I could hear the muted noises of the world around me, yet they felt so distant, like faint echoes reverberating through a cavern of drifting darkness. A gentle warmth radiated at my side, soft and enveloping like a cozy bath, tracing a path of comfort against the chilling reality of my injury. It was precisely where the axe had sunk deep, a cruel reminder of my mortality. That wound, gaping and raw, would surely spell my doom without the skilled hands of a healer or the protective embrace of bandages, and in my current state, I was ill-equipped to tend to my own wounds. My demise felt inevitable, yet I was blissfully unaware of any the clanging metal and the desperate shouts of combat swirling around me. In that moment, all I could do was cling to a fragile hope that Pork had escaped and found Nim, wherever her fate had led her. My final offering was to accept this end as a means of repaying a debt to her; once she had saved my life, and now I would return the favor. At least I could meet the Lady of Loss freed from those obligations.

As I lay still, surrendering to the dark embrace, the world's soft murmurs began to fade, retreating like a tide withdrawing from the shore with my last strained breath. I readied myself to greet the Lady of Loss, the Dark Patron Goddess guiding souls to the afterlife. I envisioned our encounter, determined to greet her with a smile. My existence had not unfolded as I had wished; I yearned for a legacy of goodness, yet I had caused little strife. I would not approach the solemn goddess with hostility. Our legends crafted her as a solitary figure, wandering the liminal space between life and death, attended only by the spirits she shepherded through the shadows of eternity. My time with her would inevitably be brief, but I resolved that whatever moments we shared would be filled with warmth and joy for the ever-mourning goddess.

But as I inhaled once more, the oppressive tightness in my chest began to ease, the grip of despair loosening like a long overdue embrace. Despite the isolation enveloping me, I felt a thud against the ground beside me; it could only have been the bandit woman’s body tumbling from my broken frame. Yet, in my current state, it felt softer than I anticipated. I braced myself for the sharp sting in my breath, but I hadn’t realized, in my disoriented thoughts, that the pain in my side was dulling. Though the sticky warmth of crimson still clung to my skin, a soothing warmth had begun to wash over me, replacing the fierce agony with a gentle balm. I lacked the strength to shift my position, yet I could sense the strange sensation of something sharp and unyielding pressing into my flesh, a repeated embrace that whispered promises of healing.

Before I gathered the courage to move, four simple words slipped past my lips, unbidden by my conscious mind. In this state of disarray, my thoughts and body were no longer in harmony.

"I'm sorry, my Lady,"

I murmured, surprised by my own voice, which floated softly in the air, feeling as ethereal as the shadows surrounding me. With each stir of warmth, my pain dissipated further as a delicate touch rested against my bloodied hand, an ethereal caress as if the Lady of Loss herself had smiled upon me in this fragile moment. Drifting once more into the comforting darkness, a soft, earnest smile dancing upon my lips. As I succumbed to the sweet embrace of sleep, I could sense the voice whispering again, though its words eluded my ears, as the soothing veil of consciousness enfolded me, shrouding my weary body in restful oblivion.

As oblivion relinquished its grip, I realized that hours must have slipped away unnoticed. Once again, an eerie silence enveloped the cave, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the soft sounds of my shifting form. The air was thick with the delicate aroma of sage, mingled with the sharp iron scent of blood—grim evidence of the desperate battle from which I had narrowly emerged. Yet, it wasn't just sage that perfumed the air; a floral sweetness lingered, exotic and unfamiliar, hinting at a bloom I had never encountered. The realization struck me: the heavy blanket I had offered to Nim just before the bandits descended upon us now lay draped over me. It was this very fabric that had carried those elusive scents, wrapping me in its weight.

Every inch of my body pulsed with relentless pain, as if I had plummeted down the jagged cliffside instead of the cautious descent I had attempted. My muscles twisted in agony, screaming out in protest with every tiny movement against the cold, unyielding stone beneath me. Each shift sparked fiery shockwaves radiating from the wound in my side, forcing my eyes wide open as a wave of pain washed over me. The chill of the ground seeped through my clothes, amplifying my discomfort, and I longed for a single moment of reprieve—a chance for my battered form to rest and begin the slow process of healing. But even the slightest adjustment ignited a symphony of anguish that reverberated through my very core, leaving me trapped in a spiral of suffering.

The cave, familiar yet altered, cradled me in its shadows, with the dark, glass-like barrier I had awoken within the day before dominating the space. In the flickering firelight, I glimpsed the cave's depths beyond the dome; it shimmered with a peculiar beauty that captivated my attention. The edge of the barrier seamlessly merged with the stone, as if it had slipped between the very molecules of rock without resistance. Intrigued, I instinctively moved closer, driven by a need to unravel the mystery of this dome. But my thoughts abruptly halted as a fresh wave of pain surged from my side, drawing my focus back to the present.

