Warmth of a stranger

Warmth. That’s the first sensation that greets me as I drift back to consciousness. Not the oppressive heat of battle, nor the burning fire of anger that fueled my return from the dead, but a gentle, comforting warmth, like the embrace of a soft blanket on a cold winter’s night. It wraps around me, soothing the ache in my bones, the pain in my muscles, and for a moment, I allow myself to simply rest.
I keep my eyes closed, unwilling to break the fragile peace that surrounds me. My body feels heavy, the weight of exhaustion pressing me deeper into the bed beneath me. **A bed.** The realization comes slowly, my thoughts sluggish as if moving through molasses. I’m in a bed, not lying in the cold earth where I was buried, not struggling on the battlefield. The air around me is soft and fragrant, carrying the scent of herbs and something sweet, like fresh bread.
**Where am I?**
The question stirs in my mind, but I’m too tired to pursue it. Instead, my thoughts drift, carried away by the memory of my parents. **Love is the most important thing in the world, Reimer.** My mother’s voice echoes in my mind, warm and kind, just like the warmth that now surrounds me. **To love someone with all your heart, to cherish and protect them—that’s what makes life worth living.**
I can almost see her face, smiling down at me as she brushed a lock of hair from my forehead. My father would be there too, his hand resting on my shoulder, silent but strong. They always spoke of love with such reverence, as if it were a guiding star that could light the darkest of nights. **But love couldn’t save me,** I think bitterly. **Love didn’t stop the betrayal.**
A pang of sorrow twists in my chest, sharp and cold, cutting through the warmth that had lulled me into a temporary peace. My parents’ faces fade into the shadows of my memory, replaced by the stark image of Rendell’s cold eyes, his sneering smile as he drove the blade into my side. **Naive,** he called me. And perhaps he was right. I had believed in love, in friendship, in the bond we shared. But all of that had been a lie.
I force my eyes open, banishing the memories before they can drag me deeper into despair. The room around me comes into focus, bathed in the soft golden light of morning. It’s small, but cozy, with wooden walls and a thatched roof that slants low over the bed. The furniture is simple—a small table, a chair, a dresser—but everything is neat and well-kept. A fire burns in the hearth, its flames casting flickering shadows across the walls.
I push myself up onto my elbows, wincing as pain flares through my body. The wounds I sustained in the battle are still there, but they’ve been cleaned and bandaged, the worst of the pain dulled to a manageable throb. Someone must have found me, brought me here, and tended to my injuries. **But who?**
As if in answer to my unspoken question, the door to the room creaks open, and a figure steps inside. She’s young, around my age, with long chestnut hair that falls in gentle waves over her shoulders. Her eyes are a soft brown, warm and inviting, and her smile is gentle as she meets my gaze.
“You’re awake,” she says, her voice light and melodic. She carries a tray in her hands, with a bowl of steaming soup and a cup of water. “I was beginning to worry.”
I try to sit up fully, but she’s by my side in an instant, placing the tray on the table and helping me to prop myself up with a pillow. “Easy now,” she says, her touch gentle but firm. “You’ve been through a lot. Don’t push yourself too hard.”
“Where am I?” I ask, my voice rough and hoarse. The words scrape against my throat, and she hands me the cup of water. I take a grateful sip, the cool liquid soothing the dryness.
“You’re in my home,” she replies, sitting down in the chair beside the bed. “I found you outside, half-buried in the earth. You were in terrible shape. I wasn’t sure if you’d make it, but you’re stronger than you look.”
I glance down at the bandages that wrap around my chest and arms. She must have been the one to clean and dress my wounds. “Thank you,” I say, though the words feel inadequate for the life she’s saved. “I don’t know how to repay you.”
She waves away my gratitude with a smile. “There’s no need. I’m just glad I found you in time.” Her eyes soften with concern as she studies my face. “Do you remember what happened? How you ended up out there?”
The memories flood back in an instant—the battle, the demon, Rendell’s betrayal. I clench my fists, feeling the anger rise within me again, but I force it back down. Now isn’t the time to dwell on revenge. I take a deep breath, steadying myself before I reply. “I was betrayed. By someone I thought was a friend.”
Her expression darkens with understanding. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “That must have been terrible.”
“It was,” I admit, my voice low. “But I’m not dead yet. I’ll make sure they regret it.”
For a moment, the room is silent, the crackling of the fire the only sound. She watches me with a mixture of sympathy and something else—curiosity, perhaps? Or maybe caution. I can’t blame her. After all, I’m a stranger who was found half-dead on her doorstep.
“May I ask your name?” she says finally, breaking the silence.
“Reimer,” I answer. “Reimer Rose.”
“Reimer,” she repeats, as if testing the name on her tongue. “I’m Elaine. Elaine Verdant. It’s nice to meet you, Reimer.”
She offers her hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, I take it. Her grip is firm, her skin warm against mine, and for the first time since I woke up, I feel a flicker of something other than anger or sorrow—gratitude. Maybe even hope.
“Thank you, Elaine,” I say again, and this time, the words come more easily.
She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “You should eat,” she says, gesturing to the tray. “You need to regain your strength. There’s plenty more if you’re still hungry after this.”
