Jon woke to darkness—literal and emotional. Bandages covered the upper half of his face, and pain pulsed like a drumbeat through his skull. The room smelled of clean linen, herbs, and something soft… familiar.
He stirred.
Jon (hoarsely):
"…Liselotte…?"
A gentle hand rested on his chest, and her voice answered with a soothing hush.
Liselotte:
"Shh… Don't move. You're safe. You've been unconscious for two days."
Her voice trembled slightly, but her composure didn't falter. She had barely left his side since that night.
Jon (gritting his teeth):
"My eye…"
Liselotte:
"Gone… I'm sorry. I tried everything. But even my strongest healing magic couldn't regenerate it."
He fell silent, breathing deeply, until she added in a near whisper:
Liselotte:
"Why would someone like you… a stranger… risk everything to save me?"
Jon turned his head toward her voice, managing a weak smile.
Jon:
"Because you're the only one in this rotten city who hasn't lost her soul."
Her breath hitched at that.
Liselotte stood, smoothing her dress with controlled elegance, but her hands still trembled. In that moment, something shifted in her heart. She no longer saw Jon as a mysterious outsider. She saw him as a warrior of conviction—someone who bled for others without hesitation.
She leaned down, her soft silver-blue hair brushing his cheek.
Liselotte (softly):
"I won't let your sacrifice go to waste. I promise, Jon… I'll tear out the rot from within this kingdom."