Kael’s senses returned slowly, like surfacing from a deep ocean. His eyelids felt heavy, his body heavier still. The dull ache in his ribs was a reminder of the crash, but something was different.

He was lying on something soft. A bed?

Sunlight streamed through a window, illuminating shelves lined with jars of herbs and bandages. The faint smell of dried lavender filled the air. The room was small but meticulously organized, clearly a workspace. Jars, dried plants, and bundles of herbs lined the walls, alongside an assortment of mortars, pestles, and strange tools Kael couldn’t identify. The structure felt like an extension, an annex attached to a larger house.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice said from beside him.

Kael turned his head and saw her—the young woman who had pulled him from the river. She was sitting on a stool, grinding herbs in a small bowl. Her green eyes met his, and for a moment, neither spoke.

“You’re in a bed,” she said dryly, answering his unspoken question, “in my workspace, if you can call it that.” She gestured vaguely to the room. “It’s not much, but it keeps people alive.”

Kael gave a weak chuckle. “I guess that makes me one of the lucky ones.” He winced as he tried to sit up, pain flaring through his side.

“Don’t push yourself,” she said sharply, setting down the bowl and moving to his side. Her hands were gentle but firm as she eased him back down. “You’re in no shape to be moving around just yet.”

Kael groaned. “Where... exactly am I?”

“In a small fishing village,” she replied, adjusting the blankets covering him. “We’re on the edge of the Lorridian Kingdom. Nothing special—just a dot on the map.”

Kael’s enhanced mind worked to process the information, filing it away. “Lorridian Kingdom?” he murmured. The name meant nothing to him.

The healer raised an eyebrow at his puzzled expression but didn’t press the issue. Instead, she picked up the bowl of freshly ground herbs, mixing in a thick paste of what smelled like tree resin. “You don’t seem like you’re from around here,” she commented, dipping a cloth into the mixture.

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Kael hesitated, unsure how to answer. “You could say that.”

Her lips quirked upward in the faintest of smiles. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

Before Kael could respond, loud voices from outside cut through the quiet. The healer paused, frowning as she turned toward the window.

“What’s going on?” Kael asked, his body tensing despite the pain.

Elira moved to the window, peeking outside. Her expression darkened, and she cursed under her breath. “Bandits.”

Kael forced himself to sit up, ignoring the sharp pain that lanced through his ribs. “Bandits?”

She turned back to him, her face pale but resolute. “Yes. But this isn’t normal. Bandits rarely come through here. The men are out fishing, and this village isn’t worth the risk most of the time. There’s hardly anything here worth stealing.”

“Then why now?” Kael asked, his tone cautious, sensing there was more to the story.

Elira’s shoulders slumped slightly, her voice dropping to a grim tone. “The harvest wasn’t great this year, and winter is close. The king raised the taxes again—more grain, more fish, more of everything. It’s left us with just enough to survive the winter.” She hesitated, gripping the windowsill tightly. “And if these bandits get what they want, we won’t even have that.”

Kael frowned. “Sounds like the kingdom’s problems don’t end with taxes.”

Elira didn’t answer right away. Her hands shook slightly as she turned away from the window. “They’ve hit other villages before. If we can’t stop them here, they’ll take more than food or supplies. They’ll take... people.”

Kael caught the meaning in her voice immediately and felt a pang of anger rise in his chest. “So they’re not just a nuisance—they’re a threat.”

Elira let out a bitter laugh, but her expression remained tense. “What choice do we have? There’s no one to protect us, no one to stand up for places like this. We’re on our own.”

Kael swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the sharp protests from his body. “Then I’ll stand up for you.”

Elira stared at him in disbelief. “What? You can’t even stand properly, let alone—”

Kael interrupted her with a smirk. “Relax. You can always patch me up again after the fight.”

Her expression shifted, torn between anger and begrudging admiration. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” Kael replied, testing his footing as he stood. He swayed slightly but steadied himself.

With a frustrated sigh, Elira grabbed the rusted fire poker leaning against the wall. “Fine. If you’re so set on throwing your life away, I’m not letting you do it alone.” She rummaged through her shelves, pulling out a small glass bottle filled with an oily liquid. “And this,” she muttered, holding it up, “is my contribution. It’s flammable. Don’t ask why I made it.”

Kael raised an eyebrow. “Improvising a Molotov cocktail? I like your style.”

Elira gave him a withering look but said nothing as she carefully placed the bottle into her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. Armed with the fire poker and the makeshift incendiary, she pushed the door open.