Chapter 18 - The Turning Point
Written by Lauca. Edited by Cat.
A few days had passed since her outburst and Elarion’s revelation, yet the sting of guilt had not faded. She had thought about running after him that same day, but a cleric from the Grove had rushed to her with panic in their eyes, speaking of the Rillifane rites showing signs of going awry. She had dashed off without hesitation, only to find it was a false alarm.
After that, she began searching for him in the places she knew he liked. The coffee shop they both frequented. The training grounds. Even the hidden corners he had once shown her, the ones that felt like small secrets between them. But each time she found only empty space and the memory of his voice.
She asked Nymeris and Ayda, but neither had seen him. Eventually, she noticed a few familiar scouts missing as well. Whispers in passing spoke of a small group sent out, though no one seemed willing to say why. She guessed Elarion had gone with them. At first, she was ready to question why he had not told her, but the memory of their fight returned, and guilt settled on her again like a heavy cloak.
So, she threw herself into work. Sorting herbs until the scent of them clung to her sleeves. Helping apprentices until her voice grew hoarse. Cleaning shrines until her knees ached. It was easier to move than to think, yet when her hands stilled, her mind wandered. And when they did, she’d wonder if she had ruined things again. Pushing people away always seemed safer. Less painful. It was what she was used to, or so she told herself. But the pain always came later, after the distance set in. Then she’d move on to someplace new, make new friends, laugh and smile with them, trying to forget the ones she’d left behind.
One day, she overheard scraps of conversation while she worked: scouts murmuring about ward-trees flickering in the night, an apprentice mentioning a strange, half-faded carving found on a tree beyond the borders. No one spoke openly of it, but the Grove felt tense, as if something unseen pressed against its edges. This makes her begin to worry for Elarion even more.
It was near noon on the fourth day when the sound of shouting cut across the Grove. At first it was distant and scattered, then it swelled, urgent and overlapping. Iris straightened from her work, herbs spilling from her hands in a green scatter, and ran toward the gates. She reached the crowd just as a group of scouts staggered in. Someone cried for water, another for healers. Her gaze swept the faces for Elarion, but all she saw was blood and exhaustion.
“I’m a cleric,” she called, pushing forward until she reached the nearest injured. “Show me the wound and get me some gauze.”
The young scout before her was barely eighteen, his skin ashen, a deep cut spilling over his side. She pressed her hands to the wound, divine light blooming beneath her fingers. “Stay with me,” she murmured, feeling the magic strain against her already-tired reserves. The bleeding slowed, colour returning faintly to his cheeks. When she asked what had happened, the boy’s voice trembled.
They had been tracking faint signs of Moonbound activity, he told her. One of the patrols had found a half-faded ritual mark carved into a dead tree. Kolvar decided to take a small, elite team to investigate quietly, hoping to confirm before causing any alarm. But some of the younger scouts overheard the plan and insisted on coming. No one had expected what they found.
“The trail was fresh,” the boy said, his fingers tightening around hers. “We thought there would be a handful of them, maybe stragglers. There were so many more. We were outmatched from the start.”
Some had stayed behind to hold the line so the rest could escape.
“Elarion pushed us younger ones out,” he added. “He fought the ones chasing us. If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t have made it back.”
“What…?”
He said more after that, but she couldn’t hear any of it. A ringing filled her ears, so loud her head ached. Her heart pounded. Fingers trembling, she stood and turned, sprinting away in a haze. The scout’s voice called after her, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Iris immediately turned to run for the gate, but a strong hand caught her arm. An older warden studied her, mistaking her panic for family worry.
“I know you’re concerned for your kin out there,” he said, voice steady but firm, “but I can’t let you leave. All we can do is wait for them to return and trust The Leaflord to guide their steps.”
The words slid past her without catching. She let him guide her to a bench near the gate, her body moving but her mind far beyond the walls. The air felt thick, each passing moment pressing harder into her chest.
When evening fell, the shouting began again. This time it was sharper, closer, and she was already on her feet before she realized she had moved. Bandages tumbled from her hands as she ran to the gates. There, she saw two familiar figures limping towards her. Kolvar was coming through, supporting a young man’s weight on his side. Quite literally dragging him, almost. Blood had soaked through the young man’s armour, streaked across his face and neck. And as she got closer, Iris’ heart dropped when she sees the young man’s face.
“Elarion!”
