The pain didn't fade after the knife came out.
If anything, it got worse.
My leg throbbed in slow, brutal waves, heat crawling up my spine every time my heart beat. I couldn't stand. Couldn't even sit without seeing spots. The black residue from my power had already faded, leaving me feeling hollow—empty in the worst way.
Kazim took one look at me and swore under his breath.
"We need a healer," he said, already turning toward the rescued summoners. "Now."
There was hesitation at first. Not fear—exhaustion. People who'd been dragged through hell don't rush forward easily, even when they're safe.
Then a girl stepped out.
She was small, dark-haired, her hands clenched tight in the sleeves of an oversized coat. She looked like someone who had learned to take up as little space as possible.
"My name is Hina," she said softly. "I can help."
Kazim nodded immediately. "Summoning or equipment?"
"Summoning."
She knelt beside me, careful, like I might break if she moved too fast. Her eyes flicked to the wound once, then away.
"I'll need space," she said. "And time."
They carried me into a tent away from the others. The ground was padded with layers of leaves and cloth, Ren's work. Aira stayed for a moment, squeezing my hand once before leaving to help outside.
Hina sat cross-legged near my leg and took a slow breath.
When she summoned the creature, it wasn't violent.
No tearing air. No shock.
The space in front of her softened, like reality exhaling, and something stepped through.
It was… calm.
Tall, thin, its form shifting like smoke wrapped around bone. Its eyes were old. It had a foggy appearance.
Just knowing.
It looked at my leg once and knelt without being told.
Healing didn't come fast.
The pain dulled slowly, painfully slow, like something being unraveled thread by thread. The creature pressed translucent hands over the wound, light pulsing gently with every breath Hina took.
I hissed, fingers digging into the ground.
"Sorry," she whispered immediately. "It hurts at first."
"It already hurts," I muttered, groaning in pain. "You're not making it worse."
She gave a small, uncertain smile.
Time passed strangely in the tent. The world outside felt distant—voices muffled, movement like shadows on cloth. Sometimes I drifted half asleep, dragged back by another pulse of pain.
Hina stayed the entire time.
She brought water. Adjusted the cloth. Wiped sweat from my forehead when my hands shook too badly to do it myself.
At one point, when the pain spiked hard enough to make my vision blur, I laughed quietly.
"Guess I'm not as terrifying without the mask," I said.
She hesitated. Then shook her head.
"You were terrifying," she said softly. "But you look cute."
I looked at her then.
She didn't meet my eyes.
"Thank you," she said, still focused on the wound. "For coming back for us."
My throat tightened. "You don't owe me anything."
"We do," she replied. "That's why I'm saying it."
After that, she mostly stayed quiet when others came in to check on me. When Ren asked how long healing would take, she answered clearly. When Kazim brought supplies, she thanked him and went back to work.
But when it was just us, she stayed.
Outside, the camp changed.
I learned that later.
Ren organized shelters first—temporary walls, windbreaks, places to sleep that weren't tents. Aira helped start controlled fires and cooking stations, keeping warmth without wasting fuel. Kazim set up power lines using crystal fragments, giving light and basic tools to people who hadn't held control in months.
Monisha stayed with the summoners most of the time. Talking. Listening. Helping them breathe again.
When I finally stepped out of the tent four days later, leaning heavily on a makeshift brace, I stopped.
The camp wasn't a camp anymore.
Stone-and-wood houses stood where tents had been. Paths had been cleared. Smoke rose gently from chimneys. Children—actual children—laughed somewhere near the edge of the clearing.
It felt wrong.
And right.
Like I'd been gone for months instead of days.
Hina stood beside me, hands clasped, watching the settlement take shape.
"It looks like a home," she said quietly.
I nodded.
"Yeah," I replied. "It does."
And for the first time since the world broke, it didn't feel like we were just surviving anymore.
It felt like we were building something.