself smaller.

She wanted to disappear before another man looked at her, before another hand reached for her, before another voice decided what she was worth.

But her body would not move.

Her mouth would not speak.

Vrok stepped towards the young man.

Vrok smiled.

That smile.

That gentle smile that made Lysa’s stomach twist even through the haze.

The young man followed him.

Lysa did not know what he was.

A prisoner.

A fool.

A weapon.

Another danger.

Her mind could not hold the question long enough to answer it.

Her eyes slid closed.

The memory folded away.

Darkness returned.

Then pain.

Not sharp.

Distant.

Her arms.

Her shoulders.

Her throat.

The feeling of being lifted.

No.

Carried.

Lysa’s eyes opened again.

The cave moved around her in broken pieces.

Stone walls.

Torchlight.

Shouting.

A wagon.

The strange young man held her in his arms.

Her body went cold before her thoughts caught up.

A man was holding her.

Her first instinct was not trust.

It was discomfort.

Not because every man frightened her, but because too many of the hands that had reached for her in dark places had belonged to men. Her body remembered that before her mind could explain why.

Her fingers tried to curl.

Her body tried to pull away.

Nothing obeyed.

But his grip did not tighten.

He did not drag her.

He did not shake her.

He did not laugh.

He carried her carefully.

Too carefully for someone stealing her.

Too carefully for someone angry.

His breathing was heavy. His face was dirty. Blood stained his knuckles. His strange dark glasses sat crooked across his face, but nothing in what she could see of his expression appeared cruel.

He looked down at her.

Lysa’s chest tightened.

She waited for the smile.

Not an ordinary smile.

Vrok’s kind of smile.

A smile that promised safety while hiding ownership beneath it.

The young man did smile.

But it was small.

Awkward.

Relieved.

Almost uncertain.

Then he placed her gently onto folded cloth inside the wagon.

He did not toss her.

He did not drop her.

He placed her down.

Then he moved his hands away quickly, as though he understood that she should not be held any longer than necessary.

The memory blurred.

Wood creaked.

People cried.

Someone shouted.

The wagon lurched.

Lysa’s eyes slid closed again.

A voice screamed her name.

Mira.

Mira?

The darkness took that too.

After that, everything became fragments.

Wind.

Wheels.

A hand gripping her sleeve.

A voice shouting, “I am trying to argue with gravity!”

Mira’s voice, furious and terrified.

A sharp jolt.

A whisper near her ear.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Then nothing.

For a while, there was no cave.

No wagon.

No chains.

Only warmth.

Softness.

The faint smell of herbs.

Clean cloth.

Sunlight passing through curtains.

A humming voice.

Gentle.

Low.

Beautiful.

Lysa drifted towards it.

The humming curled through the room like a spring breeze. It rose and fell with calm patience, carrying something green within it.

Something alive.

A petal brushed Lysa’s cheek.

Her eyes moved beneath her eyelids.

The humming continued, and the scent of fresh flowers slowly deepened.

Lysa opened her eyes.

The ceiling above her was not stone.

It was white wood, carved with simple patterns of leaves and birds. Warm sunlight spilled across it from a window on the left side of the room.

Thin curtains moved in the breeze.

For a moment, Lysa did not understand.

The world was too bright.

Too clean.

Too quiet.

She tried to sit up.

Her body refused.

Pain moved through her arms and shoulders, dull but real. Her wrists felt sore. Her throat was dry. Her head felt heavy, as though someone had filled it with wet cloth.

A soft hand touched her shoulder.

“Easy, hun.”

Lysa froze.

Her eyes shifted.

Melra sat beside the bed.

She wore a clean dress, but exhaustion still clung to her face. Her long hair had been tied loosely behind her.

One hand rested on Lysa’s blanket.

The other hovered near a small cluster of flowers growing from a clay pot on the bedside table.

Several buds opened one by one beneath her hand.

Melra smiled.

Tired.

Warm.

Real.

“Good morning,” she said softly. “Don’t worry, hun. You are safe.”

Safe.

The word did not enter easily.

It pressed against the locked places inside Lysa’s chest and waited there.