Ignoring the discomfort flaring from my shoulder, I carefully pulled aside the heavy blanket, revealing the meticulously bandaged wound on my side. The thin linen wrap wound around my torso, crossing over my shoulder and securing itself in place with astonishing precision. My thoughts raced, questioning whether I had somehow exerted the strength to tend to my own injury. Yet, the protest from my battered muscles confirmed the impossibility of such a feat; there was no way I could have accomplished this delicate wrapping in my weakened state, especially not when I had been bleeding out on the ground just moments before. 

Whoever had tended to my wounds possessed a skill far beyond my grasp, for my own attempts at bandaging were crude, merely effective enough to keep the blood inside and the dirt out. This was different—a bandage both secure and comfortably loose, allowing for the faintest movements without constriction, save for the tired chorus of my aching body.

My mind began to race, a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts and fragmented memories, as I struggled to piece together the unsettling events that had unfolded between my encounter with the Bandit Woman and the disorientation of waking moments ago. The first task was clear: I needed to remember everything, to gather the scattered shards of my recollection like a puzzle yet to be solved.

The attack by the bandits had been swift and vicious. I recalled Nim and Pork huddled by the flickering firelight, their faces cast in warm hues, unaware of the danger lurking just beyond the shadows. The bandits had spotted them instantly, but it was the Thin One who had spoken first. What was it he said? Vartin, his words eluded me, snatched away before I could grasp them. The memory began to materialize, slowly pushing through the fog in my mind. Just then, I realized something crucial: where had the Elf gone? With a start, I remembered how she had vanished right before the bandits' eyes, as if she had been swallowed by the very air around her. No wonder I hadn’t noticed her absence; only Pork’s stout form had captured my gaze amidst the chaos. Nim had disappeared, and Pork had lunged at the bandits with unparalleled courage. Thank the Prince for his bravery; without it, I would surely be dead.

As I sifted through the remnants of the battle, I recalled the fierce struggle against the Bandit Woman. To my astonishment, I had manifested the rope in that critical moment. A surprised exclamation tugged at the corners of my lips as the memory solidified: manifesting such an item wasn’t merely difficult—it was virtually impractical for someone like me. It was a skill generally reserved for merchants and nobles, a flashy trick intended to awe and impress, not suited for life-or-death scenarios. The effort required vastly outweighed any momentary benefits, particularly under the pressure of combat. Yet there I had been, in the heat of the battle, manifesting control of a rope against a foe who relished toying with me like a cat with a mouse. The bandit had revelled in my predicament, and I could still feel the derision in her gaze.

A sudden spark of lucidity pierced through my muddled thoughts—the Nettleweed! The acrid scent of the herb clung to the Bandit Woman, its pungent aroma filling the air. A wild plant often found in abundance, it worked insidiously; when burned, the smoke clouded the mind and slowed the rush of thoughts. It would have granted her a false sense of invulnerability, the kind of arrogance that allowed her to underestimate my potential long enough for me to manifest the rope. That fleeting moment of clarity had been my salvation, an unexpected stroke of luck amidst the brutal chaos, much like the fierce attack Pork had made to fend off the other attackers.

I remembered then the split-second choice that had driven me to grab the axe, realizing that I could only block one of the two impending assaults. And then there was that glint of pink—so vivid and startling. At the time, I hadn’t had the luxury to ponder its significance. Had I somehow mistaken it for Pork, despite him fighting in the opposite direction? Had that flash of pink been Nim? How could she have vanished so completely? Had she been nearby, lingering in my peripheral vision while I was too consumed by my own desperate struggle to be aware of her presence? My fingers grazed the bandage tightly wrapped around my chest, where the gaping wound from the axe should have claimed my life. Had Nim tended to my injuries? Had she, against all odds, saved me?

As these thoughts churned in my head, a soft, distant hum reached the outer fringes of my exhausted senses. Moments later, a familiar figure materialized through the thick, foggy glass-like barrier overlaying my consciousness, moving as though she stepped from one realm into another effortlessly. The gentle glow of her presence illuminated the shadows, and I barely registered Pork bounding toward her, proudly presenting the small animal clutched in his jaws—a creature I was too preoccupied to identify. 

Nim's gentle smile warmed my heart, and as she glanced down at me, the soft melody on her lips transformed into a tender inquiry. 

“Look, Pork! Vartin's awake. How are you feeling?”

Her gaze, wide with innocence and kindness, melted away my earlier fears. Those doe-like eyes, which I had once mistaken for the harbinger of doom, now radiated life and hope. In that moment, I understood—she had saved my life again. I fought fiercely against the Bandit Woman, but it was Nim who had shielded me from the consequences of my reckless choices. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude swell within me, a vow forming as I realized I owed her once more. As long as I drew breath, I would seek to repay this debt to her, time and time again, even if I couldn’t quite understand why that commitment felt so vital.