Meanwhile, on the far side of the palace—out on the wind-swept terrace of Balai Hamili—Shaya tied the last knot, her fingers deft despite the blood still slick on her gloves. She exhaled in relief as the deep gash on the soldier’s back finally closed beneath her sutures. Rising stiffly, she brushed her hands against her tunic and scanned the terrace
Bener should have been there. Earlier, he had taken her place at the watch so she could tend to the wounded knight.
She noticed that the clash of steel had grown fainter, echoing from distant courtyards. He must have drawn the Zuran soldiers away.
General Odin and his sons had departed quickly once King Heimdal and Prince Dakota were secured. Shaya remembered Asael’s words, firm and unyielding: "Someone must stay behind to keep watch here, Father."
"I will do it." Bener said decisively.
Odin had agreed with visible reluctance before leaving in haste.
But now—the Zurans routed, the battle shifting elsewhere—why had Bener not returned? Why was he not searching for her? Was he still tending to the injured?
A flicker of unease pierced her chest. She tried to smother it, to push the premonition aside, but it clung like a shadow.
"Berlin," she called, her voice taut with worry. "Have you seen Bener?"
The young soldier shook his head grimly. "No. I’ll help you look for him."
Shaya chewed her lip. If only she knew how to summon Gray or Snow—they could have tracked his scent with ease. Then, a spark lit her eyes. This update is available on novel•fire.net
She darted to a bamboo basket tucked beneath a shrub at the terrace’s edge. Lifting the lid, she released the small wolf pup inside. The little creature’s blue eyes glowed like polished sapphires, alert and unblinking.
"Blue Eyes," she whispered urgently, "help me find Bener."
The pup seemed to understand her. He sniffed the air, ears twitching, then bolted toward the rockery a few meters away. Shaya’s breath caught. She hurried after it, her quick steps breaking into a half-run.
And then she saw him.
Bener lay sprawled on the ground, his chest rising faintly, his tunic soaked crimson. Blood seeped from a long gash wound across his chest, dripping steadily onto the ground. His face was deathly pale, lips nearly ashen.
Shaya’s breath hitched. For a heartbeat she froze, then the cry tore from her throat.
She dropped to her knees beside him, already fumbling at her medicine kit. With practiced hands she cleaned the wound, her touch steady though her heart thundered in panic. She doused the gash with disinfectant, sprinkled hemostatic powder, then pressed layer after layer of cloth bandages against the bleeding.
"Bener!" her voice cracked. "Can you hear me? Stay with me—please, stay with me!"
But his eyes remained closed, his body limp beneath her frantic hands.
Moments later, Berlin, Logan, and several soldiers arrived, their faces grim. Together they lifted Bener’s motionless form and carried him into Balai Hamili.
Inside one of the resting chambers, they laid him on a bed. The bleeding had slowed, thanks to her efforts, but his skin was clammy, his pallor alarming. Shaya’s chest tightened as she hovered at his side, pressing the bandages firmly in place.
"Logan," she said, her voice trembling with urgency, "go find Lara. Tell her Bener is gravely injured—I can’t stitch wounds as well as she can."
Logan didn’t hesitate. He sprinted from the chamber.
Shaya remained at Bener’s side, her hand steady against the bandages though her own fingers had begun to shake. She searched his pale face, the slow rise of his chest, her own thoughts a storm.
How long had he been lying there, bleeding alone on the cold stone?
Logan sprinted across the courtyard, his boots striking stone with desperate rhythm. His chest burned, but he didn’t slow until he spotted Lara striding along the covered passageway beside the Justice Hall, flanked by Alaric, Gideon, and Percival. General Odin walked just ahead of them, his broad shoulders set, his voice issuing sharp instructions to nearby soldiers.
"Sister Lara!" Logan’s voice cracked with strain as he came to a halt, chest heaving.
She turned swiftly, her composure unshaken, though her gaze sharpened with alarm at the look on his face. "What is it, Logan?"
"It’s your brother—Bener." The words spilled out ragged. "He was found unconscious. A wound... a deep one. Shaya has managed to slow the bleeding, but she says it’s beyond her skill. She sent me to find you."
For a moment, silence. Odin’s jaw clenched, his hand falling to the pommel of his sword as if instinct demanded action against an unseen enemy. Gideon stiffened beside him, eyes darkening, while Percival whispered a prayer under his breath. Alaric’s face hardened into stone.
And Lara—she did not flinch, nor pale. She stood perfectly still, her expression composed, her tone steady as water when she finally spoke. "Take me to him."
But beneath that calm, her mind churned.
Bener. My brother. The second one I had gotten close to after my return. Memories flickered like lightning—his crooked smile when he learned that she was Kane and she bested him in sparring, the stubborn tilt of his head when he refused to back down. And now—bleeding fighting for his life.
Her stride lengthened into a near-run as she followed Logan back toward Balai Hamili. Odin kept pace at her side, his silence thunderous; she could almost feel the storm gathering inside him. Alaric’s hand brushed hers briefly, as though to anchor her, but she did not slow. Gideon and Percival moved behind them, their footsteps pounding like a heartbeat, a small guard of brothers bound by more than blood.
Every step pulled her deeper into dread. What if I am too late? What if my hands cannot mend him? She pressed the fear down, locking it behind the iron bars of her discipline. She would not falter. Not now.
But still, the questions gnawed. How long had he lain there? Why did no one find him sooner? And what if... what if he slips away while I still have breath in my lungs?
By the time they reached Balai Hamili, Lara’s calm mask was unbroken, her chin high, her movements swift and controlled. Yet her heart was a storm caged inside her ribs, threatening to tear through her restraint.
She pushed open the chamber door, and the sight struck her like a spear.
Bener, pale and motionless, lay upon the bed. Blood stained the bandages at his chest, Shaya crouched beside him, her small hands firm against the wound, her face streaked with sweat and tears. Berlin hovered close, his jaw tight.
Lara inhaled once, steady and deep, before stepping forward. Her voice rang clear, calm as steel drawn from its sheath.
Shaya, who was whispering: Bener, do not leave me. Not . Not now, did not noticed when a group of people arrived.
"Let me tend to him." She glanced at Shaya, who was gripping Bener’s hand tightly.
"Shaya, I need your help."
Only then did Shaya look up—hope igniting in her eyes.