Lysa’s lips parted.

Nothing came out.

Her throat hurt too much.

Melra reached for a cup beside the bed.

“Small sip.”

She helped Lysa lift her head just enough to drink.

The water was cool.

Clean.

Lysa swallowed once.

Then again.

Her throat burned, but the water helped.

Melra lowered the cup.

“Mira has been worried sick,” she said.

At the name, Lysa’s eyes widened.

Melra tilted her head towards the other side of the bed.

Lysa followed her gaze.

Mira was there.

Asleep.

She was curled awkwardly in a chair that had clearly not been made for proper rest. Her hair was loose, her clothes were wrinkled, and one hand still held the edge of Lysa’s blanket.

Even asleep, her fingers had not fully let go.

Her face looked younger like that.

Exhausted.

Pale.

Tear-stained.

Melra’s voice softened.

“She only fell asleep a few moments ago.”

Lysa stared at Mira.

Something inside her cracked.

Not loudly.

Not completely.

Just enough to hurt.

“M…”

The sound scraped from her throat.

Mira’s eyes snapped open.

Instantly.

As though she had not been asleep at all.

For one second, she only stared.

Then her entire face changed.

“Lysa?”

Lysa tried to smile.

It failed halfway.

Mira stood too quickly, knocking the chair backwards. She caught herself against the bedside table and nearly knocked the flower pot onto the floor.

Melra caught it without looking.

“Mira.”

Mira ignored her.

She leaned over the bed, her hands hovering above Lysa as though she wanted to embrace her but was terrified of hurting her.

“You’re awake.”

Lysa swallowed.

“Mira…”

Her voice was barely there.

Mira covered her mouth.

Her eyes filled immediately.

Then she shook her head hard, as though refusing to cry would somehow make everything easier.

“You’re awake,” she said again.

Lysa lifted one hand.

It felt heavy.

Too heavy.

But Mira noticed the movement and took it between both of hers.

Carefully.

So carefully.

Lysa’s fingers curled weakly around hers.

Mira bowed her head over their joined hands.

For a few breaths, no one spoke.

Melra quietly returned the flower pot to its place.

Outside the window, somewhere beyond the infirmary walls, the kingdom moved.

Wagon wheels clattered.

Distant voices called across the streets.

A bell rang once.

Life continued.

Inside the room, Mira held Lysa’s hand as though she feared the world might try to take it again.

“I’m sorry,” Mira whispered.

Lysa blinked slowly.

Mira’s shoulders shook.

“I’m sorry. I should have been closer. I should have noticed. I should have—”

Melra’s voice interrupted gently.

“Mira.”

Mira stopped.

Barely.

Lysa looked at her friend.

The words came slowly.

“Not… your fault.”

Mira’s expression twisted.

She did not believe it.

Not yet.

Perhaps not for a long time.

But Lysa needed her to hear it anyway.

“Not… yours.”

Mira pressed Lysa’s hand against her forehead.

Melra watched them both with soft, sorrowful eyes.

Lysa breathed in carefully.

The room smelled of herbs, flowers, clean sheets and sun-warmed wood.

Not the cave.

Not blood.

Not smoke.

She tried to hold on to that.

Her eyes moved towards the window.

Beyond the curtains, she could see part of a tower roof and a strip of bright blue sky.

The sky was too open.

Too peaceful.

It did not match what remained inside her.

A memory flashed.

The beam of light.

The young man appearing.

Vrok smiling.

Fear twisting through her stomach because another unknown man had entered the cave.

Then another fragment.

The same young man carrying her.

The wagon.

His crooked glasses.

His careful hands moving away after placing her down.

Lysa’s fingers tightened slightly around Mira’s hand.

Mira noticed immediately.

“What is it? Are you hurting?”

Lysa shook her head weakly.

Her voice came out rough.

“The… man.”

Mira went still.

Melra’s expression changed too.

Not alarmed.

Cautious.

Lysa looked between them.

“The one… in the cave.”

Mira’s mouth tightened.

Melra sat a little straighter.

“You remember him?” Melra asked.

