The first thing Yuna noticed was the quiet. It wasn't the peaceful kind—it was the heavy, clinical silence of a place where people were trying very hard not to die.
She opened her eyes slowly.
A wide ward stretched out before her, lined with rows of identical beds and sterile white curtains. The air smelled of sharp antiseptic and old blood. Sunlight filtered through tall, narrow windows, looking soft but distant, as if it didn't want to disturb the suffering inside.
Other patients filled the room. Some were asleep, some were barely conscious, and a few were just staring at the ceiling with hollow eyes. A few beds away, she spotted the Mage and the Healer. They were bandaged and pale, but their chests rose and fell with steady breaths.
Yuna exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
She tried to sit up, but her body immediately vetoed the idea. A sharp, white-hot flash of pain surged through her side, pinning her back to the thin mattress. Her fingers twitched weakly against the sheets. Only then did she notice the wrappings—thick layers of linen cinched tight across her arms, shoulders, and torso. Nearly half her body was a map of bandages.
"…Right," she murmured.
Memory came back in jagged, ugly fragments. Fire. The scream of the Executioner. The absolute, soul-crushing cold. Then... silence.
She tried again, slower this time. Her arms trembled like reeds in a storm, but she managed to prop herself up, leaning forward as she fought to keep her breathing even.
The door creaked open.
Andrew stepped in first, followed by Shield Guy. Both were sporting their own collection of bandages, though they looked like a stroll in the park compared to her. Behind them walked a man in clean, dark robes. He had the calm, focused eyes of someone who dealt in life and death as a daily trade.
Andrew blinked, his face crumbling into a look of pure relief. "Oh. You're finally awake. Sir, can you please—"
"I see her," the man interrupted.
He walked over with practiced ease, his eyes scanning Yuna's vitals before he'd even reached the bed. He placed a hand near her shoulder, careful not to touch the raw skin beneath.
"Where are we Uncle?" Yuna asked. Her voice sounded like it had been dragged over gravel.
"Straut Kingdom's Elite Medical Facility," Andrew answered before the healer could. "We brought you here for the treatment—especially for the burns. This is Master Healer Sera."
Sera gave a curt nod, his hands already glowing with a soft, pale light. "Try not to move. Your condition was… complicated."
He paused, searching for a professional way to put it. "The burns were severe. Deep enough that most people wouldn't have survived the first hour."
Yuna looked down at her hands. They were unsteady, but they were there.
"What's unusual," Sera continued, checking the seals on her bandages without touching them, "is that your body stabilized itself before we could intervene. The damage just stopped spreading. It was as if something inside you simply… refused to let you burn."
Andrew and Shield Guy exchanged a pointed glance. They didn't say a word. Neither did Yuna.
Sera straightened up, his examination finished. "You'll recover. Slowly. But you will." He lingered for a second, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Just… avoid doing whatever the hell you did out there again."
Yuna almost smiled. Almost.
As Sera moved to the next bed, the room grew quiet. Andrew pulled a chair close, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees. He just watched her for a long minute, as if trying to see the girl he knew through the person she had become.
"…You remember what happened?" he finally asked.
Yuna hesitated. Her gaze drifted past him, toward the window. For a split second, she wasn't in a hospital. She felt the snow. She felt a warm hand on her head.
"…Yeah," she said quietly.
Andrew studied her, then gave a single, firm nod. "Good."
"That thing," Shield Guy muttered from the door, his arms crossed tight. "That wasn't normal."
Yuna didn't respond. She looked at the red charm sitting on the bedside table. Someone had placed it there while she was out. She picked it up slowly, her grip tightening around the wood.
"…No," she said. Her voice was firmer now. "It wasn't."
Andrew leaned back, exhaling a long, weary breath. "You killed it Yuna."
It wasn't a compliment. It was just a statement of a terrifying fact. Yuna didn't answer. Deep down, she wasn't entirely sure *who* had killed it.
