Chapter 12
The man ran through a blindingly white corridor, carrying me in his arms. I watched everything unfold from above, like a ghost—and apparently, that's exactly what I'd become. At least the pain had faded, and now I could see his face clearly.
He was the most captivating man I'd ever seen.
Shadows slithered across his skin, and his face was etched with concern.
His body was broad and powerful—even beneath the uniform, his muscles were clearly defined.
His blond hair was long on top, shaved on the sides, and his hands, oh gods, were gentle.
The gentlest hands to touch me in years.
The man pushed through a set of double doors and gently laid my cadaverous body on a wheeled table. Someone in a white coat stood waiting.
“She needs help,” he shouted, tugging my dress closed where it had fallen open, exposing me. His eyes moved to my thigh, and I could see the skin there had been sliced into ribbons—but the word “rat” was still visible amid the bloody mess.
The doctor rushed over to see what all the urgency was about. If my ghost had eyes, they would have been shining—meeting a real doctor had always been my dream.
“What's going on here, Zion?” So that was his name—Zion. I tried it out in my ghost mouth and found I liked how it sounded.
“A descendant slave. She was being tortured, and I got there at the last second.” His eyes were wild, almost crazed. “I need you to help her, Ambrose.”
“A descendant from outside the walls?” The doctor's voice was astonished. “Are you crazy, General? If the king catches her here, we'll all be dead!”
“Infernal abysses, Ambrose!” Zion shouted in frustration. “Just do what you were trained to do.”
The doctor scrambled to match the urgency. He placed his hands on my chest, and light radiated through my entire body. I realized he was a healer like me, and my admiration for him grew even stronger.
“By the gods! What did they do to this girl?” He checked my eyes, my mouth, then moved to my chest. You didn't need superpowers to hear the horrible sound my lungs were making—they were flooded with blood.
“General, the injuries are severe. She has lung cancer.
One lung has already stopped working, and the other only has a few minutes left.
It's beyond my reach,” he said, cradling my broken wrist.
“No!” Zion's voice was firm, resolute. “I won't... This can't happen, Ambrose.” He was devastated. His knees buckled and he collapsed beside the bed, his hands still gripping my arm. “Do something. You have to do something,” he begged.
The doctor watched in astonishment, clearly trying to make sense of what was happening. Then, suddenly, comprehension dawned on his face—and his eyes went wide.
“She's your partner.” A statement, not a question.
Zion didn't respond. The doctor examined my body once more, then looked back at the kneeling man.
Even I could feel the absurdity of the situation.
The one on his knees was the general Drutes feared, and at that moment, he was weeping openly, his tears hitting the floor—all for a slave he didn't even know.
Frightened didn't begin to describe the doctor's expression.
Once the shock passed, he rushed to a device on the wall and pressed a red button.
“This is Ambrose. We have a code red. All available doctors and elmedics, get ready and report to the surgical wing. I repeat, code red, immediately.”
The announcement echoed through the corridor, and soon people were running everywhere.
Zion stood, making room for the arriving team.
With perfect timing, the sound of my breathing stopped.
Everyone stared in shock at my body as it went into collapse.
Zion was hit hardest—he blinked several times, visibly shaken by the gravity of it all.
Then he stepped back as they wheeled me away and slumped against the wall, completely without hope.
Δ
I watched the entire surgery unfold over hours.
One elmedic used constant magic to keep me alive while the human doctors removed my damaged lungs.
Once they were out, two elmedics began reconstructing new organs.
The three of them worked in shifts for two days until they finally closed my chest—all ribs in place, two new lungs functioning on machines.
They were exhausted, both physically and magically. Their power reserves had hit their limit—they wouldn't be able to use their gift for a full week while they recovered. From now on, my body would be in human hands, and the worst had passed.
Throughout those three days, the man with the serpentine shadows stood guard at the door.
His posture, despite his exhaustion, remained constantly alert, protective.
He didn't move—just stood there watching from a distance, his expression devastated, like someone bracing for the worst. I stayed by his side, still not understanding what I had become.
When the nurses finally moved my body to a regular room, the man collapsed into an armchair beside the glass window.
I still had no idea what I was supposed to do.
Hours passed, and Zion eventually fell asleep.
