"But his hand… It might not work anymore," the old man's words echoed in my ears, a constant ring of despair and disbelief. Panic ran wild as I struggled to move my left hand. I could feel Ambrose's touch, his grip, the warmth, but my hand refused to budge. It felt as if my motor nerves had abandoned me, leaving my hand lifeless and unresponsive.

Visually, my left hand appeared perfectly fine, without even a scratch or hint of the trauma it had endured. My smashed fingers and nails seemed to have miraculously healed, yet the ability to move them remained elusive. It was as if my body and mind were no longer in sync.

In contrast, I moved my right hand with some effort, trembling slightly as I brought it over to my face. The fingers responded, nails intact, and it served as a fleeting relief amidst the raging chaos in my brain.

I mustered the strength to sit up, aided by Ambrose and others in the room. Many voices called out to me, expressing concern, and seeking answers, but they fell upon deaf ears. All my attention remained fixated on my hands, searching for any sign of improvement or movement.

Both arms were functional, and yet, only one hand responded to my commands. Everything below my left wrist remained motionless, rendering the whole arm useless. The realization sent a chill down my spine, filling me with a sense of dread and uncertainty about my future. The hope of recovery seemed to fade away, leaving me to confront the harsh reality that my life had taken an unforeseen turn, and I was left grappling with an unknown fate.

I slowly turned to face the old man, my heart pounding in my chest as I gulped down a mouthful of saliva. "You… you are joking, right?" I couldn't bear to accept the harsh reality that my hand might be gone forever.

"I… am sorry, Lord," Ambrose replied, his voice barely audible. "Your hand… it might..."

"I don't care!" I cried out in desperation, feeling the surge of anger and fear overwhelm me. "Enough with this nonsense. You are the damn doctor. Fix it!"

My outburst was met with stunned silence, the room falling still as everyone processed the gravity of the situation. I could see the uncertainty and helplessness in Ambrose's eyes, and it only fueled my frustration further.

"Find a way," I demanded, my voice quivering with emotion. "I don't care what it takes, but you will find a way to fix this!"

Ambrose looked torn, torn between the reality of the situation and his determination to heal. "I… I will do my best, milord," he said, his voice filled with regret. "But I cannot make any promises. The damage seems to be extensive, and it might take time for your hand to heal… If it ever does."

His words sent a wave of anger through me, and I clenched my right fist in frustration. "Time? I don't have time! I need my hand back now!" I yelled, my desperation and helplessness surfacing.

Ambrose flinched back, fear evident in his eyes, and the countess rushed forward, her eyes brimming with tears. "Please, Ambrose, you must do something," she pleaded, her hands clasped together in a prayer-like gesture.

The healer nodded; his expression pained. "I will do everything in my power, milady," he said. "But I fear… the damage may be irreversible. We can only hope… for the best."

“No… No… You aren’t getting it.” I left the bed and tried my best to stand on my wobbly legs, but I fell to my knees. The anger inside me didn't subside. Finnan quickly lent me his shoulder and helped me stand again.

“How the fuck do you think I am supposed to live with just one hand?” I inched closer to the healer, despite Finnan's protests.

“… Many… have done it.” Ambrose muttered, his back pressing against the wall; now thoroughly scared.

The healer's eyes widened in fear as I grabbed him by his collar, my anger and desperation reaching a boiling point. “Don’t give me that crap.” I shouted, my voice filled with a mixture of anguish and fury.

Finnan attempted to intervene, but I pushed him away, my focus solely on Ambrose. "You said you were the best, didn't you?" I spat out, my grip on his collar tightening. "You claimed you could heal anything, didn't you?"

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“I… I did not…” Ambrose stammered, trying to find the right words to respond, but I wasn't willing to listen to his excuses. My mind was clouded with anger and grief, and all I could think about was the life I had lost, the future I feared, and the pain of losing my hand.

"Don't you dare give up on me," I hissed, my voice laced with desperation. "I won't accept this fate. Find a way to fix my hand, or I swear, I'll make sure you regret the day you ever became a healer!"

