The shutters in Sara's bedroom stayed closed, blocking most of the afternoon light and turning the room dim and stuffy. Outside, the village kept moving with its new chaos, voices calling, feet shuffling past the house, but inside, it all felt muffled and far away.
Sara lay in her bed, back propped up against a couple of pillows. A fever flush burned high on her cheeks, and sweat beaded along her hairline, making loose strands stick to her skin.
Bertha sat on the stool beside the bed, sleeves rolled up. She dipped a clean cloth into the bowl full of cool water, wrung it out with steady hands, and laid it gently across Sara's forehead. The motion looked practiced, like she had done it many times before.
She didn't speak. Just worked in a quiet rhythm, wiping the sweat from Sara's neck, adjusting the thin blanket, checking the temperature of the cloth before swapping it for a fresh one. Her face stayed calm, focused on the small tasks.
Sara kept her eyes half-closed, breathing slowly. Every part of her body ached, but the cool cloth helped a little. She didn't have the energy to say much. The heavy mana drain still sat heavy in her chest, like something had scooped out her insides and left them raw.
Then suddenly the door creaked open. Olga stepped inside, moving with that slow, careful way older women in the village had. She carried a small basket with fresh fruits and a covered bowl.
Bertha rose the moment she saw her. She gave a small nod, and, saying no words, slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. Her exit suggested she already knew this wasn't her conversation to stay for.
Olga set the basket down on the small table and sat on the stool Bertha had left.
For a long moment, she just looked at her daughter. She took in the fevered cheeks, the exhaustion carved into Sara's face, the faint traces of dried blood still clinging near her hairline even after the earlier washing. Her hands rested in her lap, worn and steady.
Then all of a sudden, Sara's breath hitched. The tight control she had held onto all day finally cracked. She didn't break into loud sobs; just quiet tears slipped down her cheeks one after another. Her shoulders shook as she tried to hold them back, but they kept coming.
Olga leaned forward without hesitation and gathered Sara into her arms. She pulled her daughter close, one hand rubbing slow circles on her back, the other holding the back of her head. Sara buried her face against her mother's shoulder, the fabric of the old dress dampening under the tears.
"I tried so hard to hold back, Mom," Sara whispered, voice cracking. "But they would have died. If I didn't use the magic, all of them would have died right there on the road, Mom."
"I know," Olga said simply. Her hand kept stroking Sara's hair in the same steady rhythm. "It's okay, Sara. It's okay."
"No, it's not okay, Mom." Sara pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes red and wet. "I promised you. I promised I wouldn't use it in front of anyone again. And now… everyone saw. Everyone inside the village knows that I used Tier-4 magic, Mom. They know everything now."
Olga wiped a tear from Sara's cheek with her thumb. "You kept that promise for years. Longer than I ever should have asked you to. Now, what's done is done. So, stop crying now."
Sara shook her head, pushing back against the comfort. She didn't want easy words. The fear of what could happen now sat too deeply in her mind, making her forget she was a patient right now.
"What happens now, Mom?" Sara asked her mother. "They all saw it, the hunters, the evacuees, everyone. Now what?"
Her face showed clear worry all over it, "What if that woman comes for us now? The same way she came for Dad? What if she decides that letting us go back then was a mistake? What do we do then, Mom? What do we do?"
Sara's worried words hung in the quiet room. Olga went still. Her hand paused on Sara's hair. The silence stretched, making both women heavy and uncomfortable. Sara searched her mother's face, looking for something solid, but the older woman's eyes looked tired in a way that went deeper than the current crisis.
When Olga finally spoke, her voice came out flat, worn thin from years of carrying things alone.
"…It's okay. We'll figure something out. We always have. You don't have to worry too much. I'll figure something out. Don't worry. Just rest for now."
The words didn't carry real confidence. They sounded more like something a mother said because she had to, even when exhaustion made every step feel heavier.
Sara heard it. But knowing it was only words of comfort, she once again pressed her face back against her mother's shoulder. Her fresh tears soaked the fabric of the old woman.
Olga held her a while longer, rocking her gently like she used to when Sara was small.
And just like that, eventually, Sara's breathing evened out. The tears slowed.
Seeing Sara had cried herself to sleep, Olga eased her back down against the pillows and pulled the blanket up a little higher to let Sara sleep for now. Before getting out of the room, she brushed damp hair from Sara's forehead, then got out.
----
Outside in the narrow hall, Bertha waited, back straight against the wall. When Olga finally stepped out and closed the door behind her, Bertha straightened up.
"Look after her properly," Olga said, voice low. "And make sure she rests. Bring food when she wakes, even if she doesn't want to eat. And don't let anyone disturb her. She needs rest more than anything."
Bertha nodded. "I will, Madam Olga. But, may I ask, where are you going?"
Olga paused at the front door, one hand on the latch. "Somewhere important."
She didn't explain further. Giving just that short answer, she stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind her.
Bertha stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door. She didn't try to follow or ask more. She turned back toward Sara's room instead, ready to sit by the bed again. Whatever Olga had in mind, it stayed locked away for now. Something the older woman clearly planned to handle without pulling anyone else into it yet.