The Language of Scars
I sat on the edge of the cold stone bench in the infirmary, my legs dangling like a rag doll's. My vision was slightly blurred, but I could see the evidence of the morning's "lesson" etched into my skin. Purple blooms of bruises were rising on my ribs, and thin, red lines from the wooden practice blade crisscrossed my forearms like a map of a war zone.
Surprisingly, the pain wasn't that bad. Or maybe I'd been injured so many times since waking up in this world that I had simply stopped feeling it. There was a dull throb, sure, but the sharp, white-hot agony that usually followed a beating was absent. I felt heavy, like my body was made of lead, but my mind was eerily clear. My strength is growing in numbers.
The door suddenly creaked open, and the scent of antiseptic and old herbs followed Lukas into the room. He looked at me, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of my battered state. He didn't say anything at first...he just grabbed a bowl of cool water and a clean cloth. He moved with a quiet efficiency that made me realize how many times he must have done this for himself.
"You look like you went ten rounds with a mountain troll," he said softly, his voice echoing in the quiet room.
He sat on a stool in front of me and began to dab at the cut on my cheek.
"The troll would have been more predictable," I muttered.
My voice sounded raspy, like I'd swallowed a handful of the training yard's sand.
"He's relentless, Lukas. He doesn't even look like he's trying. He just... moves. And I'm always two seconds behind."
Lukas paused, his golden eyes searching mine.
"He isn't moving with his body, Hina. He's moving with his intent. You're reacting to where he is, but you should be reacting to where he wants to be."
"He wants me face down in the dirt," I snapped, though there was no real heat in it. "Mission accomplished."
Lukas sighed, dropping the cloth into the pink-tinted water. He reached out, his hand hovering near the bruise on my arm before he hesitated and pulled back.
"He's being rough because he's afraid. I know that sounds ridiculous—a Prince of the Night being afraid of a human girl
but it's the truth."
"Afraid of what? That I'll bruise his fat ego?"
"No," Lukas said, his expression turning deadly serious.
"Afraid that you'll die. The Council is already whispering, Hina. They heard about what happened with the Elf Lord. They see you as a curiosity at best and a liability at worst. In their world, if something is a liability, you don't fix it—you delete it."
I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the drafty room. I thought about the other servants, the way they scurried away like mice. They weren't just afraid of Dracarus; they were afraid of being near me when the axe finally fell.
"So this is his version of 'protection'? Making sure I can take a hit?"
"He's teaching you the only language they respect," Lukas explained, leaning forward.
"Strength. If you can stand your ground against him, no one else in this manor will dare touch you. He's pushing you to your breaking point because he needs to know where it is. He needs to know that when the real monsters come—the ones who won't use wooden blades—you won't just stand there and wait for the end."
I looked down at my hands. They were stained with dust and a little bit of blood, but they weren't shaking. I noticed a small scar on my thumb I hadn't seen before. Was that from the accident? Or was it new? In this world, the old Hina was being overwritten, one scar at a time.
"He called me a 'wildcat.' I thought it was just an insult. A way to remind me I'm just an animal to him."
"It's not an insult," Lukas whispered.
"A wildcat is small, but it's the only thing in the forest that doesn't care how big the hunter is. It fights until its heart stops. He doesn't want a pet, Hina. He wants a partner. Someone who can walk through the fire beside him instead of being carried by him."
Lukas reached out again, and this time, he didn't hesitate. He placed his hand over mine, his warmth grounding me. It was the only real thing in a world full of shadows and silver moonlight.
"I stayed back today because I had to let you find your own teeth. If I protected you, I'd be keeping you weak. And in this house, weak is just another word for 'dead.'"
"I get it," I said, looking him in the eye. "But it doesn't mean I have to like him for it."
"You don't have to like him," Lukas agreed with a small smirk. "You just have to outlast him."
I looked at our joined hands. Lukas was a warrior, a man who had seen more blood than I could imagine, yet he was the only thing in this manor that felt like home. I wondered what Dracarus would do if he saw us like this. Would he see it as another weakness to be purged, or would he be jealous of the one thing he couldn't force me to give him....
my trust?
"He wants a monster? "I said, my voice finally finding its strength. "Fine. I'll give him one. But he better be careful. Once you teach a wildcat to hunt, you don't get to tell it what to bring home."
Lukas let out a short, surprised laugh, the tension in his shoulders finally breaking.
"That's the spirit. Now, let's get these cuts cleaned up before he decides you're ready for 'Round Two' this evening."
"He wouldn't," I groaned, though a part of me knew he absolutely would.
"He might," Lukas teased, dipping the cloth back into the water. "But don't worry. I'll make sure the infirmary is stocked with extra bandages. You're going to need them if you keep trying to tackle him by the ankles."
"It worked once!" I defended, a genuine spark of pride hitting my chest.
"It did," Lukas conceded, his eyes softening. "And believe me, he hasn't stopped thinking about it since we left the yard."
As he worked, the silence between us wasn't heavy anymore. It was the silence of two soldiers preparing for the next battle. I realized then that the pain hadn't stopped—I had just grown bigger than it. Dracarus might be the Master of the House, but I was becoming the Master of my own survival. And for the first time, I wasn't afraid of being alone anymore no matter how headstrong I was.