Lysa closed her eyes.

Fragments shifted behind them.

Light.

Fear.

Arms.

A careful grip.

A wagon.

“Some.”

Mira’s grip tightened.

“He brought you out,” she said.

The words sounded as though they cost her something.

Lysa opened her eyes again.

Mira looked away.

“He also nearly dragged the wagon off a hill and argued with gravity.”

Melra sighed softly.

“Mira.”

“What? He did.”

Lysa blinked.

For one fragile second, confusion pushed through the fog.

“Argued… with gravity?”

Mira’s expression remained serious.

“Yes.”

Melra rubbed her temple.

“It was a complicated escape.”

Lysa stared at them.

The room was quiet.

Then a tiny breath escaped her.

Not quite a laugh.

Too weak for that.

But close.

Mira froze.

Melra’s eyes softened.

The almost-laugh caught painfully in Lysa’s throat, and she stopped.

But its shape remained.

A small piece of proof that the cave had not taken everything.

Mira looked as though she might break apart from relief.

“He is strange,” she said quickly, as though she needed to regain control of the conversation. “Very strange.”

Melra nodded.

“Extremely.”

Lysa looked at her.

“Dangerous?”

Melra did not answer immediately.

That was answer enough to make Mira tense.

“He is powerful,” Melra said carefully. “Untrained. Reckless. Confusing. Possibly dangerous.”

Lysa waited.

Melra’s gaze softened.

“But from what I saw, he was not cruel to you or the other prisoners.”

Mira looked down.

“He stopped smiling whenever someone inside the wagon cried out.”

Melra nodded.

“He was reckless, but he was trying to keep everyone safe.”

She paused.

“Afterwards, he drank from a stream like a starving animal and confused several guards who were trying to decide how dangerous he actually was.”

Lysa processed that slowly.

The image did not fit the cave.

It did not fit Vrok.

It did not fit the men who smiled before hurting people.

A man dangerous enough to tear through bandits.

Careful enough to place her gently down.

Oblivious enough to drink water like that in front of armed guards.

Her mind did not know where to put him.

So it did not put him anywhere yet.

Good.

Bad.

Safe.

Unsafe.

Those words felt too sharp.

Too soon.

Lysa closed her eyes again.

She saw Vrok’s smile.

Her chest tightened.

Her fingers clenched around Mira’s hand.

Mira leaned closer immediately.

“Lysa?”

The room seemed to shrink.

The sunlight thinned.

For half a heartbeat, the smell of herbs became damp stone.

Lysa heard chains.

Her breath caught.

Melra stood at once.

“Mira, don’t crowd her.”

Mira pulled back immediately, panic flashing across her face.

“I’m sorry.”

Lysa forced air into her lungs.

In.

Out.

The room slowly returned.

White ceiling.

Curtains.

Flowers.

Mira.

Melra.

Not the cave.

Not the cave.

Not the cave.

Melra began humming again.

Softly.

The same melody as before.

The flowers on the bedside table trembled.

One small bud opened.

Then another.

Lysa watched the petals unfold.

Her breathing steadied little by little.

Mira remained close, but not too close.

Her hand stayed within Lysa’s only because Lysa had not let go.

Melra’s humming filled the space that fear had tried to take.

After a while, Lysa whispered, “Vrok…”

Mira’s face darkened.

Melra’s humming stopped.

Lysa opened her eyes.

The name tasted bitter.

“He smiled.”

Melra nodded once.

“I know.”

“He… lied.”

“We know.”

Lysa stared at the blanket.

Her fingers twisted weakly into the fabric.

“I thought…”

Her voice faded.

Melra waited.

Mira waited too, even though waiting clearly hurt her.

Lysa swallowed.

“I thought the man was another one.”

Mira’s expression changed.

Melra’s eyes softened with understanding.

“When the light came,” Lysa whispered. “When he appeared, Vrok went to him. Smiled at him. He followed.”

Her breathing shook.

“I thought… maybe he was with them. Or maybe Vrok would use him. Or maybe he would hurt someone too.”

She looked down.

“I didn’t know.”

