Minutes passed in silence.
The only sounds in the room were the soft hum of Erza's healing magic and the shallow breathing of the unconscious man lying before her.
She did not speak.
She did not look up.
She did not acknowledge her grandfather's presence, nor the child who had saved them both from disaster. Her entire being, every thought, every pulse of magic, every beat of her heart, was focused on one thing and one thing only: healing Yuuta.
This was not her usual way.
Erza was not a healer by nature.
She was a warrior, a queen, a blade forged in the fires of war and tempered in the blood of her enemies. She had never learned to tend to wounds with patience and care.
She had never needed to. In her world, the wounded were either healed by others or left behind.
