There was something comforting about the sound of crickets chirping in the night. Accompanied by the view of the sky above, the scene was truly relaxing. The stars glimmered brightly, like pearls inlaid within the colorful velvet of the endless universe. They were like beacons of light in an otherwise pitch-black sea, guiding the lost and wayward planets home to their rightful place. Yet at the same time, they were destructive warships—especially when sunken—that dragged everything down with it, so as not to suffer alone. The pinnacle of nighttime was seen in the stars, and they were such beautifully volatile things.
Witnessing this did several things to Henry, as a result. First, it assured him that he was alive. After all, there was no way that he could have seen this sight if he had died earlier, and even then, the dead were never much for admiring the beauty of life. Secondly, it calmed his heart rate considerably—although that wasn't as much of an achievement as it should have been, since his chest always pulsated weakly, anyway. The unusually high and prolonged spikes in adrenaline as of late could not have been good for him. And lastly, watching the stars above gave him solace in a restless time, where his mind, body, and soul acted as one: lying down flat and unmoving, utterly stunned by the state of the world around them.
The grass that was beneath him was incredibly soft, too. High quality weeds, those were. They were softer than the cots at Shepherds' camp, and better than any inn or lodging he stayed at. They were comfier than the four-poster frames in Mustafa's house, and cozier than the wiry bed-rot that existed at his previous orphanage.
It was just so, so good.
He would have slept right then and there if he hadn't felt an unholy pair of freezing cold hands touch his face, and drag their icy surfaces across his cheeks in an attempt to keep him up. He stirred lightly, and tried to sound amused by this act when he really just felt annoyed.
"Aw, what'd you do that for? I was about to sleep a little."
"Henry, I know that sleep sounds incredibly euphoric right now, but you must stay awake. Don't give in, because we're not done yet." The voice that responded to him was methodical and calm. Its words lulled in his head like a sweet song.
"Ugh, but I don't want to," he whined. "Five more minutes?"
"No, you must get up now. Henry, do you understand our situation? The four of us have escaped, but the others are nowhere to be found. There is no sign of Maribelle, Tharja, Ricken, or Gaius. The only explanation is that they are still trapped in those maze-like tunnels as we speak."
It was like the voice uttered some strange curse, instead, because Henry started up with an almost mechanical spark. He flailed wildly before standing to full attention, and when he was upright, he made a weird salute—nearly tripping over himself when he threw his hand back down to his side. "Well, why didn't you say so sooner? Look at all the time we're wasting here!"
He was awake enough to realize the voice had been Miriel this whole time. She held a bright and luminous sphere of fire between her hands, the flames flickering in the most tame way possible. Shadows cast by the flames flitted across her face, and there was a strange combination of discontent and satisfaction written on her countenance. Despite this, Henry thought she was more charming than she had ever been before, and he vaguely wondered if the fire would warm up her freezing cold hands.
Because seriously, she could make ice cubes with those fingers if she tried hard enough! The idea amused him greatly, and he tried to pretend that the wide smile on his face was one of genuine innocence, rather than the juvenile comedy that fueled it in the first place.
At the very least, Miriel seemed pleased with his coming to, and motioned the other members of their party to appear before them. All four of them gathered around Miriel's flames as she spoke of what was yet to come. "I understand it is very late, or very early depending on your perception of things. While our minds are hazy and our hearts are just heavy, we ought to do well to exemplify valor and restitution in these fine moments. Our allies are depending on us." Her words were very inspirational—to the point where Henry felt a small weight free itself from his chest. The other two seemed just as touched by her little spiel, and—pleased with the reactions she gained from them just now—Miriel continued on.
"So we need to get to higher ground. The tops of the tunnels meet with the natural formation of this grassy hill. From there we have quite the vantage point, and it will make for the easiest attempts at searching. Follow me and we shall see the end to this thrilling development." She walked ahead gracefully, ignoring the biting pain in all parts of her body, and disregarding the streams of blood which left her through various gashes on her limbs.
It wasn't as bad as it seemed, though. Besides, they had allies to rescue, who were probably in sorrier shapes than they were. They had friends that needed their help.
They had blood to spare.
