The scent of iron still clung to the room.

  It lingered in the sheets, in the bandages wrapped tightly around Soma’s body, in the air Maricella struggled to breathe as she knelt beside the bed. Even hours later, the memory of blood refused to fade—just like the image of Soma collapsing in her arms.

  “I honestly don’t know what she’s been through… or what she’s still facing,” Maricella said, her voice low, hoarse from crying she refused to repeat.

  “That’s why I’m here. I never accepted the idea of her and her brother leaving me—or old Spearhead—behind. We loved them.”

  Her gaze drifted to Soma’s face. Pale. Too still.

  “I just hope she wakes up soon,” she added, barely above a whisper.

  “Before her little brother starts worrying. He’s still waiting for her to come back alive from this mission.”

  The guild leader’s expression hardened—not from cruelty, but from experience.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “She’ll regain consciousness sooner than you think.”

  Then, more seriously,

  “But returning to active combat will take far longer.”

  She folded her arms.

  “A week of rest at the very least. Her body is strong—unusually so—but even steel breaks if it’s pushed too far.”

  Her eyes sharpened as they returned to Maricella.

  “But are you truly certain about keeping her alive?”

  Her voice dropped.

  “With her strength, she could slaughter both of us—and the rest of my men—alone if she wished.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Silence followed.

  “I care about you,” the guild leader continued. “I respect your judgment. But protecting this guild comes before everything else.”

  Maricella didn’t hesitate.

  “Don’t worry, my lady. Soma is kind,” she said firmly.

  “She would never turn her blade on a friend… or anyone undeserving.”

  After a long pause, the guild leader turned away.

  “Very well.”

  She left before dawn, the weight of the decision lingering behind her.

  Maricella stayed.

  She remained seated beside Soma’s bed, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest—as fragile as it had been when she’d held her in her arms, bleeding and silent.

  Tears blurred her vision.

  She hadn’t expected to meet her like this.

  Not broken.

  Not bleeding.

  Not so still.

  Grateful that Soma was still breathing, Maricella finally allowed exhaustion to claim her. She slipped into sleep on the chair beside the bed, her head tilted toward Soma as if afraid to turn away.

  Soma dreamed.

  Darkness pressed in on her from all sides, heavy and suffocating. And within it—

  The old man.

  The black cloak.

  The crimson mask.

  His gaze followed her even here.

  Who are you?

  Why were you there?

  Do you know me?

  Her thoughts spiraled uncontrollably.

  Could he be connected to my father’s assassination?

  No… that couldn’t be.

  And yet the feeling wouldn’t leave her chest.

  If not my father… then why me?

  What do I have that he wants?

  The question echoed as the darkness began to thin.

  Morning light crept into the room, brushing gently against Soma’s face.

  Her eyes fluttered open.

  For a moment, she forgot where she was.

  Then pain answered for her.

  Bandages bound her body tightly—white stained with red. Her limbs felt heavy, distant, as though they no longer belonged to her.

  So… I survived.

  Memory struck like a blade.

  Maricella.

  The sword.

  The blood.

  She tried to rise instantly.

  Her body refused.

  Her muscles failed her, and she collapsed back onto the bed with a sharp crash that shattered the quiet.

  Maricella jolted awake.

  “Soma!”

  She rushed forward, catching her before she could fall again, panic flooding her voice.

  “What are you doing?!”

  Her hands trembled as she eased Soma back onto the mattress.

  “Your body is exhausted—don’t do this to yourself!”

  Her breath hitched.

  “You need at least a week of rest before you even think about walking again.”

  Soma’s breathing grew uneven.

  “A week…?” she whispered.

  Fear flickered behind her eyes—fear far deeper than pain.

  “No… I can’t stay here that long…”

  Her fingers clenched the sheets.

  “Thio… Thio—”

  The name alone tightened her chest.

  Her voice broke before the sentence could finish.

  And in that moment—

  Soma realized something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel before.

  She wasn’t afraid of death.

  She was afraid of what her absence would leave behind.