His dreams were so much less painful than this.
Even the bad ones.
Cyrus woke to a deep ache in his bones, a sort of slow, throbbing pain that pulsed in time with his sluggish heartbeat. His limbs felt heavy, down to his fingers, and his breath was both shallow and slow, like something weighty was passively pressing down on his chest cavity, preventing it from expanding as it should. The worst pain was divided between his pounding head, which felt like it was about ready to split open at the seams, and somewhere near his left shoulder.
He was conscious for some minutes before he found the strength to actually crack his eyes open. He could feel someone nearby, though they didn't move much. He suspected Stellulam—he thought he recognized the vague scent that lingered under all the sterilization spells and potion ingredients. Others moved about further away. Someone breathed in the heavy and slow way sleepers did. He grew almost irritated when he could not immediately confirm his observations, lacking the ability to quite bring himself all the way to waking. He lingered halfway between the Fade and the material world, and for once, all he wanted was to be fully immersed in the latter.
He pulled in a deeper breath and forced his eyes open at the same time. The inhalation hurt; his eyes started to water almost immediately when his ribs twinged. Probably recently broken and healed. Over his head was the roof of a tent, an ugly taupe color and plain canvas texture. He'd never been so relieved to see something so mundane in his life.
With far too much effort, he turned his head to the side, to see the person who sat nearby. “Stel—" The word caught in his throat, trailing off into weak coughs instead. It made everything hurt worse, and he groaned. “Faex."
“Cy." Estella's tone was urgent; she rolled off the chair and to her knees next to his cot immediately. One of her hands slid into his and squeezed gently. The other found his brow, brushing a few strands of hair back and away. “Asala," she called, raising her voice enough to be heard across the tent. “Asala, he's awake!"
“Don't move too much, Cy; you've lost a lot of blood." Estella rubbed her thumb along the knuckles of his left hand, which was either uninjured or had already been taken care of. She looked to be in bad shape herself, or at least her complexion was wan and a bit thinner than he was used to seeing. Purple bruising mottled crescent shapes beneath her eyes, but she didn't seem injured, at least.
Frankly, he didn't think he could move that much even if he wanted to. But he took her word for it on the cause—the other symptoms certainly matched. He could feel uncomfortable cold sweat soaking into his clothes, to say nothing of the utter, pathetic weakness of his own body. He could only barely remember what had put him here; the Fade part was clear enough up until the confrontation with Nightmare and that spider-shaped demon, but the details got very fuzzy after the fight started.
“The others, are they—?" The strain in his tone surprised him, largely because it wasn't all physical. He was alive and she was alive, but he felt... his brow furrowed.
"Alive," Asala answered for him. She had been apparently taking a nap in a cot situated just behind Estella, because her easily distinguishable pair of horns and head of white hair had shot straight up when she was called. She was still blinking away what little sleep she had gotten from her eyes. She looked as tired as Estella, with matching bags beneath her eyelids and bloodshot eyes. As she rubbed them, it was hard to mistake the immeasurable relief in her face. "Vesryn," she said, tilting her head toward probably another cot nearby, "Is still asleep, but the others are somewhere in the Keep."
“Nostariel didn't make it," Estella amended softly, shaking her head. “She stayed behind to hold off the demon, but... but the rest of us are here still. I did what you said—found the place where the Veil was weak and tore it open. Romulus carried you out."
Guilt was a feeling Cyrus knew better than he usually let on, but he hadn't felt quite this much of it in a while. The reasoning was obvious: the demon they'd still needed to fend off had clearly been the one he'd resolved to take care of. Which meant Estella's friend had died because he wasn't able to do what he'd set out to do and destroy it. He could not help but wonder how much his power was really worth if it was insufficient to protect the people he decided he wanted to protect.
Perhaps nothing had really changed at all.
“I'm sorry." Though his fingers were still leaden and numb, he squeezed her hand as best he could. “I asked you to trust me and then couldn't keep my promise."
Estella shook her head emphatically. “We wouldn't have been able to defeat Nightmare if you hadn't done what you did. Trying to fight on two fronts at once would have killed us all." She sounded certain of it; her hand resumed stroking his hair back from his brow in a soothing, repetitive motion. She left Asala plenty of room to work, though, careful to stay clear of her inspection of him. “We barely survived as it was. None of that is on you." She glanced, for a moment, over to where Vesryn was still unconscious, sighing through her nose.
He still felt that it was, at least in part. Cyrus was the one who had the greatest mastery of the Fade itself. His will was supposed to mean something, there. To be law, if he wished it to be. That was the nature of the power. And yet...
“It's not on you, either." He was fairly certain Estella was going to self-flagellate about this whether he told her not to or didn't, but as usual he decided to register his protest anyway. Besides, speaking was at least some distraction from the pain. “That rift you opened saved our lives, end of story. It might be unkind to put it this way, but Nostariel would certainly have died if she fell to her death with the rest of us. At least she chose what she did, this way."