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The noises droned on and on. They consisted only of sand sifting, dirt settling, and bodies coughing. The coughs were the worst of it because each one was drier and rougher than the last, and the air was crisp and dusty, making it that much harder to breathe.
Although, they wouldn't have to worry about breathing for much longer.
Ricken was awake, and he felt the debris and sand fill up the room with each passing second. Rocks scraped loudly against each other, the sound of which distracted him from having any other more rational, useful thoughts at this moment in time. But it didn't matter, anyway, since nothing could really stop him from bearing such negativity in his mind.
Like fishing wire reeling in, his mind violently went back and forth with little warning in between. The only thing that comforted him at this time was the large hole in the ceiling above, since it acted as a window that showed the outside world—which was so close, yet so far away. Ricken could tell that he had been ogling this sight for too long, however. as the midnight blacks of the sky had brightened into dark blues within a moment's notice.
Morning would come soon. He feared he may not live to see it.
Worse off than him were the two bodies slumped against the nearby wall. One was there because of a massive head injury obtained from the falling debris, while the other had been forcefully thrown against the wall and concussed into unconsciousness. In all honesty, Ricken was too dazed to discern if they were dead or alive, but a large part of him didn't want to know either way.
"Are..." he croaked out the word as if he had never spoken it before. His throat was hoarse and his mouth was dry from all the screaming and the swallowed dirt from earlier. He tried to speak once more. "Are...they...alive...?" The sentence was coherent enough in his mind, and he hoped that his words were just as clear. If not, he hoped that the other person was lucid enough to understand his intrinsic meaning.
"...Hard to tell..." came the weak and muffled response of the other. If Tharja wasn't known for mumbling so much, he would have never been able to tell it was her. But her dour company was better than nothing, so he humored her in the best way he could.
"I guess there's not much of a difference between us and them, is there?"
More dirt slid down and even more rubble formed, in what seemed to be an endless cycle of destruction and aftermath. Just several yards away, Ricken could discern the outline of a large scaly tail. and multiple furry legs sticking out from underneath the boulders. The sand in that area was stained in multiple shades—the dark rotten blood-dust of a Risen, combined with the bright, colorful fluids of an arachnid—to make a rather unique mixture of sickeningly contrasting hues.
It was strange to see that the two beasts were dead, now. Wasn't it very recently, that those monsters brimmed with ferocity and bloodthirst, wanting nothing more than to taste the flesh of a Shepherd? Weren't they the ones roaring into the air, chasing hot on their heels, and shaking the very foundation of the earth at its core? How was it that they died so quickly? And what did their demise mean for the surviving humans?
Also, how could Maribelle and Gaius be either dead or alive, with little distinction in between? Their defeated forms were proof of the night's struggles, and Ricken knew that he and Tharja would soon join them in their decline. The two of them acted like they were already dead, with listless expressions on their faces and limp slouches in their bodies.
They were as good as dead. Maybe even better.
Ricken had no motivation just yet, but he knew that all he had to do was wait. And if he could survive past the morning of this dreadful day, then he would take back every mean thing he ever said about anyone. He would live life to the fullest, and fight every battle as honorably as possible. He would go to a church of Naga and pray: he would thank the exuberant deity for allowing him to survive when others didn't, and beg for total and utter forgiveness for all his past grievances.
He would do all that and more, if he could only just survive. But based on the slouch of his posture and the burden on his shoulders, he realized that it was easier said than done.
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Henry's group walked on the hill that brought them onto a natural walkway that bordered the roofs of the caves. They could see multiple holes on top, those that were probably formed by the various explosions from earlier. Their allies could have been trapped in any one of those crevices, and they knew that they were short on time if they meant to rescue them. If they didn't do something excellent soon, they could say goodbye to their friends on the other side.
Henry was filled with the same desperation that ran through all of them. It was a quick, lively feeling, that made him stir anxiously, and he knew that he needed to do something—anything. It was hard to think when he was falling behind, though. At his place in line, he could only kind of see Anna, and even then he was staring at the back of her head. Normally, she was very good at being pretty and presentable, but her wavy red hair was tangled and dirtied. It must have been all the running and screaming and exploding that they went through earlier. If she kept that up, however, then squirrels would start nesting in her hair, and what a funny sight that would be!