I watched him sleeping, his body too large for the small armchair, his head lolling to one side at an uncomfortable angle.
Yet despite the awkward position, he slept deeply, and his presence fascinated me.
Tendrils of shadow clustered on his shoulders, and they seemed to sense I was nearby—they writhed and mingled as if beckoning me closer.
I was tempted to approach, but when I took a step toward him, I felt myself being pulled toward my own body. Something invisible drew me back.
Life was probably calling me back once more.
Apprehension gripped me as I was dragged along, and fear made me freeze midway. The truth was, I still remembered the pleasurable sensation of being in death’s arms, and like a coward, I longed for it.
The shadows grew even more agitated, as if reaching threads of their presence toward me, and seemed desperate.
I saw the man open his eyes in alarm, then stand and approach the body.
Suddenly, fear took hold of me. Could he sense me?
Could he interfere? I struggled to move a few steps farther away, and the invisible force weakened, giving me freedom.
On the monitor, my heartbeat slowed.
So that was it: I really did have a choice. I could leave at any moment.
Zion sat in a chair beside my bed, his movements sluggish, as if he too could feel death approaching. I stopped at the doorway. I wanted to go, but looking at him left me helpless. He stared at my face for a long time and held my hand while the machines began to beep louder.
“I can sense you don’t want to stay,” he said, staring at our joined hands. “And I understand. I know I have no right to ask you to stay, because it’s clear you’ve been through so much. I want you to know that I won’t live a single day without blaming myself for not rescuing you sooner.”
His words made me stop and watch, but the machines continued to beep, and my heartbeat weakened with each passing second.
“I wish I’d had more time with you.” He looked at the floor, his eyes shining with tears he refused to let fall.
“I would have done anything for you if I’d had the chance.
I could have been your friend, or a protector to shield you from the people who hurt you.
I don’t know much about love, so I can’t promise anything about that. ”
He squeezed my small, pale hand between his two enormous ones and bent over me, like someone protecting something fragile.
“I have no right to ask you to stay. So I’m giving you the freedom to go, even though I desperately want you to stay with me.”
A rebellious tear rolled down his face.
“But if you want to stay, and I know it’s not an easy choice, I promise you a better life.
A safe life, a place where you’ll never be alone.
” His words came out choked, his voice faltering, but he continued.
“If you can give life another chance, I’ll promise you anything you ask of me. Even my life in exchange for yours.”
The machines buzzed continuously, and the heartbeat line flatlined.
At the end of the corridor, a white light appeared, compelling me to move forward.
I turned back to the man, and he looked devastated.
I just wanted to rest; I was so tired of all this suffering.
I looked from the tunnel to the man. A choice lay before me, and I needed to decide soon.
Something in my gut told me to stay with him, but why should I when I didn’t even know him?
My intuition just screamed yes, pointing insistently at the general.
More people in white coats came running, and once again commotion filled the room. The man didn’t want to let go of my hand, so nurses pushed him and doctors tried to convince him, but his stance was iron and his resolve seemed even stronger.
The shadows were out of control; they extended toward me, clustered around me.
One even dared to climb up the doorframe and stare into my eyes, as if pleading.
The light called my name, and life began to pass before my eyes.
Suffering, pain, and loss were the only things there.
The deaths of people I had loved, everyone who had been part of my existence, flashing by quickly.
The man named Zion remained unwavering. He kissed my cadaverous hands, wetting them with tears that fell like rivers from his eyes, yet he didn’t plead.
He had given me choices and simply kept looking at me while the nurses tried to drag him away.
A human doctor opened the surgical gown covering me.
My rib cage was exposed, every bone protruding beneath the skin, and soon another doctor arrived with the defibrillator.
Zion pulled his hands away while the doctor tried to revive me.
There was as much pain in his eyes as I carried in my own chest.
And that raw, immeasurable pain was what made me decide.
With one last look at the tunnel, I extended my hand to the insistent little shadow. It jumped to me and nestled in my palm; it felt warm, like black smoke. I turned around and, against all logic, passed through him and lay down on my body.
In that moment, the man looked directly at me, and it was as if he truly saw me as I settled back into my body. His eyes were red, and tendrils of shadow peeked over his shoulders. Still shaken by the whole scene and seeming unable to believe what he saw, the man whispered in relief:
“Thank you.”