She dropped to her knees beside them, the sound of her own heartbeat roaring in her ears. “I’ve got him,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. Kolvar didn’t argue, only stepped back, his hands trembling as though they had forgotten how to hold onto anything.
Her palms found the deep gash along Elarion’s side, and divine energy bloomed from her fingertips. It stuttered and caught, as if something unseen hesitated to let the magic through. She gritted her teeth, pushing past the resistance, until the golden light sank into his skin and the bleeding slowed. His breaths, shallow and uneven, began to steady. “Stay with me,” she murmured, not knowing if he could hear her. The words were half-command, half-plea.
Kolvar’s voice reached her, low and almost to himself. “Stubborn fool… just like she was.” She didn’t have the strength to ask what he meant. He then left the two of them, making his way back towards the other scouts and wardens who were beginning to fill the area.
When the worst of the bleeding was under control, Iris wiped away the blood clinging to Elarion’s skin, careful not to touch the more tender wounds. His hair was matted with dust and dried crimson, rough under her fingers. She smoothed it back from his face, searching for the familiar lines she knew — the bridge of his nose, the faint angle of his jaw — as though finding them intact meant he was still truly here. She gently caressed his cheek, her heart quietly begging her Goddess to keep him safe.
“You’re heavier than you look,” she whispered as she shifted his weight slightly, trying to ease his breathing. “And impossible to keep out of trouble.” The corner of her mouth twitched, but no smile came.
She stayed like that until her legs prickled from kneeling too long. The copper tang of blood and the faint scent of leather from his armour clung to her skin. Each time his chest rose, she counted it in her head. Some wardens helped to put Elarion up on a gurney and brought him back to his house, where Nymeris and Ayda were already waiting. Iris insisted on staying to take care of him, and Nymeris could only agree as she takes Ayda home as it has gotten late. But not before leaving her a makeshift extra bed that was used previously whenever Ayda wanted to stay over.
When they left, the house felt colder, as if it made the pallor on his face conspicuous. "Good night, Elarion." She softly mumbled, praying for his health as she drifted to sleep by his side, their beds close, her hand refusing to leave his.
She stayed beside him, arranging her tasks so she could keep her hands busy. She cleaned the bowls and vials on his shelves, refilled his poultice jars, and placed fresh bandages within reach. But when the work ran out, there was nothing to distract her from the thoughts pressing in.
From the small table near his bed, she took the letter she had been carrying for days. It was soft at the edges from where her fingers had traced over it again and again. She unfolded it carefully, her eyes lingering on every line even though she knew it by heart.
“He’s waiting for me,” she said. “After everything, he’s… still waiting. I thought he hated me and yet...” she looked down at the letter, written in a familiar hand. A hand that had not let go even when she thought it had every right to. The ink seemed darker tonight, as though it had been written only hours ago.
She read it again, slower this time, her thumb brushing over the name at the end. After everything she had done, after the distance she had put between them, the letter had held no blame. Just patience. Just a door left open.
She glanced back at Elarion, still lying pale and unmoving, and felt the ache twist deeper.
Her mind and heart pulled in opposite directions. Part of her wanted to remain at his side until she was certain he was safe and whole, to keep watch until his eyes opened again. Yet the weight of the letter in her hand tugged at her thoughts like a steady, unrelenting tide. The past weeks with him had given her space to reflect on her own life, but perhaps it was seeing him like this — broken, bleeding, still breathing against all odds — that had become the turning point.
“You asked me once why I always pretend, why I keep running,” she said into the stillness. “It’s because leaving always felt easier than staying. At least it used to. Now it just hurts differently. I don’t know which is worse.”
Her voice wavered. “I can’t keep dragging this weight behind me. I can’t move forward if I don’t face what I left. He’s still waiting for me… and I don’t want to keep hiding from that. Not anymore.”
Her hand reached out to smooth his hair once more, fingertips resting lightly against his temple. And then she leaned forward and pressed her forehead gently against his.
“If you wake and I’m gone, don’t be angry. Just know this isn’t me running from you. This is me trying to find the part of myself I lost before I met you.”
The hours before dawn were thick with silence. She moved through them like a shadow, gathering her pack, checking its contents twice though she carried only the essentials.
Before she left, she took one last look at him. The rise and fall of his chest were steady now. She reached for the folded letter on the table and placed it near his hand, close enough that he would see it the moment he stirred.
The air outside was cool when she stepped through the doorway. She paused only once on the path, the faint sounds of the Grove waking behind her, as she kept walking towards her home. Towards Leuthilspar.