Wait a second, squirrels? His face lit up like a firework at the silly yet crucial realization made just now. That's it!
"Hold up, ladies!" He called out to the rest of his team, who turned around and stared at him curiously for his sudden outburst. "I have an idea! There's a good spell that can help us out right now, so I need an animal, and fast!" Before anyone could protest, he dashed into the nearby woods at breakneck speed, without so much as an explanation as to why.
"What's he even thinking?" Anna huffed. "He better not be messing around! We don't have time for that right now."
"I think he's grabbing a sacrifice for a curse or a similar ritual," Miriel said. "This is entirely based on what I've observed during previously similar instances, but he may know a spell of some dark caliber that allows us to reach our comrades at a quicker speed than we are moving at presently. Magic like that requires a sacrifice, which is just one of the many things that separates dark magic from normal arcana."
"Oh," Anna conceded, dumbfounded. "Well, good for him, then! Anything that can help our sorry situation is welcome in my mind."
"B-But that means he needs to kill the animal to do it, right?" Lissa gulped, and looked down at her thumbs as she pushed them against each other in anxious, back-and-forth motions. "I know he's trying to be helpful, but do we really need to kill animals in order to carry out whatever wacky scheme he's got cooking for us?"
"A question of morals, hmm?" Miriel nodded her head gently, interested in the dilemma at hand. "Is saving lives still noble and good if it means sacrificing another person's life in the process? Where do we draw the line between sacrificial and sacrilegious, and just how far are we willing to admit that we might blur the lines more often than we'd like? Either way, maybe we should just be lucky that he's going after a small forest animal, and not one of us."
"He wouldn't dare try that," Anna quickly insisted with a cool edge to her voice. "And besides, we just killed a bunch of people in that cave. Even though they weren't innocent, they still probably didn't deserve to get buried alive the way that they did. So, as much as it pains me to say, we aren't that much better than the bandits were."
Before the debate could heat up even more, Henry returned with a new acquisition at hand: a single, dead, baby squirrel. Its neck was broken, and Lissa couldn't help but flinch. At least the thing didn't suffer for too long.
She didn't know if she could say the same for them, though.
"What're you gonna do with that...um, poor animal, Henry?" She hesitated, as if saying the wrong thing would set him off somehow. While they were all too tired to muster any real anger in the moment, the threat of him snapping suddenly—while very unlikely—still scared her. She nearly flinched when he responded with a callous chuckle.
"This is our sacrifice! I recently mastered this certain spell that was pretty useless up until this point. In a way, this makes me happy that I bothered to waste my time with it at all." Hearing him speak so casually (and without his usually violent adages) surprised Lissa, but he returned to his typical demeanor soon enough. "Anyway, I better get to work or else there won't be anyone left to save."
He carefully placed the sacrifice in the middle of the dirt road before them. With a large rock, he drew a ceremonial circle around it, as well as some magical runes. Then, he positioned his tome into the air, and with an utterance of ceremonial words he let go of the book, and smiled in satisfaction as it hovered in place on its own. Lissa gaped at the display—while Anna and Miriel seemed more cautious and less impressed than she did—as her mind racked itself for answers to this conjuration magic that was completely outside of her realm of understanding.
There was a strong impulse to smack the book out of the air, just to test how powerful the levitation was, but she knew better than to do that. She wrung her thin wrists with hesitant hands so as to restrain the urge building up within her slender fingers.
He continued on.
Henry extended his hand, revealing its honeyed complexion, that which was stained with dirt and dried blood. He smiled as a faint glow surrounded his fingers, and he drew an invisible rune in the air—the trailing edge of the magic visible yet faded. The same soft light was seen around the squirrel, whose dead body pulsated with a slight energy. Then, the colors intensified, brilliant streaks of golden white color forming against the dark surroundings. The light pooled into the body of the squirrel, and shot upward to form a pillar. The floating tome absorbed the light, and for a few seconds, nothing happened.
Suddenly, the pages of the book flipped rapidly, and sent an even larger beacon of light into the sky. Lissa was confused, at this point, thinking how on Naga's earth is this gonna help us find them? Just as she was about to protest, Miriel and Anna gasped, and promptly interrupted her thoughts. Then all three of them watched as Miriel's tome revealed itself from her side, flipped open to a random page, and projected a ray of light from within. It was identical to the large beam of light that Henry's spellbook displayed, and even though she was previously clueless about this spell's nature, Lissa began to understand what was happening.
