Chapter 9 - The Request

Chapter nine — The Request

Lysa was awake.

For a few quiet seconds, Mira did not realise it.

She had fallen asleep in the chair beside the bed, folded forwards with one arm near the blanket, her head tilted at an angle that looked painful. Hair fallen across her face. Breathing uneven, as if even sleep had failed to calm her.

Lysa watched her.

Melra had said Mira had not slept.

Looking at her now, Lysa believed it.

The infirmary was bright with late-morning light. Thin curtains swayed near the open window, and the flowers Melra had coaxed into bloom beside the bed gave the room a soft, sweet smell. Somewhere beyond the walls, the kingdom kept moving. Wagons rolled. Boots crossed stone. Distant voices rose and faded.

Not the cave.

Not chains.

Not Vrok’s smile.

Lysa shifted her fingers against the blanket.

The movement was small.

Mira woke like an arrow released from a bow.

Her eyes snapped open. For one heartbeat, she only stared.

Then she lunged forwards and wrapped both arms around Lysa.

“Lysa!”

The hug came fast. Too fast to be careful.

Lysa’s shoulders ached. Her wrists throbbed. Her body still felt weak beneath the blanket, as if the cave had left its weight inside her bones.

Mira froze.

“Sorry—”

Lysa lifted one arm slowly. Weakly. Her hand touched Mira’s back.

Mira stopped breathing.

Then Lysa held on.

Not tightly. She did not have the strength for that. But enough.

“It’s okay,” Lysa whispered.

Mira’s breath broke. She buried her face against Lysa’s shoulder, careful now, trembling as if one wrong movement would make the room vanish.

“You scared me,” Mira said, voice muffled and shaking. “You really scared me.”

Lysa closed her eyes.

Mira was warm. Real.

Not rope. Not rough hands. Not someone dragging her through stone halls while men laughed about prices, buyers and clean skin.

Mira.

Her safest person.

“I’m sorry,” Lysa whispered.

Mira pulled back at once, eyes red and sharp.

“No.”

Lysa blinked.

Mira’s voice shook, but it did not soften.

“No. You are not doing that.”

Melra, standing near the table with a cup of water, sighed quietly.

“She has been awake for less than a minute, Mira.”

“I know that face.”

“Mira.”

“No, Melra, I know that face.” Mira looked back at Lysa, fierce even through exhaustion. “You are not turning this into your fault.”

Lysa lowered her eyes.

The words still found the old wound. The hidden one. The one she never knew how to explain.

Because it did feel like her fault.

Not all of it. Not exactly. But enough.

Enough that every locked door, every frightened guard, every hurried escape, every whispered warning had carved the same thought deeper.

They came because of me.

Melra walked closer and held out the cup.

“Drink first. Spiral later.”

Mira looked offended. “I am not spiralling.”

“You threatened a pillow yesterday because it was not soft enough for her.”

“It looked suspicious.”

“It was a pillow.”

“A bad one.”

Lysa made a small sound. Not quite a laugh. But close.

Mira stopped immediately. Her whole face changed.

“You almost laughed.”

“No,” Lysa whispered.

“You did.”

Melra placed the cup near Lysa’s lips.

“Before Mira starts collecting evidence, drink.”

The water was cool. Lysa took two small sips, then leaned back. Her throat still hurt, but less than before.

The door opened after a soft knock.

Healer Saela stepped in with a tray, her movements slow enough for Lysa to follow.

“Good morning again,” Saela said. “Broth, if you can manage it. I can leave it here, or help.”

Lysa looked at the bowl. Warm steam curled upwards. Her stomach turned at first, then answered with a weak ache.

“Here is fine,” Lysa said.

Saela nodded and placed the tray near Melra.

Mira reached for it.

Melra caught her wrist.

Mira blinked. “What?”

“You are shaking.”

“I’m fine.”

“You said that yesterday while aiming an arrow at our rescuer.”

Mira’s mouth shut.

Lysa looked at her.

Mira looked away. “He was suspicious.”

“He was tied to the road by roots and asking whether they were enchanted.”

“Still suspicious.”

