In another distant location, a young girl sitting on a bed slowly opened her eyes.
She was Owen’s sister, Eileen.
Eileen was now able to get out of bed.
Owen’s companions had returned with the demon heart flower and brewed medicine for her. After all this time and her repeated attempts, she finally confirmed that she could walk a few steps.
Draped in a coat that wasn’t very thick, she slowly stood up from the edge of the bed. When her feet touched the floor, her knees were still weak.
She instinctively grabbed the corner of the table, waiting for a brief spell of dizziness to pass before taking another step.
She could finally walk to the window.
Only a few days ago, this would have been impossible.
Eileen leaned against the window for a while, her breathing very slow. The sharp pain in her lungs had faded, leaving behind only a residual fatigue, like a shadow lingering after a long illness.
The medicine was effective; she was well aware of that.
The demon heart flower wouldn’t make her well immediately, but it was enough to pull her back from the brink of death. At the same time, she could slowly recover afterward.
During this period, she could indeed feel her body recovering bit by bit, even if every breath still carried a heaviness that did not belong to the healthy. She looked down at her hands.
Her fingers had more color than before, and her fingertips were no longer icy. She lightly clenched her fist and then released it, as if confirming this wasn’t an illusion.
She sat back on the edge of the bed, her movements very slow. The room was quiet.
Occasionally, she could hear the sound of people walking outside, but they all deliberately kept their footsteps low. She remembered that when she first woke up, she saw her brother’s friends.
It wasn’t just one person.
There were several.
They stood by the bed. Some kept their heads down, some had their backs to her, and others looked like they hadn’t decided where to stand, so they just stayed by the door.
No one cried.
No one spoke immediately, either.
She didn’t see Owen.
In that instant, she already understood half of it.
The silence itself was clearer than any explanation.
Later, someone started talking.
They didn’t speak all at once; it was intermittent, as if they were afraid of saying too much, or perhaps they didn’t know where to begin.
They said the retreat was hurried.
They said the demon territory was more dangerous than expected.
They said that as they were leaving, they encountered the queen of the demon tribe.
These words were spoken very calmly, even with a sort of deliberate composure. Eileen could feel that with every sentence they uttered, they were weighing in their hearts what should and shouldn’t be said.
She remembered the term “demon heart flower.”
She remembered someone saying that Owen had handed the medicine to them.
She also remembered someone saying that he stayed behind.
No one used the term “rearguard action”; everyone used other ways to talk around it.
She didn’t speak at the time.
She simply leaned against the headboard and listened to them.
Those words slowly pieced themselves together in her mind, forming a picture so complete it couldn’t be ignored.
Taking an important plant from the demon race.
Being stopped by the queen of the demon tribe.
Letting the others leave with the medicine.
Staying behind alone.
Eileen didn’t need them to tell her the ending.
She could deduce the final step herself.
If she were in that position, she would also know that such a choice left almost no possibility of returning.
Her brother was likely already dead.
Dead in the demon territory.
No body, no belongings left behind.
Even something like a burial was out of the question.
When this thought appeared, she didn’t cry immediately.
She only felt an emptiness in her chest, as if a part of her body had been suddenly hollowed out, though she hadn’t yet had time to feel the pain.
Later, someone helped her lie down and said she shouldn’t get too agitated.
She remembered nodding her head at the time.
She was very obedient.
Because she knew that her survival now was the result of his life being traded for hers.
If she couldn’t even protect this life, it would be too much of a waste.
Eileen slowly raised her head and looked out the window.
The night was deep, and nothing could be seen in the distance.
She no longer asked, “When is he coming back?”
She no longer thought to herself, ‘If I wait a few more days, will there be news?’
She had already accepted a very real conclusion.
It was just… she hadn’t completely adjusted to the place this conclusion occupied in her life.
She pressed her hand against her chest. Her breathing was a bit unsteady, but she didn’t let herself stop.
It was a fact that her body was improving.
She could live on.
In the future, she would probably be able to go further, perhaps even leave this room.
But every time she realized this, a question she couldn’t ignore would always surface in her mind.
She survived, but his story had ended.
It wasn’t regret.
It wasn’t resentment, either.
She simply couldn’t immediately merge the two concepts of “continuing life” and “losing her brother.”
Eileen pulled the blanket up to her chest.
She closed her eyes, and no tears fell.
She only very, very quietly admitted one thing in her heart.
‘Owen probably won’t come back.’
When this thought settled, her heart felt as if it were being pressed, but it didn’t break.
She suddenly realized that even if he didn’t come back, the world would still move forward.
And she, too, had to keep going.
However, in some deep place, she still reserved a tiny bit of space for that impossible possibility.
It wasn’t expectation.
It was just… her unwillingness to close that door with her own hands.
***
The night was already very deep.
Flora lay on her side in bed, the blanket pulled up to her shoulders. She was sunk into the soft mattress, but she didn’t feel the slightest bit sleepy.
Only a small magic crystal lamp was lit in the room, its light adjusted to a very low level, as if afraid of disturbing something.
Her eyes were open.
It wasn’t the kind of wide-eyed clarity that comes from being alert, but rather a hollow, focusless gaze. Her vision fell on the opposite wall, yet it seemed to pass through the wall to somewhere much further away.
Lias’s words continued to replay in her mind over and over.
She had thought about them many times, yet she still couldn’t reach a conclusion that would set her mind at ease.
The blanket was warm and the bed was soft. These things that should have been relaxing felt somewhat unnecessary at the moment.
She rolled over, her hair sliding off the pillow and lightly brushing against her cheek. She reached up to brush the strand of hair away, then lowered her hand again.
She still couldn’t sleep.
Just then, a faint sound came from outside the door.
It wasn’t a knock.
It was more like someone had paused outside the door to check the presence inside the room.
Flora didn’t move.
A few seconds later, the door was silently pushed open a crack.
Ilya walked in.
She was wearing dark loungewear, and her steps were very light, making almost no sound. She immediately saw Flora on the bed.
Though the blanket was tucked in properly and her posture was obedient, Flora’s eyes were excessively bright in the darkness.
Ilya’s footsteps paused for a moment.
She quietly closed the door and walked to the bedside.
“Not asleep yet?” she asked in a low voice.
Flora blinked, and only then did she slowly come back to herself. She didn’t answer immediately; she only gave a soft “Mm,” her voice muffled under the blanket.
Ilya sat down by the bed. She didn’t touch her, but instead placed her hand on the blanket, sensing her body temperature through the fabric.
“Thinking too much again?” she said with certainty, though it wasn’t a reproach.
Flora’s throat moved slightly.
“I… I don’t want to be like this,” she whispered. “But I just can’t stop.”
Ilya didn’t press her on what she was thinking about.
She remained silent for a while, as if confirming something, before she spoke. “The words you heard today were indeed quite heavy.”
Flora’s eyelashes trembled slightly.
“You don’t need to sort them all out right now,” Ilya’s voice was steady, low, and slow. “Some things aren’t meant to be understood in a single night.”
“But I always feel…” Flora bit her lip, her voice so soft it nearly scattered. “If I don’t think it through now, it’s like I’m escaping.”
Ilya shook her head gently.
“It’s not escaping,” she said. “It’s giving yourself time.”
She reached out, and this time she didn’t hesitate, letting her hand rest gently on top of Flora’s head. Her movement was light, as if testing the waters, yet also as if she were long accustomed to it.
“You’ve already endured enough,” she whispered. “There’s no need to push yourself anymore.”
Flora didn’t pull away.
The warmth from that hand traveled down through her hair; it felt very real and very grounding. Her originally tense shoulders unconsciously relaxed a little.