"This spell looks pretty fancy, but it's basically a locator spell. It identifies and reveals any magical spellbooks in the area. It's great for finding hidden magic, but if Ricken and Tharja are nearby, then we'll be able to find them, so…"
"That's wonderful! If it detected Miriel, then Tharja and Ricken should definitely be—"
"Look!" Anna suddenly shouted, pointing in a wayward direction behind them. "Over there!"
Everyone glanced, and witnessed as a shockingly bright beam of light skyrocketed from one of the numerous caves ahead. It shone like a beacon, and it signified one thing.
They were there. The singular beam of light was joined by a second one—Ricken's spellbook was affected, followed by Tharja's, or vice versa—and they stayed brightly radiant for a long time. Henry ran ahead without another second of hesitation, absolutely thoughtless except for the crazed mantra that ran through his head over and over again.
Gaius Gaius Gaius Gaius Gaius Gaius Gaius Gaius, Henry thought. Dead or alive, he needed to know of the other's fate. Dead or alive, he had to run over there before the spell's duration ended. Dead or alive, he needed to see his face—or whatever remained of it. Dead or alive, he had to put an end to this nightmarish ordeal, once and for all.
Dead or alive, he needed to be there by his side.
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There was something beautiful about Tharja right now. It wasn't her darkened skin or shadowy eyes—although those were also quite nice features about her—and it certainly wasn't her noticeable curves or sinister poise, which could definitely make messes of men, women, and people alike.
It was the look of truth in her eyes. She was known for her harrowing stare that could inflict as much pain as any of her hexes could, and Ricken even received a few annoyed glares before, himself. But this time, it was different. There wasn't any pain, suffering, or agony in her dark irises. Instead, there was just diffidence, exhaustion, and sincerity. Maybe it was because their time was running short—since the room was filling up with sand like the bottom half of an hourglass—or maybe it was because she was highly injured, as they all were, but Ricken felt that sentiment now more than ever, Tharja was honest and exposed. And that exposure, more than anything else about her, was beautiful.
She seemed to know what he was thinking, though. "Get that ugly look off your face," Tharja insisted. "I don't want my final memory to be that of your insufferably proud expression."
"Sorry," Ricken apologized. "I can't help it. I always thought that being with you in a situation like this would be the worst, but it's not." A tiny smile appeared, softening his face and brightening his eyes. "Don't you think we should keep trying, though? There's gotta be a way out of this."
She rolled her eyes, although the motion wasn't as pronounced as it usually was. "Go ahead, genius. We're almost out of spells, and there's nothing we can do for them if we try to save ourselves." She motioned at the unconscious Maribelle and Gaius, who were both seated atop of large rocks, so they wouldn't be on the ground where the levels of sand and dirt gradually rose upward. Their slumped figures didn't bring good tidings, however. "So it's either us, or them, right? Even then, I have no energy to try and climb to the top. The hole to freedom is right above us, but there's nothing we can do." For a whole moment afterward, she said nothing, so as to catch her breath and collect her thoughts. "We're finished."
Before Ricken could make a proper rebuttal, the strangest thing happened. Their tomes, which were half-sunk in the sand or held in tremulous hands, levitated into the air in front of them. They both flipped open to random pages, and fired beams of light towards the heavens. First was Ricken's Arcwind, followed by Tharja's Flux. The two pillars of light shone through the hole in the ceiling above them, and went as far as to pierce the murky clouds in the sky.
They were speechless from this display. Tharja's surprised face was reassuring to Ricken, as he feared he might have hallucinated it all from the beginning. She stared incredulously at him, and he couldn't even find the words to respond with.
"There you are!" A voice called out to them from above. Ricken recognized it as Anna's. "Move out of the way! I'm gonna blast this hole open some more!"
They struggled for a few minutes, but were soon able to follow her commands. Ricken pulled Gaius' limp body out of the way, whilst Tharja pushed Maribelle to the side. Then, as if on cue, a big chunk of earthy ceiling fell out from its place and into the quickly rising sand. The heavens and skies were completely clear above them now, and so were the concerned faces of the remaining Shepherds, who gathered around opening curiously.
