Chapter 73— Gerife of killing(2)
At the Nurse office
Rowan sat awkwardly at the infirmary,
The infirmary of the Grand Aetherion academy was less of a clinic and more of a sprawling, state-of-the-art medical pavilion. Students nursing various training wounds drifted through the wide corridors, tended to by an elite medical staff.
Rowan sat on the edge of a sleek, medical cot, his shoulders slumped, his eyes hollowed out by days of sleep deprivation and dark, bruised circles. While he stared vacantly at the floor, Ritvik and Sarina were busy interrogating the staff.
"Excuse me, we're looking for Nurse Jane," Sarina asked politely, tapping the shoulder of a man in medical robes who was briskly walking past.
"It's not Nurse Jane, it's Nurse Jain," the man corrected, not even breaking his stride.
Ritvik narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the man from head to toe. "Wait. Are you Nurse Jane?"
"I told you it's nurse Jain."
"Wasn't nurse Jane supposed to be a woman?"
"Where is it written? Also i told you it's Nurse Jain and I'm a man."
"Then shouldn't you be called Nursa then?"
The temperature in the corridor dropped to absolute zero.
Nurse Jain stopped dead in his tracks, his eye twitching as he glared at Ritvik. "If you don't actually need medical attention, I'm leaving. I have critical patients to look after."
"Ah, wait Miss— I mean Mister Nurse."
Sarina intervened smoothly, stepping into the breach before Ritvik could spark a diplomatic incident. "Our friend genuinely needs to be checked. He hasn't been well. Please."
Jain let out a long, exhausted sigh, his shoulders sagging. He stepped up to Rowan, pulled out a diagnostic scanner, and began running a series of quick scans.
Ritvik leaned over to Sarina. "I didn't know a men could be a nurse."
Nurse Jain's ear twitched. Before he could turn around, Sarina smoothly shifted her weight and delivered a precise, merciless elbow shot straight into Ritvik's ribs.
"Ouch! What was that for?!"
"Can you just be quiet for five seconds?"
Sarina hissed under her breath, her eyes flashing a warning.
Ritvik rubbed his side, instantly deflating.
Meanwhile, Nurse Jain finished his scan, pulled away, and stood frozen. His jaw went slightly slack, his eyes widening in blank disbelief.
Sarina noticed the shift in the nurse's demeanor. She stepped closer, her sharp eyes tracking the lines of exhaustion on Rowan's face. "Sir? Is there something seriously wrong with him?"
"Yes," Jain said, his voice deadpan.
Both Ritvik and Sarina stiffened, their
expressions turning instantly grave. "What is it? Is it a mana imbalance? A curse?" Ritvik pressed.
Nurse Jain lifted a trembling hand, slowly covering his face. "He... hasn't eaten for a few days."
A profound, echoing silence swallowed the room.
Sarina and Ritvik blinked in unison.
"Umm... what?" Ritvik echoed, utterly bewildered.
"I said," Jain muttered, his voice muffled by his hand, "he hasn't eaten for a few days days."
"Then why are you making an expression like the world is ending?" Ritvik asked.
"I can't believe it, I have people here dying and I wasted my time running diagnostics on a healthy, dramatic teenager who's just skipping meals."
"The hell are you saying? No ones dying here."Ritvik protested, throwing his hands up. He turned to look around the sprawling infirmary. "Besides, nobody is even—WOAAA!"
Ritvik shrieked, stumbling backward as his eyes landed on a nearby bed. "There's an actual corpse over there!"
"That's not a corpse, idiot. That's Instructor Darian," Sarina sighed, not even bothering to look.
Ritvik stared, realizing the motionless lump wrapped in blankets was indeed their sleep-deprived instructor. "Oh... what's wrong with him?"
"Don't mind him. He lives here," Nurse Jain deadpanned, turning away. He reached into a nearby cabinet, pulled out a small foil packet of blue tablets, and handed them to Sarina.
"Take your friend off my hands. Feed him this appetite stimulant, get him a heavy meal, and he'll be fine."
Sarina caught the medicine, looking down at the small pills before glancing at Rowan's pitiful, slumped form. She and Ritvik shared a silent, understanding nod.
---
Minutes later, they steered Rowan out into the bustling streets of the Arcian district of Aetheria, which is famously known for it's high end resturants.
Sarina and Ritvik were guiding Rowan.
"The dishes here are some of the best in all of Aetheria," Ritvik chattered, trying to keep the mood light. "Even upper-class seniors come here all the time."
As they stepped through the glass double doors, the rich, savory aroma of roasting meats and bubbling broths filled the air. The restaurant was packed with students laughing and trading stories
To Rowan, however, the noise faded into a hollow roar.
His footsteps halted. The faces of the students dining around them began to distort in his panicked mind, melting away to reveal the hollow, ash-grey visage of the man he had killed on Rune Island. Every student looked like Seris. Every shadow whispered his guilt.
Rowan's fists clenched so tightly his fingernails broke the skin.
