Chapter 94: Dawn’s Command and the Healing Light

“So you’re saying you have no idea—at the end of last night, Nolan didn’t recognize us at all— calling me ‘miss elf’ over and over. You should’ve seen his face— total idiot move.”

“Oh… really?”

Dawn was just breaking; I was all hyped, spilling the night’s drama to Kritiya.

But she just responded in that flat, meh tone.

I’d figured mentioning Nolan would hook her interest at least.

“And then— he…”

My words jammed up, ’cause I finally clocked it…

Kritiya wasn’t just uninterested—she was subtly pushing back on the whole topic.

Ah…

right.

Ever since I woke up, every time Nolan came up,

she dodged like this—

what the hell went down between them while I was out?

“Uh…

that…”

I trailed off, tongue-tied on how to keep going.

Kritiya had already fixed her appearance, rising slow and shoving the carriage door open.

Morning light was faint; maid Sally still snored in her tent.

Kritiya glanced her way, said nothing, just padded over quiet.

“Alright—

forget that stuff,”

she switched to mind-voice with me,

“did you…

use that power again?”

“Emergency vibes.

Without magic, I couldn’t do squat back then.”

I shot back.

Okay, even with magic,

it didn’t seem to change much.

Kritiya blinked, walking ahead while murmuring low:

“I was just relaying the Saintess’s words—

leaning too hard on that force drags you into an abyss you can’t climb out of.”

“Got it—

I know the risks.”

Special circumstances; won’t next time.

I brushed it off.

Kritiya paused a step, said nothing more, just lifted a hand to trace behind her ear.

Fingertip grazed smooth skin, feeling a faint scar—barely a line blending into the texture—rubbing soft against her pad.

“Okay, okay!

I get it!

I won’t turn you…

into a monster.”

I knew what she meant, suddenly feeling guilty as hell—

that scar was from the spring hunt with Nolan, when she warped flesh into fake gills to save a life; now it was a permanent mark etched in her skin.

Kritiya stayed quiet, strolling to the camp’s edge, gazing out at the mist-wrapped woods.

Early morning hush, broken only by scattered bird calls filtering from the canopy.

“You’re waiting—

oh, I see.”

Following her line of sight, I spotted a ragged line of figures shuffling in, dead on their feet.

It was Arendel—

back with his band of stumbling, propping-each-other-up guards.

“My lady…

you…?”

Spotting Kritiya standing sentinel at the camp mouth, Arendel froze; his armor half-off, helmet tucked in elbow crook, face sporting a few fresh bruises.

Looks like…

last night Nolan pulled punches—no kills—but Arendel took a solid beating—

I thought dark, and for some reason, his battered mug struck me as kinda funny.

“My lord’s midnight jaunt—

a hunt with the troops?”

Kritiya clasped hands neat at her waist, eyeing him silent a beat before speaking slow.

“I…”

Arendel’s lips twitched, gaze flicking,

“yes—

a hunt.”

“Fierce prey.”

The purples blooming on his skin got a flat note from her.

“A rude boar, this subordinate slipped—

rammed by the beast.”

Arendel’s face darkened further.

“Fair enough; my regrets on your setback.

So next—what’s the plan?”

Kritiya asked.

“Set more nets till you bag your prize?”

“What’s that supposed to mean!”

Arendel caught the subtext, head snapping up.

“You think I’m chasing personal beef, stirring trouble for kicks?”

“No…

no blame meant!”

Kritiya’s lids lowered slight.

“Just hope you realize—

we’ve lingered here too long.”

Arendel goggled his swollen eyes at that.

I figured he burned to smash last night’s face-smacker flat—

but right now, he looked anything but done.

“Everything I’ve done is to safeguard you.

Clear these roadblocks, or we can’t move safe!”

His face cycled shades, landing on a hard edge.

“And these men—they bled, sweated; quit now, and their sacrifices—even lives lost—mean nothing.

Your ask? I can’t stomach it, nor can they!”

“Pretty speech—

I thought; if I didn’t know canon had them doing way worse to that elven village than ‘protecting Kritiya,’

I’d almost buy the pretty words.

But looking back—”

Kritiya raised her eyes slow, gaze skipping Arendel to land on the guards behind—faces twisted complex, bodies leaning like a wall around him.

“Casualties?”

She asked.

“To the lady: since the ambush two days back, six dead, eleven severe, light wounds… countless.”

“Show me the wounded.”

Kritiya cut in, halting Arendel.

Arendel clearly hadn’t seen that coming.

He paused, then replied measured:

“Fine…

hope seeing their cost changes your mind.”

Kritiya nodded faint to the guards.

“Lead on—you all too.”

At that, the men swapped looks, rooted—no move.

Till Arendel’s low growl:

“Didn’t hear?

Lady bids you lead!”

The crowd stirred then.

I clocked sudden: these guards owed nominal loyalty to their duke,

but Arendel’s bridgehead heroics had quietly rooted an unquestioned sway in their heads.

Kritiya seemed oblivious, walking calm amid their cluster to the wounded tents.

The sight unfolded: injured sprawled or propped on rough blankets, groans sporadic; air thick with faint blood and herb mix.

“This boy’s Yuwen, just seventeen—two years in service.”

Arendel pointed to a pale-faced young guard, starting more—but Kritiya raised a hand to stop.

“All here?”

She asked.

“You mean…?”

“The wounded.”

Kritiya said clear, word by word.

“Yes, all present. You wished to see…”

Arendel trailed, but Kritiya had already lifted both hands, crossing them at her chest.

Through cloth, the locket cradling the relic brushed faint.

In a flash, pure white light rippled like water, warm as spring breeze, dew, dawn—carrying some ineffable rhythm, brushing gentle over every body.

The wounded’s restless nightmares quieted under the glow’s soothe.

Nearby medics gawked as gashes visible healed, flesh knitting fresh.

No doubt, light’s core: the silver-haired girl stood haloed, form bathed saintly— then, like illusion, the layered glows vanished.

Yet that miracle scene etched deep in every eye— everyone snapped back to the longstanding whispers on the lady— some swore she wielded saintly light.

Kritiya scanned the stunned silence, eyes to Arendel, voice even but iron:

“Before we left, I was told you were Airandil veterans, loyal years to the duke.”

“Now, in Airandil’s name I order: by tomorrow’s dawn, all geared up, ready to resume the capital run.”

“That’s it.”

With that, she turned.

The crowd parted a path; she walked it, skirting the still-dazed Arendel, toward her carriage at an unhurried pace.