Anna wasted no time as she jumped down into the chamber, holding on to some sort of vine or rope that would serve as her tether to the surface. She was heavily bruised and visibly bleeding, but remained oddly chipper as she beamed at both Ricken and Tharja. "Nice to see you guys in one piece, kind of. Let's start with taking someone on my back." She pointed to the empty space there, and gave a nod as if to reassure them that yes, her spine was still intact.
Ricken quickly blurted out "Maribelle first!" before Tharja could say anything. Anna nodded, and motioned for help as she attempted to pick the duchess' body up from the ground. The three of them were able to accomplish this feat, and soon enough, Maribelle was mounted on top of Anna's back. She snaked her arms around Maribelle's legs, and Tharja and Ricken tied the rope around Anna's waist. After a minute or so of adjustment, she was ready to go.
"Pull me up!" Anna shouted up to the other Shepherds. She winked at Ricken and Tharja, reassuringly so, before she was hoisted up into the air. It took a few minutes for her to reach the top, but eventually both Anna and Maribelle disappeared as they reached the outside world, and were pulled out of view.
Hope was real, after all. Ricken felt encouraged, empowered, and relieved. Although it was easy to give into despair (he almost let Tharja get away with making him think it was useless), he had a feeling that something good was bound to happen. They were so lucky that the separation left everyone alive, otherwise they would have drowned in the rising sands—which continued to rise with no end in sight. But as long as Ricken still had energy left, he would put it all towards getting the rest of his allies (friends, he distantly thought) out of this place safely and soundly.
When Anna returned for a second trip, Ricken and Tharja stared each other down. There was a quiet battle of wills, but he swiftly gave in, and helped the dark mage get to the rope before he did. She gave him a cursory glance of something (appreciation? gratitude? disappointment? wonder? he couldn't place it) and turned away. Anna spoke some quick words to Tharja before ascending the rope. The combined effort of both women helped to speed up the process, but Ricken desperately wished they would go faster.
The sand was up to his waist, now. Gaius had been moved to an even higher rock above the ground than before, so he wouldn't drown. Ricken breathed deeply to calm the wild wilds in his heart, but nearly jumped out of his skin when the rope lowered in front of his eyes. Anna wasn't there, this time, but he could hear multiple voices instructing him from above.
He didn't catch any of it. He knew they were talking, but his mind couldn't process what the words actually meant. "Can you say that again?" Ricken asked worriedly, fearing that the exhaustion had finally caught up to him. Now was inconvenient of a time as ever to suddenly develop hearing loss.
"Wrap the rope around Gaius!" Anna yelled at him. "We'll pull you both up at the same time!"
"Okay!" Ricken screamed back at her as loudly as he could, because his voice felt gravely and weak. Then he grabbed the rope, and quickly got to work.
For the umpteenth time that night, a mage was thankful for Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour, because Frederick himself was adamant on including all sorts of skills in his regiments, including a section about how to tie knots. That knowledge came in handy as Ricken's fingers fiddled with the rope, but were able to make sensible movements here and there. It felt like an eternity before Ricken secured the last knot around Gaius, and even longer than that when he made a separate loop of rope where he could hold onto, as well.
When he was done, Ricken moved his arm securely through the extra loop he made, and used his other hand to hold onto Gaius' waist, with his feet long since submerged in the sand. In fact, the whole bottom half of his body was eaten up by sand, and he felt the desperation creep into his bones and settle, like ice. "R-Ready! Pull us up!"
It was a longer procedure than he anticipated it to be. At first, there was no movement at all, and so many worries and possibilities ran through his mind—those that included something bad happening (they all suddenly died), or something even more unlikely (they abandoned us here, left us for dead). But then he felt a sudden jerk, and the rope began to move. There was a few moments of struggle, where the sand felt like suctions below him, which made it hard to wriggle free. After several more minutes (in which all he heard was the laborious grunts and cries of pain from his allies), he felt his feet loosen from the treacherous, sandy hold, and he sighed out loudly.
He was so relieved.
