ZenTar led him into the Fortress and up to an empty bedroom, before quickly leaving him again. By the size and luxuriance of place it had probably belonged to the Lord of the Fortress, ZaiWin guessed, laying the boy on the large bed, over the white satin covers. The blood still flowing from his open wounds quickly dyed the white fabric red and he couldn’t help think how he looked even smaller and more insignificant, simply lying like that.

With a sigh, ZaiWin dropped to a chair beside him, feeling as if he’d just ran ten laps around the entire damn complex. He hadn’t felt this spent in a long time, reminding him of the heavy, harsh training he had been forced to endure as a child.

A soft knock on the door made him groan but he still forced himself to utter his permission to enter. He wished they’d just leave him be, so that he might get some well deserved sleep.

“Calzai,” the middle-aged man muttered, bowing respectfully at the waste. “ZenTar-lor instructed me to pay you a visit,” he informed and ZaiWin noticed the black bag the man was carrying, where a single silver star shimmered, identifying him as a healer.

“Henniner,” he replied the greeting with a single bow of his head, knowing that he should stand to welcome him but feeling simply to tired to bother with such subtleties. “Please, come in.”

The man bowed again and closed the door behind him, crossing the room towards the bed. Like all the men that had incorporated the small army he had assembled for that mission, he wore plain brown pants and tunic, and none of the symbols that would have, otherwise, been embroider on his mantle, identifying his position. Already a middle-aged man, with short dark-brown hair sprinkled with white, his equally brown eyes couldn’t help widen in disbelief at the sight of the naked boy laying on the bed.

“My … my … Lord … are you certain I am … qualified … to … treat this … person …?” he stuttered, fear heavy in his voice, and he couldn’t help sigh. So it was already spreading like fire …

“Either you treat him or he will die. I really don’t care either way.”

The man swallowed hard and nodded, approaching the bed, his hands shaking when he placed his black bag beside the unconscious, feverish boy. Like before, when ZenTar had tried to pick him up, the mere thought that someone else was about to touch him was enough to make his blood boil, the still burning markings covering his back coming alight with a vengeance, but this time he was able to suppress it somehow, the annoyance at the entire ridiculous situation making him want to destroy that pompous bedroom.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The healer worked as fast and as delicately as it was humanely possible, as if he were afraid he might cause the boy even more pain which, looking at the dreadful state of his back, would probably be impossible. Looking at the poor man’s tense face it was clear that he wanted to be in that bedroom, in that situation, as much as he wanted. And yet, the mere possibility that the boy might die while under his care was more enough to make him perform to the best of his abilities and knowledge.

Once he was done the boy’s back had been cleaned, his wounds dressed, clean white bandages wrapped around his chest. The nasty burn he had suffered on his thigh had also been tended, a dark-green pasty-like substance with a herbal scent spread over the reddened, blistered, sensitive skin. Other cuts had also been taken care of, like the one on his leg and the one on his chest. Now that he was a bit cleaner, ZaiWin couldn’t help notice the scars and marks of many other, much ancient wounds.

“What about his arms?” he found himself asking, even though he hadn’t planed to do so, and healer released a deep breath.

“I’ve pressed all the opening points and massaged them with fire oil so that the blood flow is returned to the limbs. Unfortunately I am not familiar with the art of needle healing,” he added, lowering his head in silent apology; which was obvious, since only those attending the Imperial Family were able and authorized to learn and practice those ancient techniques. “I have done all I can.”

“And you have done more than enough,” he told the man who finally gathered enough courage to look up at him.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Calzai?”

“No. I appreciate your concern.”

The healer bowed, clearly not wanting to postpone his departure more than necessary, and quickly left the room.

Taking a deep breath, ZaiWin looked at the boy, now practically dressed in white bandages. His fever seemed to have broke a bit and he looked more at peace, more relaxed. And yet, now that his back had been cleaned from all that blood, even with all the bandages dressing his many wounds, the pale markings on his skin were undeniable, the delicate symbols mirrored on each side of his back, forming what looked like a beautiful pair of wings.

Holding his head between his hands he took a deep breath trying to settle his nerves. And the angry voice of a woman filled his head, as her bright-blue eyes stared angrily at him.

“Nothing is yours! Repeat it!! Nothing is yours! Not the clothes you wear! Not the air you breathe!! Do you understand me??”