The darkness that welcomed Valerius was not the cold, hateful darkness of the Frozen Raven Keep. This was a softer darkness, empty and weightless. There was no pain, no exhaustion, no burden of memory. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was nothing at all. Only a deep, peaceful silence—a pause from the endless struggle that had become his life.Part of him, the part that was weary and wounded, wanted to remain there forever, surrendering to that deceitful peace.
Yet even in the depths of that nothingness, something endured. A tiny ember of his iron will, the final spark of a soul that refused to go out. And that spark was called back—pulled from the abyss by a sensation long forgotten: warmth.
At first, it was faint, like a distant memory of sunlight on skin. Then it grew stronger—a gentle warmth on his cheek, accompanied by a muffled, faraway voice. The voice was soft, filled with worry, repeating a single word over and over—a name. His name.
"…Valerius… Lord Valerius, can you hear me?"
With tremendous effort, as if lifting the weight of a mountain, Valerius opened his eyes. His vision was blurred at first—only indistinct shapes and colors. He blinked several times, and the world gradually came into focus.
The first thing he noticed was the low, dark wooden ceiling, cobwebs gathering in the corners. He was lying on something soft—a thick straw mattress covered with a heavy, warm fur blanket. A fire crackled cheerfully in a stone hearth across the room, casting dancing orange light on the walls and filling the air with the scent of burning pine. He was indoors. Safe.
The second thing he became aware of was someone's presence beside him. He turned his head—his neck stiff—and met a pair of green eyes brimming with relief. Elara.
She sat on a simple wooden chair at his bedside, holding a warm, damp cloth in her hands. She was the source of the warmth on his cheek. Her face looked tired, with faint dark circles beneath her eyes, but a genuine smile bloomed on her lips as she saw he was conscious.
"Thank the gods," she whispered, her voice a little hoarse. "We thought we had lost you."
Valerius tried to speak, but his throat was dry and raw. All that came out was a painful cough. Elara quickly helped him sit up a little, propping his back with a pillow, and pressed a wooden cup of water to his lips. The water was cool and clean, and it felt like the greatest blessing in the world. After a few sips, he managed to croak out words, his voice ragged.
"The fortress…"
"Destroyed," Elara said, her eyes shining. "Collapsed into a heap of ruin. Gregor and a few others saw it from the watchtower. They watched the mountain fall. They…they couldn't believe you survived."
"How long?" Valerius rasped.
"Two days," Elara replied. "You've been unconscious for two full days. Gregor and the search party found you in the snow, not far from where the fortress used to stand. Your horse—Boreas—never left your side. He led them straight to you."
Valerius closed his eyes for a moment, processing this. Two days. He had lain so vulnerable for that long. It was failure—a weakness he could hardly tolerate. Yet instead of anger at himself, all he felt was an overwhelming exhaustion.
He opened his eyes again and looked down at his arm. The wound from the falling stalactite had been cleaned and stitched neatly, then wrapped in fresh bandages brushed with some pungent herbal salve. His ankle had been bound tightly as well. He could feel the soothing warmth of the ointment sinking into his skin, dulling the throbbing ache. It was Elara's work—skilled and attentive.
"You took care of me," he said—more a statement than a question.
"It's what I do," Elara answered simply. "I am a healer."
"You risked your life to find me," Valerius added, his gaze sharp as he tried to discern her motive. In his world, selfless acts were rare and usually hid some ulterior purpose.
Elara held his stare, unflinching under the weight of his scrutiny. "You risked your life for all of us. It seemed a fair trade."
The honesty in her voice disarmed him. He did not know how to reply. Thank you was a phrase that felt foreign on his tongue. Instead, he tried to rise, but a wave of pain and dizziness forced him back onto the pillow. His body was utterly ruined, every reserve of strength spent.
"Don't," Elara said gently but firmly, laying a hand on his shoulder to keep him still. "You lost a lot of blood, and your power—whatever it is—seems completely drained. You had a terrible fever through the first night. Your body needs rest to heal. So does your spirit."
