When the forest finally fell silent again, Shawn could hear nothing but his own trembling breath. The stillness around him was almost too quiet, as though the trees themselves were holding their breath. The echoes of battle lingered faintly in his mind — the clashing of metal, the captain's furious curses, and the chilling silence that followed when everything ended. Even now, his ears seemed to ring with the ghost of that chaos.
He had been kidnapped. He had been helpless. And if that woman hadn't appeared when she did, he would have been sold like an object — or perhaps faced something far worse.
Shawn's heart pounded painfully against his ribs as the reality of it all began to settle in. His body trembled with exhaustion, his breath uneven and shallow. He tried to steady it, to find some rhythm, but his hands refused to obey, shaking uncontrollably no matter how tightly he clenched them.
"So this… this is what it means to be powerless," he whispered to himself, his voice cracking in the still air.
His thoughts spiraled fast, tumbling into a pit of helpless frustration. If this were my old world, he thought bitterly, I'd have found a way out. I'd talk, reason, bribe — something! But here? None of that mattered. Nothing he knew worked in this strange, unforgiving world. He couldn't predict his enemy, couldn't even see them coming.
The weight of it all pressed down on him until it became hard to breathe. His chest ached, and before he realized it, hot tears began streaming down his face. He tried to stop them — clenched his fists, bit his lip — but the tears kept coming, fierce and unstoppable. They weren't just from fear, but from frustration, anger, and the self-loathing he had been carrying since the moment of his death and rebirth.
"I… I can't even protect myself," he muttered between unsteady breaths. "How pathetic is that? I can't see, I can't fight… I'm just a burden. Again."
The woman knelt beside him quietly. She didn't speak right away. She simply watched — patient, calm — letting him cry as if she understood that some wounds couldn't be soothed with words. Then, gently, she reached out and pulled him into her arms.
Her embrace was warm and steady, the kind that came from a heart untouched by panic. She rested a hand on the back of his head, holding him with a quiet strength that asked for nothing.
"It's alright," she whispered softly. "It's alright to cry. You've been through too much, little one."
Her voice carried no trace of pity, only a deep, soothing understanding that seemed to sink into his bones. As she spoke, a soft green glow pulsed from her hand, wrapping around Shawn like a gentle blanket of warmth. The tremors in his body began to ease. The faint pain from his bruises and cuts melted away, and even the sharp ache in his heart began to dull, replaced by a strange, peaceful calm.
"It's okay," she murmured again, brushing her fingers lightly through his hair. "You're safe now. Just breathe."
For the first time in what felt like forever, Shawn did as she said. He inhaled deeply, the scent of the forest filling his lungs — damp earth, fallen leaves, and a faint sweetness from wildflowers nearby. It grounded him. It reminded him that he was still alive, still here.
After a while, his sobs faded into quiet hiccups. He wiped his face clumsily with the back of his sleeve, embarrassed by his own breakdown. "Sorry," he muttered, voice small and rough. "Didn't mean to… fall apart like that."
The woman smiled faintly, her tone gentle. "If crying were weakness," she said, "the rain would have stopped falling ages ago."
A small, surprised laugh escaped Shawn's throat — awkward, but genuine. "That's… oddly poetic," he said. "You read that somewhere?"
"Maybe," she replied with a soft chuckle. "Or maybe I just made it up to sound wise."
Shawn managed a weak smile. "Well, it worked."
Without another word, the woman reached into her spatial ring and drew out a small flask. She held it to Shawn's lips. "Drink," she said kindly. "It's just water — from the lake nearby."
He took a cautious sip, then another. The water was cool and refreshing, with a faint hint of mint that spread warmth through his chest. "Thank you," he said quietly, his voice steadier now.
She nodded and rose gracefully to her feet, offering him a hand. "Come. Let's get you cleaned up."
Though hesitant at first, Shawn took her hand. Her grip was firm yet gentle, a quiet reassurance in itself. She guided him carefully through the forest, her steps sure and light. When they reached the lake, the soothing sound of flowing water filled the air, mingling with the rustling of leaves overhead.
"Careful," she said softly. "Step forward. There's a flat stone here. You can sit."
He obeyed, lowering himself onto the cool stone as she helped rinse the dirt and dried blood from his face and hands. The water was cold, but it felt pure, washing away not only the grime but also some of the heaviness inside him. Every touch from her was deliberate and calm — gentle enough not to startle him, yet firm enough to make him feel safe.
When they were done, she handed him a towel — soft and faintly scented with herbs. Then, with another motion, she brought out a set of clean clothes from her ring. They were simple, but neatly folded and spotless. "They'll fit you," she said with a smile.
Shawn nodded gratefully and changed behind a nearby tree. When he returned, she was already setting up a small meal beneath a large oak. The air was filled with a warm, buttery aroma that made his stomach growl in spite of himself.
"Wait…" Shawn tilted his head, intrigued. "Is that… pastry?"
The woman chuckled. "You've got a good nose. Here." She handed him one — flaky, golden, filled with something soft and fragrant. "It's peach. Try it."
He took a bite, and his eyes widened slightly. "This… this is heavenly! I've been eating beasts for days. They tasted like burnt rubber and despair."
The woman laughed softly, the sound light and musical. "Then consider this a reward for surviving."
He grinned, finishing the pastry quickly, savoring every bite. For a while, neither of them spoke. The forest around them was calm once more — alive with the gentle hum of insects and distant birdsong. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the canopy, painting the ground in warm patches of gold.
When they finished eating, the woman brushed the crumbs from her hands and cleared her throat lightly. The sound was enough to draw Shawn's attention, and he turned toward her, curious.
She didn't speak right away. Her eyes held a quiet seriousness now, her tone soft but weighted. "Shawn," she said, his name rolling off her tongue as if she had known it for years. "There are a few things I need to ask you."
Shawn hesitated, his brows knitting slightly. "I'm… not sure if I'm ready for that," he admitted. "It's been a lot. Do we have to talk about it now?"
The woman's expression softened. She smiled faintly, her gaze calm and unreadable. "It depends on how you feel," she said. "If you need more time, we'll wait."