Saela looked between them, clearly deciding that whatever was happening in the infirmary room was beyond what she was being paid to deal with, then quietly checked Lysa’s pulse after asking permission.

Brief. Careful. Done.

“Better,” Saela said. “Still weak. No walking without help. No stress if possible.”

At that, Melra and Mira both looked away.

Lysa noticed.

“What?”

Mira became very interested in the blanket.

Melra picked up the broth.

“Eat first.”

“What happened?”

“Eat first,” Melra repeated.

That meant it was important.

Lysa ate three spoonfuls. The broth was plain, but it settled gently. It made her feel more awake, which made the room feel heavier.

Melra set the bowl aside when Lysa turned her head away.

Saela left after another soft reminder to rest. The door closed behind her without locking.

Lysa looked at it.

A normal door. Just wood and hinges.

Still, her eyes stayed there.

Mira noticed.

“I checked it,” she said quietly. “It opens.”

Melra added, “Several times.”

Mira frowned. “That is not the point.”

“It became the point after the fourth check.”

Lysa’s lips twitched. The almost-laugh helped.

For a while, nobody spoke.

Then Melra reached for a folded paper on the table.

The room changed.

Not loudly. Not suddenly. But the softness thinned.

Mira saw the paper and straightened.

“Already?”

Melra did not answer immediately.

That was answer enough.

Lysa looked between them.

“What is it?”

Melra unfolded the paper.

“The cave was not only a hideout.”

Mira’s tired expression sharpened.

Lysa felt the warmth in her chest fade.

Melra continued, “The bandits were moving people, stolen goods and monster materials through more than one route. Some markings on the crates match older reports from the northern cave roads.”

“The missing caravan request,” Mira said.

Melra nodded. “And the sealed-tunnel report.”

Mira rubbed her face with both hands.

“I hate when reports connect.”

“They usually connect because people ignored the first one.”

“That does not make me hate it less.”

Lysa tried to sit up more. Her body immediately disagreed.

Mira’s hand moved to help, then stopped just short.

Lysa saw that. Mira was still trying not to crowd her.

Melra adjusted the pillow instead.

“The guild sent the request weeks ago,” Melra said. “The northern caves were supposed to be empty mining passages. Then merchants stopped using them. Then monsters started appearing near the road. Then two scouts vanished.”

Lysa’s fingers curled beneath the blanket.

“Bandits?”

“Possibly,” Melra said. “Possibly something worse. The crates from Vrok’s cave had markings from that route.”

Mira’s jaw tightened at Vrok’s name.

Lysa looked down.

Vrok’s smile flickered in her memory. Kind eyes. Gentle voice. Poison hidden in honey.

Melra’s voice pulled her back.

“I need to inspect the markings myself. The guild’s report is too vague, and most of their researchers cannot tell old mining script from storage scratches.”

Mira exhaled.

“Meaning you have to go.”

“Yes.”

“And I have to go because you need someone quiet enough to scout and fast enough to hit weak points if something jumps out.”

“Yes.”

Lysa looked up.

“I’ll come too.”

“No,” Mira said instantly.

Melra said it at the same time. “No.”

The word landed too quickly. Too firmly.

Lysa stared at them.

Mira’s face softened, but her answer did not.

“You just woke up.”

“I can stand.”

“You cannot.”

“I can sit on a horse.”

“You nearly fell asleep drinking water.”

Lysa looked at Melra.

Melra did not rescue her.

“You need rest,” Melra said. “Real rest. Not sitting upright and pretending stubbornness is medicine.”

Lysa gripped the blanket.

“If this is connected to Vrok—”

“Then that is all the more reason for you to stay here,” Mira said.

Lysa’s chest tightened.

Stay here. Wait here. Be protected here.

Words meant kindly could still feel like walls.

“If you both go,” Lysa said, quieter, “then I’m alone.”

Mira’s expression changed at once.

Melra closed her eyes for half a second.

No one answered.

Because they had both heard the part Lysa did not say.

If danger comes again, I will be alone.

Mira sat on the edge of the chair.

“Then one of us stays.”