Gaius was practically dead the entire time, since he remained completely motionless—only to be swayed every now and then by the rope's movements. His head leaned to the side and his eyes were long since closed, but he breathed sporadically, as seen through the rise-and-fall of his chest beneath his cloak, and that reassured Ricken that he was still alive.
For now, anyway.
It was even more reassuring when Ricken could see the outside world again, and six different pairs of hands reached forward at once to pull him and Gaius out from over the edge.
He surfaced, and coughed the excess dirt from his lungs in bloody, phlegm-filled hacks. Lissa reached forward to rub slow circles in his back to ease the pain. When he was soothed somewhat, she urged him to move farther away from the hole, and onto the softer grass just a few arm lengths away. He collapsed onto the greenery, nearly falling asleep on contact. Only the audible shifting and stirring of his friends indicated that he was still awake. He turned to rest on his stomach and sighed.
He could see the rest of his party, completely bedraggled and damaged, as they moved out further away from the hole, and onto the grass alongside him. They all processed what just happened to them, and even maybe what happened before that. Ricken watched as Henry untied the rope from Gaius, and—together with Miriel and Tharja—dragged the thief's body onto safer ground. Then the two of them left Henry to himself as they fell onto their backsides, clearly tired. Ricken closed his eyes for a short moment. He couldn't blame them, really, especially not after the events they had been through.
And while Ricken got his bearings back, Henry stared at Gaius for a long time, before he finally glanced elsewhere. Henry watched as Ricken closed his eyes and collapsed further into the dirt, humming happily at the sight of his best friend in the whole wide world—badly beaten, but alive. Completely worn out, but breathing. The same went for everyone around him (except Maribelle and Gaius, of course, who were actually unconscious), and he gave uplifting smiles to anyone that could see—accompanied by a cheesy thumbs up as if to congratulate them on not dying the whole time.
No one really reciprocated his cheerfulness in full, although Miriel and Tharja smiled weakly at him, after some debate within themselves. And Lissa said "Really, Henry?" which got a good laugh out of Anna and Ricken, too. Despite everything, they were still alive, and still strong enough to berate the hell out of each other.
That had to count for something, right? At least, Henry seemed to think so.
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After the initial shock and respite, the damage was catalogued, the tolls were exacted, and everyone got a good idea of just how beaten they were.
In general, everyone had some broken bones, bloody wounds, and extreme fatigue. They all agreed that they could get some sleep ("Or even a shower," Anna lamented), but if they gave into their exhaustion, then they would be in some serious danger. So they had to continue: they had to meet at the rendezvous point, and catch up with the convoy wagons that really should have just been here by now. As they moved, Henry could see all the injuries manifest in the damaged forms of his friends.
He inspected his own wounds at this time, too. The fact that it took him five minutes to complete a single thought (he kept reminding himself to check his wounds, then forgot that he reminded himself, then remembered again, then forgot again, and so on and so forth) said a lot, already. But when he was lucid enough, he decided that things turned out to be worse than they had to. The biggest problems of the night were the spider and dragon, although he managed to hear Tharja say that they were both killed in some explosion, or whatever. Lacking the wherewithal to understand completely, he supposed that he would have to ask more about it later.
But if those two beasts weren't part of this whole fiasco, then none of that madness with the whole locator magic thing would have been necessary. In fact, they wouldn't have been chased to their wit's end for the whole night, and they wouldn't be so injured or tired as they were now. The eight of them would have still gotten damaged by the initial explosion and separation, but if those two beasts weren't there, then they'd be sitting around a Shepherds' campfire right now, laughing about the mission and how ridiculous everything was. He wanted that outcome more than this, because this was painful (his whole body stung and screamed and retched that he nearly went deaf from all the noise) and he hated pain. He hated it so, so, so much.
Also, if those giant monsters weren't there, then Gaius and Maribelle wouldn't be unconscious right now. They would be awake and complaining about how much everything hurt, too.
Instead, Henry and the others were on the road, again, weaving their way through the path that they (literally) blazed through the forest earlier. They followed the familiar twists and turns, as well as the burn marks left on the barks of trees and leaves of flowers—those that suffered from fire magic mere hours ago. The smell of smoke lingered, too, and mixed together with the aroma of ivy, oak, and berry plants. The scent was as relaxing as it was dangerous, as evidenced by Lissa nearly falling asleep on her own two feet—something that would have happened if Ricken didn't bump into her from behind and force her awake.
