"You're awake?"
Alia pushed the door open, surprised and delighted to see Gauss sitting up in bed with a book in his hands. "You're awake!"
"Sorry to worry you," Gauss said, apologetic. "How many days was I out?"
He could still feel a sting through his body. Rationally, he shouldn't have woken up this fast.
"A full seven days." Alia set a bowl of porridge beside him. She and the others had taken turns nursing him the whole time.
"Seven, huh… faster than I expected." He shrugged. He was grateful enough not to have woken to find months—or a year—gone. Seven days wasn't long.
"Easy for you to say. You scared us half to death," Alia muttered, lips pursed. "Don't push like that next time. If it's too strong, we can fall back."
"Mm." He nodded.
When she lifted a spoonful of porridge, he flushed a little. "I can do it myself."
Even if moving hurt, he wasn't pampered; he could take it.
"There you go again," Alia sighed, frowning. "Just said don't push. You're the patient—let us take care of you."
"…." Gauss gave a sheepish smile—and yielded.
"Ah—open," Alia blew it cool and brought the spoon to his lips. He hesitated, then ate. Knowing his appetite, she'd packed it with finely ground meat; it smelled and tasted rich.
Spoon by spoon, she fed him.
"By the way, Alia—how's the drake?"
By his sense of things, they were back in town—that meant his worst nightmares hadn't played out, and from the timeline, his teammates had cleaned up and turned the job in.
Compared to other loot, he cared more about the drake. It decided whether he could be a dragon rider. And dragon riders are cool—for life.
"Relax—it's very docile, just sleeps and heals in the beast bag," Alia said, patting the bag at her side. She didn't mention the downside: with the drake inside, the other beasts—chocobo, Ulfen, Echo—refused to go in. It had become the drake's private suite.
Gauss would need to "house-train" it to share—but not while he was healing. Besides, it was miracle enough that a red-blooded drake stayed put. She knew enough about dragons and drakes: chromatics, reds, drakes—stacked debuffs of temperament. And yet this one seemed genuinely subdued.
She glanced at Gauss. If anyone heard he'd subdued a chromatic, they'd call it impossible. It's far harder than slaying a dragon.
"We haven't told anyone about the drake," she added, reading his mind. Though he'd fallen unconscious before he could say much, they weren't foolish. They kept the drake out of the report; they scrubbed the battlefield and lair clean of its traces—left even the dragonborn out. With Gauss and the drake both down, if someone got greedy, things could get ugly. They were cautious for a reason.
One remaining question…
"Where's Albena?" Gauss asked, drifting.
"At the forge—she comes by almost every day," Alia said. From her tone, they'd grown close while he slept. "And by the time…"
Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. Albena's tall figure filled the doorway, the scent of fresh iron filings clinging to her.
"Sir Gauss—you're awake!" Her eyes lit up; she strode to the bed. "Does it hurt?"
"A little."
Her attitude hadn't changed—if anything, warmer. He trusted her more now. Before, much of it had been on the Guild's credit; now it was on hers. Yes, the Guild had brokered the job—but a greedy soul could have cleaned them out the minute he passed out. Maybe she'd considered the Guild's inquiry, but he didn't want to overcomplicate it.
Judge deeds, not hearts. Whether it was her nature or her odd fondness for him—the fact was: after he fell, she did her duty, helped Alia tidy and hide, and kept their secrets.
"Thank you, Albena," Gauss said sincerely.
"I didn't do anything… Sir Gauss, what are you thanking me for?" she scratched her head, confused. "I should thank you. I was supposed to hold the front—and you took it all on yourself."
Guilt flashed across her face. She could still see him as he'd been a week ago—skin split, bloody face, organs knocked askew. A mage taking that kind of hurt was a stain on a warrior.
In her eyes, he'd risked his life to shield them—popping some terrible blood-burning state to do it. "Sir Gauss… you're too gentle."
Admiration burned into something deeper. He really was a good captain. As a mage, he could have huddled in the shield wall—even if they fell, no one could fault him—but he'd stepped into the jaws himself.
Her eyes sparkled; her cheeks warmed—thankfully hidden by her healthy tan. "Next time… don't be so reckless. Stand behind me."
Next time… Gauss echoed inwardly, thought a moment—then only nodded, smiling. "Alright."
He'd be staying around Gold & Silver for a while—healing, taming, digesting the growth from the job. He could feel something shifting inside—the sea-of-consciousness bright with the twin sources of Mage and Sword Soul, throttled only by the battered body.
He wasn't worried; the healing was strong.
"Sir Gauss—when you're better, I've got a surprise for you," Albena said, mysteriously. A surprise?
They locked eyes; her secretive smile piqued his curiosity.
After Albena came, Serandur and Shadow arrived. They'd spent the days selling off salvage from the kobold lair.
"Captain, rest. Don't move—no secondary injuries," Serandur said after another examination. "I'll get you medicine."
He thought Gauss would be fine—but better safe than sorry. Injuries are no joke—how many careers had been cut short by half-healed wounds?
"Okay, okay."
They were all treating him like a fragile vase; he could only sigh—and bask in the warmth.
"And you, Shadow? Any orders?" he asked, smiling at the quiet shadow in the corner.
"I…" Shadow froze, not expecting to be called on. "Rest up. Get well soon."
"Got it," Gauss said, winking. She had something on her mind—he could feel it.
…
Time slipped. Under Alia's strict care, he was sentenced to bedrest for days. The Guildmaster, Jon, also visited with praise. Even without the drake or dragonborn in the report, the scale of the kobold purge couldn't be hidden. The speed shocked him—he'd thought it would take half a month.
One morning, Gauss lay in bed and looked out at the bright sun. "I should be able to stand."
After nearly ten days, his joints felt rusty. Alia wasn't convinced—Serandur needed to clear him. "Well?" Gauss asked—the feel of his own body was solid.
"…" Serandur hesitated. The exams said he'd be fine. He'd wanted to err on the side of caution—but one look at Gauss's eyes and he sighed at Alia, apologetic. "Sorry, Alia. The captain can be up."
"You—!" Alia ground her teeth. Traitor. They'd agreed—more rest, even if the report was clean. And he'd turned coat.
Gauss glanced down at her hand still on his waist and gave her a you know the deal look. She'd said it herself—Serandur's call decided it.
"Hmph."
She pouted and drew her hand back. Gauss swung his legs out of bed.
"Haa—" Bliss. Feet on the floor—what a marvel. He stretched—crk, crk—the crisp song of long-idle bones.
"Careful," Alia warned reflexively. The memory of his wounds haunted her—afraid his skin would split open like before.
"Relax." He waved it off. He wasn't a hothouse flower; his constitution healed fast—stacked with race traits, faster still.
"Sir Gauss is very sturdy," Albena nodded, eyes shining, cheeks faintly flushed. She liked handsome—and strong. He was both. How could something be this perfect? The image of him, half-man, half-dragon, pinning a drake with one hand made her swallow.
They stepped out into the street, aiming for the gate. Gauss had his own reason to hurry; he could barely wait to see the drake.
They drew eyes again. Thanks to the Guild's word, everyone knew Gauss's team had raised a kobold nest in the mines. Some swore there were thousands. Others said ten thousand. The wagons of loot stretched from one end of town to the other. Rumors snowball. No one could say how many—details never reach commoners. Jon had chosen to be open—the blast and the train of loot made secrecy pointless—and it polished Gauss's name.
~~~
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