The royal chambers of the Straut Kingdom were a world away from the grit of the ward. They were ordered, perfect, and suffocatingly quiet.
The Princess stood by a floor-to-ceiling window, watching the skyline. Her mind was still stuck in the mountains, replaying the moment the spear had pierced the earth and changed her fate.
A sharp knock broke her reverie.
"Your Highness," a messenger called out, breathless. "Your savior has been found. But… they are in critical condition."
The Princess turned instantly, her composure shattering into raw concern. "What? What happened?"
"They performed another miracle, Highness. They destroyed a high-tier entity known as 'The Executioner.' But the cost was great. They are currently recovering in the royal medical facility."
The Princess didn't speak. The name *Executioner* carried a weight that shouldn't belong to a common adventurer. Her eyes hardened, decision replacing fear.
"Prepare the Royal Guards," she commanded. "Bring my savior here. Carefully."
"Yes, Highness."
The room blurred into motion as servants and guards scrambled to obey. The Princess remained by the window, her reflection staring back at her. Her cheeks flushed slightly as she whispered to the glass.
"…You protected me. Now, I will make sure you live."
The low hum of the medical ward was suddenly severed by the sound of boots. Not the soft tread of healers, but the rhythmic, heavy stomp of armored men.
Andrew looked up, his posture shifting instantly. Shield Guy straightened by the door. "That's not civilian traffic," he muttered.
The door didn't open; it was occupied. Royal Guards in polished plate armor filed in, moving with a discipline that made the room feel suddenly very small. At their center stood a Captain—older, sharp-eyed, and carrying the aura of a man who didn't waste time with pleasantries.
The Captain's gaze swept the room and locked onto Yuna.
"Which one of you," he asked, his voice echoing off the sterile walls, "is responsible for the elimination of 'The Executioner'?"
Andrew stepped forward, placing himself between the bed and the soldiers. "Depends who's asking."
A few guards shifted. The Captain didn't.
"Royal Guard Captain Arven. Acting under direct order of Her Highness. We are here to escort the individual to the palace."
"Escort?" Andrew's voice turned cold. "That's a nice way of saying 'arrest'."
"The wording was chosen carefully," Arven replied, taking a step forward. "Your companion is under the protection of the Crown."
Andrew let out a short, cynical laugh. "Protection? She just got out of a fight that nearly turned her into a cinder, and now a squad of tin cans walks in and says they're taking her? You can see how that looks."
"Then allow me to clarify," Arven said, his voice dropping an octave. "Her Highness has ordered her brought under royal care. Not as a prisoner. But as someone whose life holds value to the throne."
Andrew's jaw tightened. He glanced back at Yuna, who was watching the exchange with an eerie calmness. Then he looked back at the Captain.
"And if she says no?"
The air in the room seemed to freeze. The guards didn't move, but the tension was a physical weight.
"Then we respect it," Arven said. A beat passed. "But I would advise against refusing an audience with the Crown."
Andrew exhaled slowly and stepped aside. He didn't like it, but he knew when a hand was being forced. "Alright."
The Captain turned to Yuna. "The decision is yours."
Yuna didn't panic. She didn't even look surprised. She just looked at Andrew and gave him a small, tired smile.
"I think we should go, Uncle. I wonder why the Princess wants to give me such special treatment."
Andrew stared at her, searching for a sign of hesitation. "You're serious?"
"We are in their kingdom, after all," Yuna said. "And she is the Princess."
Logical. Simple. But Andrew could see the awareness in her eyes. She knew this was a different kind of trap.
"Alright," Andrew muttered. "But if anything feels off, we leave."
"Okay," Yuna whispered.
As the guards brought in a refined, stabilized stretcher, Yuna winced as she was helped onto it. The Captain noticed but said nothing, his expression remaining a professional mask.
They escorted her out in a tight formation. Not a prisoner, not quite a guest—but something the kingdom had finally decided to acknowledge. The nightmare was over, but a new kind of game had just begun.