Of course, Ricken was just as weary as she was, if not more so. He had the weight of Gaius' legs on his shoulders, while a whole Gaius-length behind him, Henry held the thief by his arms, instead. The joint effort to carry him was necessary as neither of them were strong enough to do it alone. Occasionally, Ricken would say "Henry, stay awake", and Henry would reply "Ricken, go to sleep". He said it as a joke, but a large part of him really needed a rest.
But they didn't stop for a rest, and so he had no choice but to keep walking.
Anna flanked the group instead of running the front line like before, since her right leg was badly sprained from the continued use through the night. It gave out only moments ago (she was thankful that it was in good shape during the whole rope rescue, at least), and she had no choice but to grin and bear it as she trudged pathetically behind the rest of the Shepherds. If her mobility hadn't been hindered, then she would have easily taken the lead, marching her friends to safety with a smile on her face. The only good thing about this changed arrangement was that she could grimace and curse about the pain in her legs, the cuts on her arms, or the aching in her back as she was too far behind for them to really notice—except for a cursory glance to make sure she was okay every now and then.
Tonight, Miriel lead the way, with a flurry of Elfire flames floating around her. The warmth of the fire was very dangerous, too, because its comfort invited the scholar to sleep on many occasions. She kept herself awake through sheer willpower, relying on her notes and knowledge to safely navigate the rest of the group through the forest. Once they escaped the woods, they could rest up on the plains without worrying about any natural predators setting upon them in their most vulnerable moments. With that idea in mind, Miriel chanted to herself inwardly: Stay awake, stay awake, stay awake. And normally, she would hate the fact that her wrist was sprained, or that her head was bleeding, or that she had some crystal fragments and shards in her skin—but all the pain energized her, and motivated her to move even faster than before. So she did.
Lissa and Tharja, meanwhile, were somewhere in the middle of the pack, each of them supporting an unconscious Maribelle in their arms—with Lissa taking the right side, and Tharja taking the left. Maribelle was a bit taller than Lissa but still shorter than Tharja, and the height difference showed when the duchess' right leg would drag along the dirt but the left one didn't. It was a quiet arrangement between the three of them, although Lissa and Tharja prodded each other whenever one of them looked like they were about to doze off. To see a bright and sunny girl try and interact with another darker, gloomier one might have been comical in its own right, but tonight there was an unspoken agreement between them—a solidarity that formed only in a way that theirs could have. In fact, Tharja even appreciated it when she felt Lissa tug at her sleeve, cape, or hand now and then to keep her awake. It would almost be nice, if the circumstances were any different than what they were now.
They all continued like that for some time, trekking through the forest with heavy hearts and even heavier feet, never once giving up on the thought of relief coming to them. Even if it was very unlikely, they held the sparks of hope close to their chests, and forged ahead with a renewed fire, despite everything in their body begging for cold, lifeless, rest.
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.
.
Less than an hour later, and they emerged from the forest. It felt like an eternity, but the thick woods broke free and they could see the open plains and grasslands in front of them. It was the same place where the convoy wagons first dropped them off, and even though Anna wasn't leading the party, she could help Miriel navigate the rest of the way back to camp if they wanted to. Although the rest of them were certain that this is where they had to shack up for the night, because there was no way they could make the entire journey back to the nearest Shepherds' camp on their own right now.
Luckily, they didn't have to do any of that.
The unmistakable sound of wheels resounded through the night, and in a few minutes' time, they could see several convoy wagons rolling in the distance. Soon enough, the wagons appeared right in front of them—their bronze-colored horses neighing and bucking until they finally lurched to a stop. There was a bit of shouting to be had, but then a simultaneous feeling of reassurance surged through the Shepherds as Prince Chrom emerged from one of the wagons. He screamed and fussed over Lissa so loudly that the people back in Ylisstol could have heard him, surely. Other soldiers came from out the wagons, too, and helped the rest of the injured Shepherds get inside, where they laid them down on berths and tended to their wounds immediately.
