The hall is dimly lit as Eldrin helps me back to a seat by the fire. The familiar crackle of burning wood should be comforting, but the weight of everything presses too heavily on me. My ankle throbs, a constant reminder of my misstep—literal and otherwise.

No one speaks at first. The others settle nearby, each in their own space, quiet but present. Silvra sits closest to the fire, her back to me. Her hand cradles something small, her movements slow and deliberate. I watch as she stretches her fingers, grimacing slightly.

“What happened?” I ask, breaking the silence, my voice hoarse. I already know the answer will sting, but I can’t stop myself from asking.

She doesn’t turn around, just holds up her hand. The skin is red and raw, stiff-looking like it’s been gripped too tightly for too long. “The translator,” she says simply. “It froze to me.”

I blink, trying to process her words. “Froze…? How?”

“When I climbed over a ridge, I slipped into a snowbank,” she explains, her voice calm but distant. “The translator was in my hand. The metal…” She trails off, flexing her fingers slowly. “It stuck. By the time I got free, it was too late. But it’s fine now—mostly.”

“Why didn’t you just—” I stop myself, realizing how pointless my question sounds. She couldn’t have let it go. Not when she thought I might need it.

“It’ll heal,” she says firmly, finally glancing back at me. Her expression is calm, almost matter-of-fact, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in her eyes. “That’s what matters.”

A knot tightens in my chest. I open my mouth to apologize, but Silvra shakes her head before I can speak.

“Don’t,” she says, her tone gentle but final. “It wasn’t for you to carry.”

I see the exhaustion in her face, but there’s something unshakable in her voice—a quiet strength I wish I had.

Eldrin’s deep voice rumbles from the far side of the room. “Tha spare bridge’s up now. Shoul’ hold ‘til spring floods, bu’ someone’ll need ta fetch the one ya pulled up.”

I look at him, guilt washing over me again. “I—”

“Don’,” he interrupts, waving a hand as if brushing off my words. “Bridges get lost all th’ time ‘round here. Built more spares than I can count. This?” He nods in my direction. “This was worth i’.”

I stare at him, unsure how to respond. His expression is steady, without a trace of blame.

Lena’s voice cuts through the quiet, her voice thin, and anxious. “You scared us, you know.”

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Her words land softly, not like an accusation, but more like a truth she needs to say out loud. She leans against the wall, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the floor.

“You scared us,” she repeats, softer this time. “Not because of what you did, but because we thought you might…” She doesn’t finish, shaking her head. “You don’t have to carry everything alone, Ethan. We came for you because we care, not because we had to.”

I can’t meet her eyes. The words are too much, too raw. I focus on the floor, on the firelight dancing across the planks, trying to hold myself together.

“It wasn’t easy,” Lena continues, stepping closer. “It cost us. But we’d do it again. Every one of us.” She crouches beside me, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “That’s what it means to care about someone.”

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat almost too much to bear. They aren’t blaming me. They aren’t angry. But the weight of their love—their unwavering love—feels heavier than anything I’ve ever carried.

“But I-”

“No buts! You don’t see yourself the way we do, do you? We did not just chase after you because you have knowledge! I don’t have you in my bed just for warmth! We. Care. About. You! And your wellbeing! Yet you don’t seem to care about it for yourself!”

I flinch, her words slicing through me, raw and unfiltered.

“You do so much around here, pulling in more firewood than we’d need for a month of lock in, and ideas that can literally change our way of life, but that is not the full you! You care! You want to make things better. Don’t you know how many stories there are of summons that go and build a kingdom from their knowledge that they don’t share, or let out in controlled manners to those that it would benefit! We are told to fear the red guard, as they are hunting for lost summoners that they can use to build our society in a controlled manner, but you broke that plan! You wanted to give to all, not just the elite, and that is not just your mind, but who you are. You care. You care about the past, and the future, but you don’t live in the present! We need you! I need you. Not as a book, to get info from, but as a person, to just be.”

After that outburst from Lena, I am curled up in the chair, sobbing uncontrollably, the closest I have been to crying since puberty struck.

Her voice breaks slightly, and she takes a breath before continuing. “Don’t you see? We don’t need you to be perfect. We don’t need you to solve everything. We need you to be here. With us. As you are.”

“I’m sorry.” I wheeze out. “I’m sorry for what I made you all go through. And you’re right. I don’t take care of myself well. Never have.” I unfold slightly in the chair, nursing my ankle that Lena is now wrapping. “I’ve always been asked ‘what are you doing?’ and ‘what’s next?’ to the point that that is all I can think about. Where I am from, there is another religion that has taken hold over the last five hundred years. The religion of progress. The idea that things will always get better, coming from the dark ages into enlightenment. If we only work, learn and push harder than before, we can get it. This nebulous ‘it’. ‘It’ is never explained, never talked about. An unachievable goal, sometimes called utopia, literally translated as ‘No Place’, it literally cannot exist. I grew up believing that worth was measured in productivity, in results. There was no room for pause, no space for just… being. And now, here I am, stuck in that same cycle, trying to pull you into it too.”

Lena doesn’t speak, but her hand finds mine, her grip steady and grounding.

“Thank you. Thank you for calling me out on it. But I need help as you can see. I am sick in a way that makes it impossible to rest, to be, to live. I ask of you, to help me, help me find life and the ability to be. We are molded into cogs and gears of the machine of my reality, squished on the border of life and death, survival mode. Help me become human once again.”