Mira’s fingers tightened around hers.

“You were scared.”

Lysa nodded faintly.

The admission felt small.

And enormous.

“I couldn’t move.”

Melra sat back down.

“You were drugged and restrained. That was not your failure.”

Lysa looked at her.

Melra’s voice remained gentle.

“It was not.”

Lysa wanted to believe her.

Belief was still far away.

But Melra placed the words within reach.

That helped.

Mira’s thumb brushed across Lysa’s hand.

“He figured Vrok out,” she said quietly.

Lysa looked at her.

“The strange man,” Mira continued. “He realised Vrok was lying.”

Melra’s mouth curved slightly.

“Not elegantly.”

Mira released a tired breath.

“No. Definitely not elegantly.”

Lysa blinked.

“But he did,” Melra said.

The room settled again.

Outside, a bird landed on the windowsill.

It had a red chest, blue wings and tiny curled horns above its eyes. It tilted its head and peered into the room.

Lysa watched it quietly.

The bird scratched one tiny horn against the window frame, chirped at its reflection, then hopped away as though embarrassed by itself.

For some reason, Lysa thought the strange young man from the cave would have stared at it.

She did not know why that thought came.

She barely knew him.

She did not even know his name.

Still, the thought came.

And for some reason, it did not hurt.

“What is his name?” she whispered.

Mira looked as though she did not want to answer.

Melra answered anyway.

“Enshin Malietoa.”

Lysa repeated it silently.

Enshin.

The name felt foreign.

Heavy with a place she did not know.

Mira folded her free arm across her chest without releasing Lysa’s hand.

“He says he came from another world.”

Lysa looked towards her.

Melra nodded.

“He is likely a summoner.”

The word entered the room carefully.

Summoner.

Lysa knew the stories.

Everyone did.

Heroes.

Weapons.

Madmen.

Miracles.

Disasters.

People taken from worlds beyond the sky and dropped into kingdoms that either praised them, used them, feared them or buried what they became.

A summoner had appeared inside the cave.

A summoner had followed Vrok.

A summoner had carried her out.

Lysa looked towards the window again.

The sky was still blue.

She did not know what to feel.

Fear should have been easy.

Gratitude should have been easy.

Neither was.

Her memories were too broken.

Her body was too tired.

Her heart felt too bruised to hold anything cleanly.

So she chose the smallest truth she had.

“He put me down carefully.”

Mira went quiet.

Melra’s expression softened.

Lysa looked at them.

“In the wagon,” she whispered. “He was careful.”

Mira lowered her eyes.

After a moment, she nodded.

“He was.”

It sounded difficult for her to admit.

But she did.

That mattered.

Lysa’s eyes grew heavy again.

Melra noticed.

“You need more rest.”

Lysa wanted to protest.

She had questions.

Too many.

Where was Vrok?

Were the prisoners safe?

What had happened to the cave?

Where was Enshin now?

Was he still nearby?

Was he dangerous?

Was she safe?

The questions crowded her throat.

None of them made it out.

Mira squeezed her hand gently.

“I’ll be here.”

Lysa looked at her.

Mira’s face was tired, pale and stubborn.

“I’m not leaving.”

Melra sighed.

“You are also going to sleep soon.”

Mira ignored her.

Lysa’s mouth twitched faintly.

Melra noticed and smiled.

“Both of you,” she corrected. “Rest.”

Lysa’s eyes drifted shut.

The room dimmed into warmth.

Not darkness this time.

Warmth.

Melra began humming again.

Mira’s hand stayed in hers.

The flowers breathed softly beside the bed.

And somewhere beyond the infirmary walls, in the vast kingdom that had continued moving without her, the strange young man from another world walked farther into the story he had dreamed of.

Lysa did not know where he had gone.

She did not yet know whether the thought of him was comforting.

But before sleep took her, she remembered one thing clearly.

Not Vrok’s smile.

Not the chains.

Not the cave.

A crooked pair of dark glasses.

A dirty face.

Bloody hands.

And careful hands that let go as soon as she was safe.

That memory stayed.

Then Lysa slept.