"Hey, over here," Sarina's voice cut cleanly through the ringing in his ears.
She didn't grab him or force him forward; she simply reached out, gently catching the sleeve of his jacket and guiding him toward a quiet booth in the corner, shielding him from the view of the crowd.
Rowan slid into the booth, his breathing shallow.
Without a word, Sarina slid the pill packet across the table, followed by a glass of water. "Here. Take this first, like the nurse said."
Rowan stared at the medicine with dead eyes, mechanically popping it into his mouth and washing it down.
"Order whatever you want. Don't stress about the bill, it's on me," Sarina added softly, sliding the heavy leather menu across the table.
Ritvik leaned over the table. "Hey, can I order something too?"
"Of course—but pay for yourself," Sarina replied calmly, crossing her arms with an unyielding look.
"Well, never mind then," Ritvik mumbled, leaning back.
Rowan glanced at the menu with dull, uninterested eyes. Page after page of extravagant monster-steak dishes and exotic delicacies blurred past until a humble, unassuming entry caught his eye.
Herbal soup.
He raised a trembling finger, pointing down at it. "I... I want this."
Ritvik peered over his shoulder. "A soup? Man, everyone comes here for the high-grade monster steak, and you want some grass broth?"
"Let him order what he wants," Sarina quieted Ritvik with a single, warning look.
A few minutes later, a steaming bowl of soup was placed before him, delicate wisps of steam curling into the air.
Rowan stared at it.
The warmth radiating from the ceramic bowl seemed to push back the chill in his bones. It triggered a forgotten memory—cold winters in the countryside, sitting around a cramped wooden table with his parents and his older brother, sharing a meager pot of whatever herbs his father had foraged from the frozen woods.
He picked up the spoon, dipped it into the broth, and brought it to his lips.
The taste bloomed across his tongue. It wasn't gourmet. It wasn't fancy. But for the first time in a week, the crushing knot in his throat loosened. A microscopic flicker of life returned to his dull eyes.
'It's different from the one Ma used to make... but it's close.'
Ritvik watched him eat, his curiosity finally winning out. "Hey! Can I ask you something?"
Rowan didn't answer verbally. He simply tore off a piece of simple sugar bread lying beside the bowl and dipped it into the broth.
Taking that silence as permission, Ritvik pressed on. "Why a soup? Most students come here for high-grade luxury food. I thought you'd want something fancy, but... why order cheap herbal broth and sugar bread?"
Rowan didn't look up. He broke a piece of simple sugar bread, dipping it into the broth. In a flat, quiet tone, he answered.
"Back home... we didn't have fancy things. We ate the same few meals every day. When winter got too cold, my dad would bring home herbs from the forest, and my mom would boil them into a soup."
Rowan paused, his fingers tightening around the spoon. For the first time in a week, a genuine, fragile ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Eating this... it reminds me of my home."
"Where is your home?" Sarina asked quietly,her eyes softening, her gaze unwavering and completely devoid of judgment.
Rowan, who had kept his head bowed throughout the conversation, finally lifted his gaze. His eyes—heavy and dead only moments ago—flashed open, locking onto hers.
For a moment, the heavy, walls that had been built around him over the week cracked a bit. He met her gaze—her eyes were steady, patient, carrying a profound, magnetic warmth.
He stared at her for a long, quiet beat, his lips pressed into a thin line, before looking back down at the soup.
"It's... in the countryside," Rowan whispered, his voice steadying. "A small town. It's snowy and biting cold most of the year. The wind howls through the pine trees, and the frost cakes the windows so thick you can't see the sunrise..."
He began to talk. He spoke of the snowdrifts, the quiet forests, the small hearths burning through the night. And for the first time since the island, his friends simply listened, holding space for him without interruption.
Ritvik, feeling slightly out of his depth, began to slowly slide down the bench.
As Rowan talked, Ritvik slowly began to slouch lower and lower into his seat, attempting to slide entirely under the table.
Sarina caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Keeping her gaze locked on Rowan, she subtly clenched her thighs together, crossing her legs. But when Ritvik still continued his clumsy descent, she lifted her foot and brought the heel of her shoe down squarely on top of his toes.
"Ouch...!" Ritvik choked out, wincing in pain.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Sarina hissed under her breath.
Ritvik looked up at her in utter confusion, but upon seeing the razor-sharp, murderous glare Sarina was shooting his way, he rapidly waved his hands in defense.
"H-Hey, hey, it's not what you think! Look!"
Ritvik pointed frantically toward the restaurant entrance. Sarina glanced over her shoulder following his line of sight, and even Rowan turned his head to look.
Striding into the dining hall with an effortless, arrogant aura was Seraphine, surrounded by her usual group of friends.
At the sight of her, Ritvik immediately dove headfirst beneath the table, curling into a tight ball of self-preservation.
"Ah," Sarina muttered, finally understanding why Ritvik was acting like a frightened animal.
