Chapter 15: Where Hope Walked In
(Alash Vortex’s POV)
"Hey, wake up." Valerian’s voice seeped into my ears over the gentle rumble of the carriage wheels.
I stirred slightly, still refusing to open my eyes. "Are we there yet?" I mumbled, my voice slow and lazy.
The bet I’d made with my master lingered in my mind like a silent shield: ’I will allow you to sleep until we reach the border.’ As far as I was concerned, that meant I had every right to keep my eyes closed.
A faint sigh drifted from the other side of the carriage. "We are close," Valerian said, the tone in his voice carrying that mix of patience and exasperation he always seemed to have around me. "Another hour or so."
I pulled my pillow closer, sinking into the plush seat without moving an inch. "Then I’m not waking up yet," I said, the words half‑muffled by the pillow.
Valerian chuckled softly, the sound warm yet tinged with disbelief. "I have never seen anyone take the terms of a bet so literally. Even the carriage hitting a pothole wouldn’t wake you, would it?"
I grinned lazily, still refusing to open my eyes. "You said until the border. That’s the deal, Master."
"You do realize you have been sleeping for the past two days, right? Since traveling with me, you only ate one breakfast. I have been checking your body from time to time, and it’s in perfect health. How does that even make sense?"
"That’s thanks to my high stamina." I refused to elaborate further.
The carriage continued to sway along the road, the rhythmic clatter of hooves lulling me back into the soft edges of sleep.
For a few moments, the world was just the hum of wheels, the warmth of sunlight through the window, and the quiet satisfaction of winning a bet that only a truly dedicated napper could cherish.
Somewhere in that haze between wakefulness and dreaming, I heard Valerian mutter, "Perhaps I should have specified that you should ’sit up’ until the border..."
But by then, I was already drifting off again, smug and unbothered, my eyes still firmly closed.
***
It’s already been a few minutes since we reached the border, and I was following Valerian. My eyes wandered, drawn not to the path ahead but to the people around me.
They were all dressed in the same grey uniform marked with the crown emblem, an unmistakable sign that they were knights of the king.
Yet the sight of them made my chest tighten, they were injured. Almost every single one of them bore cuts, bandages, or bruises, and their faces were ghostly, hollowed by exhaustion.
Their expressions unsettled me: lifeless, heavy, as if the spark that drove them to raise their swords had long since burned out.
They moved out of duty rather than will, their silence louder than any battlefield scream. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had stepped into a graveyard of the living.
Questions churned in my mind, cold and sharp.
’Why are they all injured?’
’What nightmare had they faced to leave them like this?’
And perhaps the most pressing of all: ’Where exactly had Valerian brought me?’
But I refrained from questioning Valerian. Even though his back faced me and I couldn’t see his expression, something told me not to disturb him.
A quiet instinct pressed against my chest, urging silence, as if the air itself would shatter under a careless word.
I simply continued to follow him, walking a few paces behind while observing the soldiers around me. We soon reached a gigantic white tent. Entering it, I was immediately hit by the sharp blend of smells, medicine, blood, and... alcohol?
Inside, the scene was a whirlwind. Several figures in white coats rushed from one bed to another, their movements swift and purposeful. Their hurried footsteps and hushed commands filled the air, underscoring the urgency that clung to every corner of the tent.
But it wasn’t the chaos that stole my breath.
It was the sight of the soldiers on the beds.
Their injuries were far worse than those I had seen outside. Arms gone. Legs missing. One soldier’s face was swathed in bandages, covering what I could only imagine was a wound too grievous to look upon. The air felt heavier as I walked further in, my steps uncertain, restrained by the weight of the suffering that surrounded me.
I swallowed hard, my gaze flicking from cot to cot, trying to process the grim reality of this place. Even as the healers worked tirelessly, the shadow of death lingered over every bed.
This was not a battlefield, but it bore the same scars.
"Sir Alzette, you are finally back."
The words rang out clear and firm across the tent, spoken by a tall woman in the white healer’s garb. Her voice carried no magic, no force, and yet the moment it reached Valerian’s ears, the entire place fell silent.
It was as if the world itself had paused to listen.
The dark, suffocating tension that had weighed on the tent, the heavy mix of blood, medicine, and despair, lifted in an instant. The air, moments ago burdened with the scent of pain and hopeless murmurs, now seemed lighter, easier to breathe.
Around me, the change was immediate and undeniable.
The healers, who had been moving with rigid determination, their faces tight with exhaustion, all froze mid‑step. One by one, they turned toward Valerian, and I watched as the lines of fatigue softened into expressions of awe and relief. Shoulders sagged as if an invisible weight had been taken from them, and a quiet murmur of hope rippled from one healer to the next.
Even the soldiers, writhing in pain or staring blankly at the canvas ceiling, stirred. I caught it in their eyes first, those dulled, lifeless gazes sparking faintly, flickering back to life. Fingers twitched, lips trembled in tentative smiles, and for the first time since entering the tent, I felt the undeniable presence of hope.
A single man had walked into a room drowning in despair, and with nothing but his presence, he had changed the entire atmosphere.
I stood quietly, watching him take a single step forward, and the tent seemed to breathe again. The weight of suffering did not vanish, but it shifted, tempered by something unspoken, trust, perhaps, or the silent certainty of salvation.
’How?’ I thought, my hands curling at my sides. ’How can one man carry so much light in a place like this?’
Valerian glanced back at me for a brief, passing moment, and I understood without words. True strength is not always loud. It does not need to shout, nor strike, nor demand. Sometimes, it simply enters a room... and the world bends in its wake.