The gentle rustling of leaves filled the air as a cool breeze swept through the quiet village. Nestled between rolling green hills and a crystal-clear river, the village was a picture of serenity. Modest wooden houses with thatched roofs stood in neat rows, their chimneys releasing thin wisps of smoke as the scent of freshly baked bread and herbal remedies drifted through the streets.
Children played near a small stone fountain in the village square, their laughter mingling with the soft chimes of wind bells hanging from porches. Farmers tended to their crops, while others prepared for the evening by lighting lanterns, their warm glow illuminating the narrow dirt pathways.
In one of the larger houses near the river, the scent of medicinal herbs lingered in the air. Inside, a dimly lit room held a simple wooden bed, its sheets clean but slightly rough. Asher lay there, wrapped in bandages from head to toe. His breathing was slow and steady, though his body bore the signs of his ordeal—bruises, cuts, and a deep exhaustion that ran far beyond the physical.
A small table beside the bed held a damp cloth, a bowl of herbal paste, and a half-empty cup of tea. The flickering glow of a single candle cast long shadows across the room, its light dancing over the rough wooden walls. The faint sound of water flowing outside, combined with the chirping of crickets, created a soothing lullaby.
Near the bed, a young woman sat quietly on a stool, watching over him. Her silver hair shimmered in the dim light, and her gentle ruby eyes reflected both concern and curiosity. She reached out, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead. Still warm, but no longer burning.
She let out a relieved sigh. "At least the fever has gone down…" she murmured to herself. The latest episodes are on the Novel~Fire. (n)et
Asher remained unconscious, trapped in dreams—or perhaps memories. But for now, in this tranquil village, he was safe.
Serena stood up and stepped out of the room. Outside, a middle-aged man was grilling some beast meat over an open flame. Seeing her approach, he glanced up and asked, "How is the kid?"
Serena shook her head. "He seems fine, but he has yet to regain consciousness," she replied.
The middle-aged man let out a deep sigh, shaking his head. "I wonder who could be so cruel. All his bones were broken, as if he had been tortured," he muttered, his expression dark with concern.
Serena nodded solemnly. "Don't worry, Father. I will continue to take care of him. After all, I am the village healer!" She puffed out her chest with pride.
Miles, her father, chuckled at her enthusiasm. With a grin, he lifted his daughter onto his broad shoulders and patted her on the back. "You're my little pea," he teased.
Serena's cheeks flushed red. "Dad! I'm not a child anymore!" she huffed, quickly hopping down from his shoulders.
Miles sighed dramatically, "Sigh… now my daughter won't even play with this old man anymore." He sniffled as if heartbroken.
Serena pouted, not liking his antics, and quickly walked away.
Watching her leave, Miles smiled. "You should stop teasing her so much," came another voice.
A woman approached, carrying a handful of spices. She handed them to Miles, who looked at her with warmth in his eyes. "You know how our world is, Lily. These small moments are what give us happiness. You never know if tomorrow we might…" He trailed off.
Lily shook her head, exasperated. "Stop being so dramatic," she chided before heading toward the room where Asher was sleeping.
"How's the kid you fetched from the river yesterday?" she asked.
Miles poked at the roasting meat and replied, "He's stable, but still unconscious."
Lily sighed, her expression softening. "Poor kid… I just hope he won't be too scared when he wakes up. Whoever did that to him must have been truly cruel."
Miles nodded grimly, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. "Yeah… and if he's running from something, it might not be long before trouble follows."
The whole family assumed Asher's condition was the result of torture. After all, he had been thrown from a considerable height, and even before that, his battle with the enemy commander had been anything but easy. His opponent had been an S-rank, a monster in combat, and the injuries Asher had sustained during their fight had already pushed his body to its limits. The brutal fall had only worsened his condition, leaving him covered in wounds—wounds severe enough to break even a fully grown man.
It was no wonder the couple believed he had been subjected to unspeakable torment.
As the days passed, the villagers continued to care for Asher with unwavering dedication. Serena, the village healer, checked on him daily, changing his bandages and ensuring his wounds were healing properly. Though his injuries were severe, her skilled hands and the use of herbal medicine helped prevent infections and soothe his pain.
Miles, the village hunter, made sure he had the best meals possible, roasting fresh meat over an open fire. His wife, Lily, prepared warm soups infused with medicinal herbs, carefully feeding Asher small spoonfuls to keep his strength up. Though he remained unconscious, his breathing had stabilized, and the color slowly returned to his face.
The village was a peaceful, idyllic place, surrounded by lush forests and rolling hills. Thatched-roof houses dotted the landscape, smoke rising from chimneys as families gathered around their evening meals. Children played near the riverbanks, their laughter echoing through the village, while the hunters returned from their expeditions, carrying fresh game.
Every night, Serena would sit by Asher's bedside, watching over him with quiet determination. She often wondered who he was, where he had come from, and what horrors he had endured to end up in such a battered state. She had never seen anyone so gravely wounded survive this long.
Then, on the seventh night, just as the village settled into its usual peaceful rhythm, Asher's fingers twitched. His eyelids fluttered, his breath hitched, and with a pained groan, his consciousness finally began to return.