Rowan looked down at him with a flat expression. "Why do you always hide from her? I'm sure she doesn't even care whether you're here or not."
"Are you insane? This time it's serious!" Ritvik hissed from beneath the tablecloth. "Do you have any idea what I've had to go through today because of you?"
Rowan narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"
From beneath the tablecloth, Ritvik frantically recounted the morning's disaster in a panicked whisper—how he had been sleeping on a public bench for days, how Seraphine had accidentally sat directly on his face, and how she had chased him across the entire academy grounds breathing actual hellfire.
A sudden sound broke through Rowan's heavy gloom.
"Pfft—hahaha..."
Hearing the absurd tale, Rowan broke into a genuine, unexpected chuckle. The sound of his laughter—light and reminiscent of the old Rowan—seemed utterly bizarre breaking through his dull, exhausted face.
"So that's why you're hiding under a table," Rowan smiled faintly.
"Yeah! If she catches sight of me, she'll turn me into charcoal. And all because you locked yourself away like a hermit for a week!"
Hearing that, Rowan's chuckle died instantly. His smile vanished, and he lowered his head back down, the oppressive weight crashing back onto his shoulders.
Sarina and Ritvik both stared at him, concern flickering across their faces.
"Hey, Rowan," Ritvik's voice cut through the quiet, poking his head up slightly. "I've been wanting to ask this since we got you out... why did you lock yourself in your room?"
Rowan shot Ritvik a dark, warning glare. Ritvik hastily raised his hands.
"I mean... you look completely shattered. What's the actual reason?"
Rowan kept his head bowed. His lips trembled slightly before he forced the words out in a cracked whisper.
"That's because... I killed someone."
A heavy, suffocating quiet settled over the booth. Ritvik opened his mouth, closed it, and looked at Sarina.
A long, heavy silence stretched between the three of them.
Then, Sarina broke it.
"That's it?"
Rowan blinked, his head snapping up.
"Hmm?"
"You're falling apart because you killed a dark mage?"
"I mean... I took a human life, so—"
"I don't think that's a reason to destroy yourself," Sarina stated plainly, her tone steady and unshakeable.
Frustration flared in Rowan's chest. He slammed his palm softly against the table.
"You wouldn't understand!"
Ritvik fell completely silent, watching the exchange unfold.
"It was me who swung the axe," Rowan whispered fiercely, his eyes burning. "You wouldn't understand because you've never killed anyone! You don't know what it feels like to watch the life drain out of someone's eyes!"
Ritvik exchanged a heavy, knowing look with Sarina. Sarina stared back at Rowan, her expression unwavering.
"Hey, Rowan, hate to break it to you," Ritvik said quietly, "but there isn't a single student in this academy who hasn't killed."
Rowan's breath hitched. His eyes widened in shock as he looked between them.
"W-What are you...?!"
"He's right," Sarina continued, her voice gentle but unyielding. "Almost everyone here has blood on their hands."
"Y-You mean... You have killed someone?" Rowan stammered, his eyes trembling.
"Yeah, and not only one but maybe dozen atleast 30 or something." Ritvik said it so causally that it almost felt unreal.
Rowan quickly turned to Sarina.
"Sarina you— have you...?"
Sarina gave him a slow, simple nod.
"Back in our regional academies, we were sent on subjugation missions against bandits and rogue mages before we were even fourteen. It's standard curriculum."
Rowan felt the world tilt off its axis. He slowly turned his head, scanning the restaurant—the laughing students, the elite peers chatting over meals, the bright, polished uniforms of the Grand Aetherion.
'T-They've all killed someone? That means... I'm sitting in a room full of murderers.'
"Don't overthink it," Sarina said, leaning forward slightly, her gaze locking onto his to anchor him. "It's just how this world works."
Rowan sat frozen, his mind reeling.
Sarina held his gaze, her voice carrying a quiet, reassuring warmth that cut right through his panic. "Don't carry it like a curse, Rowan. I'm sure You will get over it."
Rowan let out a long, shuddering exhale, forcing a weak, stiff smile to his lips.
"Fwoosh... yeah. You're right. I shouldn't let it break me."
With a shaky hand, he reached back toward the table, picking up the sugar bread resting beside his bowl to take a bite.
"What should we eat today, Ashwin?"
Rowan's hand froze mid-air. The bread hovered inches from his mouth.
"Hmm. I can only decide after looking over the menu," a cool, composed voice answered nearby.
"Yeah, sure."
Rowan's eyes flickered sideways. A few tables away, Ashwin was sitting with his inner circle, entirely unbothered, laughing casually as if Rune Island never existed.
The vivid memory of Ashwin standing over Seris's lifeless body, tearing the glowing mana core from his chest with cold, surgical efficiency, flashed violently in Rowan's mind.
Yet, this time, the panic didn't swallow him whole. There was no suffocating terror, no hyperventilation.
Rowan simply closed the gap, brought the sugar bread to his lips, and took a quiet bite. But this time the food tasted like ash in his mouth.
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CHAPTER ENDS