Tears welled up in my eyes as I released my grip on the man’s collar, feeling the weight of helplessness crashing down upon me. I sank to my knees, my body trembling with emotion and physical weakness. Finnan, again offered his support, but it was the support I needed to fix my hand and reclaim my life that I yearned for the most.

“Ambrose!” The sharp feminine voice from before called out to the man. “Get out and find a way.” She ordered. “Or you know I don’t back down once I swear it.”

The healer nodded frantically and quickly distanced himself from the tense situation. The lady, with her cascading purple hair and a mix of beauty and pain on her face, knelt beside me, resting her hand on my shoulder.

"Leave us," she stated, and Finnan withdrew his hands. Everyone else, except the countess, left the room. The lady smiled, her eyes glistening with tears. "I am sorry," she said, tapping her forehead onto mine. "I didn’t know." Her touch was tender, and I could feel the sincerity in her apology, but not the reason for it.

Who was she? I wondered for a second, but soon the sense of curiosity was replaced with ever-increasing despair. I couldn't live like this, disabled and losing the ability to do even the simplest tasks. How would I survive, when I always had to be vigilant, watching over my shoulder? I couldn’t properly reload a gun anymore, or defend myself using my hands, or even lift or carry basic necessities. What was the point of learning all those martial arts when my punch failed to carry the weight?

The weight of my helplessness bore down on me, and frustration surging. I had always been a self-sufficient man, without ever relying on others, and now I felt like a mere shadow of my former self. My mind was sharp, but my body failed me.

“I can’t do this…” I mumbled. "I'm useless."

"No, you are not," The lady countered firmly, her grip on my shoulder tightening. "You are still you, lord. Your strength lies not just in your physical abilities, but in your mind and your spirit. You have a resilient soul, and that will carry you through this."

“Easier said than done.” Pinning my able hand, I stood back and limped back to the bed. When my eyes met with my supposed mother, I couldn’t help but sigh. “I am sorry you had to see that."

The countess approached with a mixture of concern and understanding in her eyes. "You have nothing to apologize for, my dear," she said softly. "It's only natural to feel overwhelmed in a situation like this."

The lady remained at my side. "Her grace is right," she added. "No one expects you to be strong all the time. It's okay to feel scared. We all do at times."

I nodded, acknowledging their words, but the weight of my helplessness still lingered. My mind raced with thoughts of how different my life would be now, how I would have to depend on others for even the simplest tasks.

The woman sat beside me, her presence comforting amidst the turmoil. "We will face this together," she said. "I won't let you go through this alone. We will find a way, Lord, to adapt and overcome."

Her words rang a bell in my head. “You are my fiancée?” I asked on a whim.

“I usually call myself your wife, but if fiancée is what you prefer, then so be it.” She chuckled.

“Isolde!” I realized.

“Yes, Lord?” Her eyes softened.

My heart swelled with warmth, and I reached for her hand with my functioning one, squeezing it gently. "Thank you!" I said. "I'm grateful for what you have done."

Her smile widened, and she leaned in, planting a soft kiss on my cheek. "Always, my love," she whispered, her voice like a soothing melody.

The sudden display of affection took me by surprise, and I unconsciously recoiled back, earning a short laugh from both women. Moments later, the countess took her leave, saying she would go inform the Count about me, while Isolde remained seated, clutching my unresponsive hand.

"Sorry for that reaction," I said, an awkward grin on my lips. "It's just... everything happened so suddenly, and I'm still trying to process it all."

Isolde gave me an understanding nod, her eyes filled with empathy. "I understand, lord."

She held my hand in hers, her touch warm and reassuring. It was strange to feel such intimacy with someone I couldn't remember, but there was a sense of familiarity in her presence that put me at ease.

"You don't have to rush anything," Isolde continued. "We have time, and I will be here every step of the way."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing thoughts. "Thank you, Isolde," I said sincerely. "I know I have a lot to learn, and I appreciate your patience and support."

She smiled warmly. "You are worth it, Arwan," she said. "And I believe in you."