Her touch was warm and real on his shoulder. It was such a simple human gesture, but to Valerius, it felt like lightning. It had been years since anyone had touched him with such kindness. The contact he knew was usually the strike of a blade, the claws of a beast, or the cold handshake of an employer. This warmth…this intimacy…felt more dangerous than any Lich. It threatened to crack the walls of ice he had spent a lifetime constructing around his heart.
He drew back slightly, and Elara, sensing his discomfort, withdrew her hand, her face coloring faintly. An awkward silence settled over the room, filled only by the crackling of the fire.
The door creaked open, and Gregor entered carrying a wooden tray. The captain looked as exhausted as Elara, though the usual sour set of his face had softened. He paused on the threshold, surprised to see Valerius awake.
"So, the sorcerer finally decided to rejoin the living," he grunted—his tone still rough, but lacking the old hostility. He walked over and set the tray down on the small table beside the bed. On it was a steaming bowl of thick stew and a thick slice of bread. "Eat. Elara's orders. She says you need strength."
Valerius looked at Gregor. "The threat is gone. You're safe."
Gregor nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the fire for a moment. "Aye. Our scouts confirmed it. No more movement in the mountains. The silence we feel now is a peaceful one—not a silence that waits. Some of the hunters even reported seeing animals returning to the forests below, as if a plague had been lifted." He paused, then looked Valerius in the eye. "I was wrong about you, sorcerer. I thought you were just a vain sellsword with a few tricks. But what you did up there…that was something else."
The genuine respect in his voice felt almost as unsettling as Elara's kindness.
"Just a job that needed doing," Valerius said curtly, uncomfortable with the praise.
"Maybe," Gregor replied. "But you did it. Oakhaven owes you." He turned to go. "Rest. You've earned it."
After Gregor left, Elara picked up the bowl of stew. "You should eat."
Normally, Valerius would have refused—accustomed to caring for himself. But the rich aroma of chicken broth and root vegetables made his hollow stomach clench. Reluctantly, he nodded. He tried to take the spoon, but his hand was still shaking too badly.
Without a word, Elara sat on the edge of the bed. She lifted the spoon, blew on it gently so it wouldn't burn him, and brought it to his lips.
Valerius froze.
It was such a simple act—so intimate. Something a mother would do for a child…or a lover for her beloved. It was a gesture of trust and total vulnerability. His mind rebelled, screaming at him to refuse, to push her away, to reassert his cold independence.
But his exhausted body betrayed him. And his heart—his frozen, wounded heart—felt the first hairline fracture.A memory flashed through him, so vivid it hurt: the image of a golden-haired woman, sitting by his bedside in a sunlit room, doing exactly the same thing after he'd been wounded in a tournament. Her laughter…the warmth of her touch…the promise in her eyes…
The pain of that loss struck him with unexpected force, mingling with the warmth of the stew and the kindness of the woman before him. His expression must have changed, for worry returned to Elara's eyes.
"Lord Valerius? Are you all right?"
With effort, Valerius forced the memory back into the ice-bound vault of his mind. He opened his mouth and accepted the spoonful. The taste was wonderful. Warmth spread from his belly to the rest of him, fighting the cold that had been his companion for so long.
They continued in silence—Elara patiently feeding him, Valerius allowing, for the first time in years, someone else to care for him. He hated the vulnerability. He hated the feeling of dependence. But at the same time, there was some small, desperate part of him that longed for this warmth.
By the time he finished the bowl, a heavy drowsiness was already pulling him back toward sleep. The fatigue of a body in recovery was inexorable.
"Thank you," Valerius whispered at last. The words felt awkward, unfamiliar.
Elara's smile was so bright it rivaled the fire. "Rest, Valerius."
She used his first name. And somehow, it sounded right.
As he drifted off, the darkness that came this time was no longer empty. It was filled with the warmth of broth, the herbal scent of his bandages, and the memory of green eyes filled with compassion.He knew his greatest battles were far from over. Fighting monsters and sorcerers was one thing. But fighting the warmth that threatened to thaw the ice around his soul…that was a war of a very different kind.And he wasn't sure he wanted to win it.