I nod, picking up the spoon and taking a cautious sip of the soup. It’s simple—just broth and a few vegetables—but it’s warm and nourishing, and I can feel the strength returning to my limbs with each bite. Elaine watches me eat, her expression thoughtful.
“What will you do now?” she asks after a while. “Once you’re fully healed, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I need to get stronger. I need to find a way to…make things right.” The words feel hollow, even as I say them. What does it mean to make things right, after what’s happened? Revenge? Justice? Or something else entirely?
Elaine nods, as if she understands the turmoil in my heart. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need,” she says. “It’s not much, but it’s safe, and it’s quiet. You can rest, heal, and figure out your next steps.”
I look around the small room, taking in the warmth and comfort it offers. It’s a far cry from the chaos and violence of the world outside, and for a moment, I’m tempted to stay, to leave the world behind and find peace in this little corner of the world. But I know it’s not that simple. There’s too much left unresolved, too many questions that need answers.
“Thank you,” I say again, and I mean it. “But I can’t stay forever.”
“Of course,” she agrees. “But for now, focus on getting better. We can worry about the rest later.”
I finish the soup, setting the empty bowl back on the tray. Elaine takes it, rising to her feet. “I’ll let you rest,” she says, heading for the door. “If you need anything, just call. I’ll be nearby.”
“Elaine,” I call out just as she’s about to leave. She turns back to me, her eyes questioning. “Why did you help me?”
She tilts her head, considering the question. “Because it was the right thing to do,” she says simply. “And because everyone deserves a second chance, no matter how dark things may seem.”
Her words hang in the air long after she’s gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts. A second chance. I close my eyes, letting the warmth of the room wash over me once more. **A second chance.** Maybe that’s what I’ve been given, in more ways than one.
In the days that follow, I focus on recovering my strength. Elaine is a kind and attentive host, checking on me regularly and bringing me meals. As I grow stronger, I begin to help out around the house, eager to repay her kindness in whatever way I can. I chop wood for the fire, fetch water from the well, and even help her tend to a small garden behind the house.
The work is simple, but it’s satisfying in a way I hadn’t expected. There’s a rhythm to it, a peace that I hadn’t known in a long time. Each day, I wake up feeling a little stronger, a little more like myself. But it’s not just the physical strength that’s returning—it’s something deeper, something that I thought I’d lost forever.
Elaine and I don’t talk much about the past. She doesn’t press me for details about what happened before she found me, and I’m grateful for that. There are still too many wounds that haven’t healed, too many memories that are too painful to confront just yet. But in the quiet moments, when the sun is setting and the world outside feels far away, I find myself opening up to her in small ways.
I tell her about my parents, about the village where I grew up. I tell her about the dreams I once had, about the friends I thought I’d made. I don’t tell her everything—some things are still too raw, too close to the surface—but I tell her enough.And she listens, with a quiet understanding that I hadn’t realized I needed. She doesn’t judge, doesn’t offer empty platitudes or false comfort. She just listens, and somehow, that’s enough.
Days turn into weeks, and slowly, the wounds on my body begin to heal. The pain that once crippled me fades into a dull ache, a reminder of what I’ve been through, but no longer a barrier to what I need to do next. With each passing day, I feel my strength returning, not just physically, but mentally as well. The anger and betrayal that once consumed me are still there, simmering beneath the surface, but they no longer control me. I’m beginning to see the world more clearly, to understand that there’s more to life than just the darkness I’ve been living in.
Elaine is a part of that clarity. She’s different from anyone I’ve ever known—kind, patient, and incredibly strong in her own quiet way. She doesn’t speak much of her own past, but I can tell that she’s seen her share of hardship. There’s a resilience in her, a determination that I can’t help but admire.
One evening, as we sit by the fire, the warmth of the flames wrapping around us like a blanket, she asks me a question that I hadn’t been expecting.
“Do you think you’ll ever forgive them?” Her voice is soft, almost hesitant, as if she’s unsure whether she should ask.
I don’t answer right away. The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with meaning. Forgiveness. It’s something I hadn’t allowed myself to consider. Forgiveness feels like a betrayal of everything I’ve been through, of everything I’ve lost. And yet, as I sit here, in this quiet, cozy place, I can’t help but wonder if holding on to the anger and hatred is doing me more harm than good.
“I don’t know,” I finally admit, my voice low. “I don’t know if I can.”
Elaine nods, as if she expected that answer. “It’s not something you have to decide right now,” she says. “But holding on to anger… it can eat you alive. Trust me, I know.”
I look at her, really look at her, and for the first time, I see the shadows in her eyes, the pain that she hides so well. She’s been through something—something that left its mark on her, just as my betrayal left its mark on me. But she’s still here, still standing, still living. And maybe, just maybe, there’s something to learn from that.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, and it’s the most honest answer I can give.
She smiles, a small, sad smile, but it’s genuine. “That’s all anyone can ask for.”
The fire crackles between us, the warmth of the room enveloping us both. For the first time in a long time, I feel a sense of peace, of calm. I don’t know what the future holds, and I don’t know if I’ll ever find the forgiveness that Elaine speaks of. But for now, I’m content to sit here, in this small, cozy house, with a girl who saved my life.