Robin was also there, and they helped a few other soldiers carry Gaius inside one of the wagons. They locked eyes with Henry all the while, and a wordless exchange was held between them. They motioned for Henry to follow their lead, and the two of them walked to the southernmost wagon where two empty and fresh cots were waiting for them. Gaius was hoisted up onto one of them, while Robin invited Henry to lie down on the other.
"Thanks," Henry slurred, the formation of the letters sounding foreign to him. Robin understood what he meant, thankfully, and gave a swift reply that Henry neither heard nor comprehended. They didn't hold it against him, though, and sat in the middle of the wagon alongside the healers that worked quickly yet carefully. They cleaned the wounds first, and if Henry wasn't in such numbing pain, he would have complained about how much it hurt.
Still, he was grateful to be able to witness the scenes he saw.
Gaius was much less intimidating when he was unconscious, Henry decided. Gaius was also less cunning, witty, and funny, when asleep, too, and Henry liked and disliked that idea at the same time. He hated the way the other seemed so vulnerable and helpless in this state, but he also loved the peaceful and calm look that overtook his entire body. It was a sleep-like death, that allured and didn't allure Henry all at once. It was confusing, hurtful, and weird, so the dark mage was sure that he could blame these senseless thoughts on his injuries and nothing else.
Either way, he turned his head to the side and stared even more intently at Gaius. He opened his eyes, allowing the strange and changing color of his irises to be revealed. His irises appeared as they had always been—dark, round, and violet-blue in color. They searched for the usually green irises that always came his way, and were disappointed when they saw nothing but closed eyelids, instead. They wanted to see that familiar dark-green-bordering-on-hazel, those forested eyes that held so many emotions and memories within them.
Emotions and memories that the violet-eyed one wanted to know. Henry laughed in spite of himself, wondering when he'd become so repetitive as of late. Then he closed his eyes, and blocked those beautifully bright irises from the world once more, sincerely promising them they would get a glance of that enthralling, earthen color sometime soon. He promised, promised, promised himself that he would see Gaius again. And maybe it was Gaius' doing, too, but lately Henry had been getting better at keeping promises.
He wordlessly reached for Gaius' hand in a needy motion, and smiled as he felt their digits collide. Then he interlaced their fingers together, and became highly amused at their contrasting body temperatures. Henry's hand was warm with a rush of blood and panic underneath, while Gaius' hand was cold with sleep and sickness on the surface. Their hands met, and the ice melted while the fire snuffed, and it left nothing but a lukewarm feeling of ash in between them.
It was actually pleasant, all things considered.
Even so, Henry squeezed Gaius' hand as if to comfort him. You'll be okay, he thought to himself, unable to find strength to talk anymore. You'll be fine. When you wake up, I'll even give you a good curse to make your day better. Promise.
With those warm thoughts festering in Henry's mind, he decided that he had done all that he could that day, and he would let everyone else take the reins from this point on. He was too tired, messy, and broken to be functioning right now. Nevertheless, he kept his hand locked with Gaius', and smiled widely at the feeling of it. One of the healers—or Robin, he couldn't quite tell—stood over him, and talked about the medicine they were about to administer him. He didn't hear most of what they were saying, but the words "sedative" came into the conversation, and it sent deep shivers up his narrow spine.
Then he became very familiar with that word as he felt something prick his skin, and all at once, a brightly cool feeling washed his strained veins away with peace and tranquility. Head leaning to the side, the last thing Henry thought of was Gaius and these so-called "sedatives." He dreamed of the thief stealing his (blackened) heart away, with a lovely (sedate) smile on his face that made Henry's body limp and unfeeling. It was—by far—the best dream that Henry ever had in his life. He even smiled in his sleep, while his unconscious body rocked back and forth, in tandem with the rhythm of the healers and the bumpy ride home.
He was impervious to the world around him, one that consisted of hurried conversations and deep regrets. Robin, in particular, spoke with Chrom across the wagons. They discussed what should be done, and if what they had already done was worth the pain they endured. Not reaching an agreement either way, both of the soldiers remained in their respective wagons to mull the whole event over. Then, one by one, the convoy units peeled out, and the Shepherds left nothing else behind them.
All that remained were the maze-like caves of death, and the early dawn, rising slowly and carefully in the morning sky.