Melra looked at her. “Mira.”

“You go. I stay.”

“You know this request needs both of us.”

“I know what Lysa needs.”

“So do I.”

Mira stood. A little too fast. Her knees almost betrayed her, but she caught herself on the chair.

Melra gave her a look.

Mira ignored it.

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” Melra said. “That is why I am not dismissing you.”

Lysa looked between them, guilt crawling up her throat.

“I can stay,” she said.

Mira turned back. “No.”

“But—”

“No.” Mira’s voice softened. “You will say that because you think you’re making things easier. You are not.”

Lysa fell silent.

Melra tapped the folded report against her palm.

“There is another option.”

Mira did not like the sound of that. Her eyes narrowed.

“What option?”

“We hire someone.”

“A guard?”

“A mercenary,” Melra said.

Mira considered it, then looked towards the window. The guild towers rose beyond the infirmary rooftops, high enough to be seen over the white stone buildings and sloping red roofs of the city.

“A female mercenary,” Mira said. “Someone calm. Experienced. Defensive skill preferred. Shield, ward magic, maybe a spear. Not someone who runs ahead.”

Melra listened.

Mira began counting on her fingers.

“Ralia from the eastern ward. She escorted noble children during the harvest riots.”

“She is injured,” Melra said. “Broken collarbone.”

Mira clicked her tongue.

“Then Sena. Dual daggers, fast reactions, good against kidnappers.”

“She accepted a caravan job yesterday.”

“Of course she did.”

Mira paced once near the bed.

“What about Captain Yorna?”

“She is retired.”

“She still threw a man through a table last month.”

“Her knees also sounded like a haunted door afterwards.”

Mira winced.

Lysa watched them quietly.

A mercenary. Someone hired to watch her. Someone paid to stand near her while Mira and Melra walked into danger.

The thought made her stomach twist.

“I don’t need—”

“Yes, you do,” Mira said.

Lysa looked at her.

Mira’s voice lowered.

“So do I.”

That stopped her.

Mira looked away, embarrassed by her own honesty.

Melra’s gaze softened for a moment. Then sharpened again.

“There is someone available.”

Mira looked back. “Who?”

Melra did not answer immediately.

That was enough.

Mira’s face changed.

“No.”

“Mira.”

“No.”

“I have not said his name.”

“You did not need to.”

Lysa looked between them.

“Who?”

Mira’s voice rose before she could stop it.

“No. Absolutely not. We can’t trust him.”

The room went still.

Lysa did not move.

Melra folded the report slowly.

“We do not know that.”

“That is exactly the problem,” Mira said. “We do not know.”

Melra held her gaze.

“He saved her.”

Mira flinched.

Not because it was false. Because it was true.

Her hands curled at her sides.

“I know.”

“He brought her back.”

“I know.”

“He fought through the cave and freed prisoners.”

“I know, Melra.”

“Then what do you know against him?”

Mira’s mouth opened. Closed.

For once, anger did not give her an easy answer.

She looked at Lysa, then away.

“I know he was there,” Mira said.

The words were quiet now.

“He appeared in the middle of the worst place she could have been. We met him because of that cave. Because of Vrok. Because of everything that happened.” Her voice tightened. “He helped. Maybe he meant well. But I don’t know him.”

Lysa lowered her gaze.

Mira continued, more controlled.

“I know he acts before people understand what he is doing. I know he is unpredictable. I know he can be strong enough to drag trouble behind him without realising who gets caught near it.”

Melra said nothing.

Mira looked at her.

“And I know Lysa just opened her eyes. So no, I do not want to hand her safety to a stranger because he happened to save her once.”

Lysa’s fingers tightened.

A stranger.

That was true.

Enshin Malietoa was a stranger.

A strange man from somewhere beyond the world.

He had smiled in a cave where nobody should smile. He had followed Vrok. He had also carried her out. He had placed her down carefully. He had not kept holding her.

Lysa did not know what that made him.

Melra turned towards her.

“Lysa.”

Mira stiffened.

Melra asked gently, “What do you think?”

Lysa looked up.