The wound in his shoulder twinged; Cyrus sucked a breath in through gritted teeth. “Don't suppose you have any stronger painkilling spells in your repertoire, Asala? I could use one if you do."
Asala smiled sweetly, but the regret remained in her eyes. "I am sorry, but I do not. This is the strongest I have," she said. She frowned for a moment as she thought but eventually shook her head, the smile turning downcast. "Miss Nostariel... had one, but I am unable to replicate it," she stated, with some wistfulness to her tone. "She was... an expert healer."
Ah, that was right. “A spirit healer, wasn't it?" Cyrus shifted uncomfortably, trying to move minimally for the sake of making her work easier, but it was difficult when everything was sore. “Not an easy thing to become." It also required a certain temperament, of course. One he certainly didn't have.
Still, it was a topic of conversation, and he found that it was comparatively welcome right now. He could just cross back into the Fade, and deal with the pain that way, but at this point he really didn't want to. “But not an impossible one, for the likes of you, I should think."
"Do you believe so?" she asked. She could've been easily mistaken for simply indulging him in conversation to take his mind off of other things, though there was certain rise to her tone that suggested genuine curiosity. "I do not know much about Spirit Healers, I am afraid. I remember seeing the name in one of the tomes you translated for me, but... I have not reached that chapter yet."
“Normally I wouldn't encourage skipping in the reading, but you should consider it, in this case." Cyrus inhaled slowly through his nose, holding the breath for a couple seconds before releasing it. “There's quite a bit of work involved, but no more than it takes to be truly good at anything. It's just different, considering it involves a proper spirit-bond. None of this possession business." He almost raised a hand to wave it dismissively, but then pain speared up his arm and he let it fall back to the cot.
Right. They weren't actually in the middle of a lesson here. Shame, that. “Anyway, it would actually make healing easier for you, since most of the specialty spells are in the Spirit school instead of the Creation one... this is the wrong time for this discussion, isn't it?" He glanced at Estella for confirmation.
She actually laughed softly at that. “That's never stopped you before," she pointed out with some amusement. “But...perhaps you should let Asala do her work without a lecture, yes, fascinating as the subject may be."
“...Right." He sighed. “I'm sure I'll be laying here bored out of my mind for the next few days anyway. Feel free to ask me more about it if you get a break or something." He didn't want to ask her to ask him, but it would be dreadfully dull not to be able to do anything interesting while he recovered.
"I will think about it," she teased with a sweet smile, but he could tell she would mean to make a point of it. "However, I suggest we hold off until you are able to breathe without hurting first."
“I'll work on it."
Even the bad ones.
Cyrus woke to a deep ache in his bones, a sort of slow, throbbing pain that pulsed in time with his sluggish heartbeat. His limbs felt heavy, down to his fingers, and his breath was both shallow and slow, like something weighty was passively pressing down on his chest cavity, preventing it from expanding as it should. The worst pain was divided between his pounding head, which felt like it was about ready to split open at the seams, and somewhere near his left shoulder.
He was conscious for some minutes before he found the strength to actually crack his eyes open. He could feel someone nearby, though they didn't move much. He suspected Stellulam—he thought he recognized the vague scent that lingered under all the sterilization spells and potion ingredients. Others moved about further away. Someone breathed in the heavy and slow way sleepers did. He grew almost irritated when he could not immediately confirm his observations, lacking the ability to quite bring himself all the way to waking. He lingered halfway between the Fade and the material world, and for once, all he wanted was to be fully immersed in the latter.
He pulled in a deeper breath and forced his eyes open at the same time. The inhalation hurt; his eyes started to water almost immediately when his ribs twinged. Probably recently broken and healed. Over his head was the roof of a tent, an ugly taupe color and plain canvas texture. He'd never been so relieved to see something so mundane in his life.
With far too much effort, he turned his head to the side, to see the person who sat nearby. “Stel—" The word caught in his throat, trailing off into weak coughs instead. It made everything hurt worse, and he groaned. “Faex."
“Cy." Estella's tone was urgent; she rolled off the chair and to her knees next to his cot immediately. One of her hands slid into his and squeezed gently. The other found his brow, brushing a few strands of hair back and away. “Asala," she called, raising her voice enough to be heard across the tent. “Asala, he's awake!"
“Don't move too much, Cy; you've lost a lot of blood." Estella rubbed her thumb along the knuckles of his left hand, which was either uninjured or had already been taken care of. She looked to be in bad shape herself, or at least her complexion was wan and a bit thinner than he was used to seeing. Purple bruising mottled crescent shapes beneath her eyes, but she didn't seem injured, at least.
Frankly, he didn't think he could move that much even if he wanted to. But he took her word for it on the cause—the other symptoms certainly matched. He could feel uncomfortable cold sweat soaking into his clothes, to say nothing of the utter, pathetic weakness of his own body. He could only barely remember what had put him here; the Fade part was clear enough up until the confrontation with Nightmare and that spider-shaped demon, but the details got very fuzzy after the fight started.