Mira’s eyes widened slightly.

“Melra—”

“She should have a say.”

Mira’s argument died in her throat.

Lysa looked at the flowers. At the door. At Mira. At Melra.

Then down at her wrists beneath the blanket.

“I don’t know him,” Lysa said.

Mira’s shoulders lowered, almost relieved.

Lysa continued.

“But I remember his hands.”

Mira went still.

Melra watched quietly.

Lysa’s voice was soft, but steady enough to survive the room.

“He carried me. Then he put me down.” She swallowed. “He didn’t hold tighter when I moved. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t look angry. He looked…”

She searched for the word.

The memory was blurry. Blood. Dust. Crooked glasses. A smile too awkward to be a bandit’s.

“He looked happy that I was out.”

Mira looked away. Her jaw trembled once before she forced it still.

Lysa closed her eyes.

“That does not mean I trust him.”

Melra nodded. “No.”

“But…” Lysa opened her eyes again. “He is different.”

The word settled into the room.

Different.

Not safe. Not trusted. Not understood.

Different.

Mira sat down slowly, as if all her strength had gone somewhere else.

Melra looked towards the window, where the guild towers rose above the city.

“Then we do this properly,” she said. “We do not leave you with him unless you are comfortable with it. We do not assume good intentions are enough. We set terms. We confirm with the guild. We keep Malora informed. And if he refuses instructions, he is dismissed.”

Mira let out a sharp breath.

“He might not even agree.”

Melra’s mouth curved slightly.

“He is broke.”

Mira blinked.

Lysa looked at her.

Melra lifted the report.

“He registered at the guild and left quickly. From what I heard, he did not stay long enough to take any paid work or arrange lodging.”

Mira stared.

“He left without taking a paid request?”

“That appears likely.”

Mira closed her eyes.

“Of course he did.”

Melra’s smile grew faintly.

“A paid request may be persuasive.”

Mira opened her eyes again.

“I still hate this.”

“I noticed.”

“I hate it a lot.”

“Also noticed.”

Lysa looked down at the blanket.

“Can I meet him first?”

Mira’s head snapped towards her.

Melra answered before Mira could explode.

“Yes. With us present.”

Mira pointed at Melra.

“With us present.”

Melra nodded. “With us present.”

“And Malora nearby.”

“If available.”

“No, nearby.”

Melra sighed. “Fine. Nearby.”

Mira crossed her arms, exhausted but stubborn.

“And if he acts strange, I say no.”

Melra’s eyes half-lidded.

“Mira, he will almost certainly act strange.”

“Then if he acts dangerous.”

“That is fair.”

Lysa breathed out slowly.

The room did not feel lighter. Not exactly. But it moved.

That was something.

A request waited beyond the infirmary. A cave route connected to Vrok. A city full of people who did not know the danger had already reached its walls.

And somewhere near the guild, the strange man from another world was loose, hungry, probably lost and apparently still broke.

Mira rubbed her temples.

“I swear, if he makes this worse…”

Melra folded the report and placed it into her sleeve.

“Then you may say you warned me.”

“I am going to say it many times.”

“I am aware.”

Lysa leaned back into the pillow, tiredness dragging at her again.

Mira noticed instantly.

“Sleep.”

Lysa looked at her.

“You too.”

Mira hesitated.

Melra said, “Do not make me enchant the chair.”

Mira glared. “You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would.”

Lysa’s lips curved faintly.

Mira saw it and surrendered.

“Fine.”

She sat back in the chair, closer than before but not crowding the bed.

Lysa’s eyes grew heavy.

Before sleep took her, she looked once towards the window. Towards the guild towers. Towards the world that had taken her and somehow returned her.

Enshin Malietoa.

She did not trust him.

Not yet.

But the memory remained.

Careful hands. A strange smile. And the feeling of being placed back where Mira could find her.

For now, that was enough to make him different.

Outside, the kingdom bells rang once over the city.

The request waited.

The northern caves waited.

And somewhere beyond the infirmary walls, a man with crooked glasses and no money was already walking towards trouble neither Lysa nor Enshin could see yet.