“The others, are they—?" The strain in his tone surprised him, largely because it wasn't all physical. He was alive and she was alive, but he felt... his brow furrowed.
"Alive," Asala answered for him. She had been apparently taking a nap in a cot situated just behind Estella, because her easily distinguishable pair of horns and head of white hair had shot straight up when she was called. She was still blinking away what little sleep she had gotten from her eyes. She looked as tired as Estella, with matching bags beneath her eyelids and bloodshot eyes. As she rubbed them, it was hard to mistake the immeasurable relief in her face. "Vesryn," she said, tilting her head toward probably another cot nearby, "Is still asleep, but the others are somewhere in the Keep."
“Nostariel didn't make it," Estella amended softly, shaking her head. “She stayed behind to hold off the demon, but... but the rest of us are here still. I did what you said—found the place where the Veil was weak and tore it open. Romulus carried you out."
Guilt was a feeling Cyrus knew better than he usually let on, but he hadn't felt quite this much of it in a while. The reasoning was obvious: the demon they'd still needed to fend off had clearly been the one he'd resolved to take care of. Which meant Estella's friend had died because he wasn't able to do what he'd set out to do and destroy it. He could not help but wonder how much his power was really worth if it was insufficient to protect the people he decided he wanted to protect.
Perhaps nothing had really changed at all.
“I'm sorry." Though his fingers were still leaden and numb, he squeezed her hand as best he could. “I asked you to trust me and then couldn't keep my promise."
Estella shook her head emphatically. “We wouldn't have been able to defeat Nightmare if you hadn't done what you did. Trying to fight on two fronts at once would have killed us all." She sounded certain of it; her hand resumed stroking his hair back from his brow in a soothing, repetitive motion. She left Asala plenty of room to work, though, careful to stay clear of her inspection of him. “We barely survived as it was. None of that is on you." She glanced, for a moment, over to where Vesryn was still unconscious, sighing through her nose.
He still felt that it was, at least in part. Cyrus was the one who had the greatest mastery of the Fade itself. His will was supposed to mean something, there. To be law, if he wished it to be. That was the nature of the power. And yet...
“It's not on you, either." He was fairly certain Estella was going to self-flagellate about this whether he told her not to or didn't, but as usual he decided to register his protest anyway. Besides, speaking was at least some distraction from the pain. “That rift you opened saved our lives, end of story. It might be unkind to put it this way, but Nostariel would certainly have died if she fell to her death with the rest of us. At least she chose what she did, this way."
The wound in his shoulder twinged; Cyrus sucked a breath in through gritted teeth. “Don't suppose you have any stronger painkilling spells in your repertoire, Asala? I could use one if you do."
Asala smiled sweetly, but the regret remained in her eyes. "I am sorry, but I do not. This is the strongest I have," she said. She frowned for a moment as she thought but eventually shook her head, the smile turning downcast. "Miss Nostariel... had one, but I am unable to replicate it," she stated, with some wistfulness to her tone. "She was... an expert healer."
Ah, that was right. “A spirit healer, wasn't it?" Cyrus shifted uncomfortably, trying to move minimally for the sake of making her work easier, but it was difficult when everything was sore. “Not an easy thing to become." It also required a certain temperament, of course. One he certainly didn't have.
Still, it was a topic of conversation, and he found that it was comparatively welcome right now. He could just cross back into the Fade, and deal with the pain that way, but at this point he really didn't want to. “But not an impossible one, for the likes of you, I should think."
"Do you believe so?" she asked. She could've been easily mistaken for simply indulging him in conversation to take his mind off of other things, though there was certain rise to her tone that suggested genuine curiosity. "I do not know much about Spirit Healers, I am afraid. I remember seeing the name in one of the tomes you translated for me, but... I have not reached that chapter yet."
“Normally I wouldn't encourage skipping in the reading, but you should consider it, in this case." Cyrus inhaled slowly through his nose, holding the breath for a couple seconds before releasing it. “There's quite a bit of work involved, but no more than it takes to be truly good at anything. It's just different, considering it involves a proper spirit-bond. None of this possession business." He almost raised a hand to wave it dismissively, but then pain speared up his arm and he let it fall back to the cot.
Right. They weren't actually in the middle of a lesson here. Shame, that. “Anyway, it would actually make healing easier for you, since most of the specialty spells are in the Spirit school instead of the Creation one... this is the wrong time for this discussion, isn't it?" He glanced at Estella for confirmation.
She actually laughed softly at that. “That's never stopped you before," she pointed out with some amusement. “But...perhaps you should let Asala do her work without a lecture, yes, fascinating as the subject may be."
“...Right." He sighed. “I'm sure I'll be laying here bored out of my mind for the next few days anyway. Feel free to ask me more about it if you get a break or something." He didn't want to ask her to ask him, but it would be dreadfully dull not to be able to do anything interesting while he recovered.
"I will think about it," she teased with a sweet smile, but he could tell she would mean to make a point of it. "However, I suggest we hold off until you are able to breathe without hurting first."
“I'll work on it."