Upon returning to his cell, Grey found that Sheryl had already moved there.
The rabbit girl had wanted to take care of Lily, but it seemed she had overestimated her own endurance. She had fallen asleep right beside her unconscious friend, still holding her hand.
The painful redness on Lily's skin had finally faded, but by now it had been replaced by a deathly pallor. The small succubus looked strangely fragile, as if the slightest touch could shatter her like a thin porcelain vase. Even her violet horns, visible only to Grey, had taken on a deeper, darker shade.
To the boy's astonishment, Lily's lips were stretched into an unfamiliar calm, almost peaceful smile.
A chill ran down his spine at the ominous feeling creeping in.
Even so, he calmly approached the girls to make them more comfortable. After adjusting the succubus, Grey was about to carry Sheryl to her bed when he noticed Lily's right hand, locked in Sheryl's tight grip.
Her ring finger was badly swollen and red. Greenish pus seeped from it in abundance. A clear cut mark showed in the middle, and the skin around the wound had turned into dead tissue.
Grey quickly averted his gaze, not wanting to think about it, but still laid the rabbit girl down properly.
With pain in his heart, he poured another potion of major restoration into Lily's mouth.
At last, having done everything within his power, he collapsed into sleep from sheer exhaustion. For the first time in a long while, he spent an entire night in absolute peace. Grey was too drained to care about anything. Even his worries about Lily's condition and the upcoming escape were pushed to the back of his mind.
The following days passed in a strange calm.
The day of the half-moon, along with the appointed time of escape, was drawing closer at a rapid pace. The solstice was not far off either, promising nothing good.
His routine slipped back into its usual rhythm.
Together with Sheryl, he washed the slaves' clothes, helped in the kitchen, cleaned the inner quarters, and in his free time trained the boys.
After spending enough time with them, Grey realized they were not bad kids, just far too bold. As the most valuable children in the camp, their arrogance was understandable.
A person needed some way to assert their worth. And how else could one earn respect in a slave camp, if not through strength? The boys had grown up here and knew nothing beyond that rule, and their character had formed around it. Everyone raised in captivity had similar tendencies, but few actually dared to act on those thoughts.
Grey himself, having proven his strength in a fight and shown a bit of friendliness toward the young delinquents, earned their genuine respect. They really were a simple bunch.
By the second training session, Garren himself took the initiative to apologize once again for his behavior.
It turned out he had always liked the petite Sheryl, but she had never returned his feelings. When a good-looking boy had been placed in the girls' cage, jealousy got the better of him, and he only meant to scare the newcomer. Who could have known the kid would jump straight into a fight?
That was how Garren lost control and snapped.
He even assured Grey that over the past few months he had come to terms with Sheryl's lack of interest and would not object if Grey showed interest in her.
Listening to his confession, Grey could not help but recall how the rabbit girl had cried in his arms over her mistake, or how she had wiped herself off in front of him after her nightly work.
He did find her cute and attractive, but the thought of starting a relationship strangely frightened him and made him deeply embarrassed.
When he thought about relationships, he could not help but remember Lily, who had tried to kill him, the beautiful Rose, to whom he had unknowingly offered to drink blood from his wrist, and of course Grace, with whom he had shared his first and only kiss.
To his own surprise, Grey grew irritated with Garren for making him remember all those awkward moments he was ashamed of, and he beat him badly under the pretext of "training."
Overall, these were the calmest days he had spent in the slave camp.
His time here was inevitably coming to an end. He would either carry out the escape plan successfully, or die trying.
The simplicity of the situation unexpectedly brought his mind the peace it so desperately needed.
The only thing that overshadowed those final days was Lily's condition. She was still weak and spent almost all her time asleep. The only time he caught her awake came two days before the planned escape. It happened deep in the night, when her faint, involuntary groan broke through his light sleep.
Grey rushed to her at once, hoping she had come to. And she had, though not for long.
"Who… Is anyone here?" she murmured, barely audible.
"I'm here, Lily. It's Grey. I'm with you," his voice trembled, "How do you feel?" he asked, even though the answer was obvious.
Her exhausted appearance and weakened voice said far more than any words could.
"Like shit," Lily replied simply, "You're here, so we haven't been discovered. Good luck, Grey. I hope you and Sheryl escape," she said sincerely and tried to force a smile, but it came out just as poor as her condition.
"Damn it, are you not planning to leave with us?" Grey hissed through clenched teeth, feeling everything inside him tighten.
"I'm done. Heh… nothing to be done. Grey, you're so strange, like… you're shining, but at the same time you're… dark…" she said, drifting back into sleep.
Grey clenched his fists in frustration.
At that moment, he truly felt like crying. It was unbearable to watch as her strength slowly slipped away, especially when he knew he could help her, but at too great a cost.
A drop of the Source of Life was far too rare and far too important to him for him to be willing to give it up.
Grey felt himself being torn between the desire to save a friend he had grown attached to and the urge to heal himself.
He stared blankly at Lily's pale face, recalling the moment he first met her:
"What were her first words again? Ah, right, she took me for some filthy bastard, as if she thought I'd soil myself. Just what kind of life did that girl go through to come to such a conclusion?"
"And what came after?"
The next memory was of her dragging him along to avoid the guards' wrath, unsuccessfully, unfortunately. Then…
Then she had treated his wounds when no one else was willing to help him.
After that came the constant jabs and teasing, though never anything truly serious.
He remembered how she had cried while trying to kill him, only to later call him a true friend and companion, even knowing he was the child of prophecy…
Pulling his gaze away from Lily, he looked at his own body, the body of a cripple.
He remembered the dull, gnawing sense of helplessness that had followed him for as long as he could remember.
He remembered standing at the edge of a cliff, ready to take that final step… In that moment, he had lost all hope. It had felt like such a relief.
And yet, the elven girl Selin had rekindled that spark within him…
Hope. What a loud, weighty word. People loved to say it, as if it could save them on its own. As if all it took was hope, and wounds would close, broken bones would mend, and a lifeless heart would begin to beat again.
But for Grey, hope had not been a gift. It had been the most terrible poison. It had not healed him, only prolonged his agony.
How long had he clung to that fragile shred of hope in his desperate attempt to be healed? Five years? Maybe ten?
All that time, he had grasped at every straw, hoping and believing that his efforts would one day pay off.
He had writhed in pain through endless procedures, spent sleepless nights searching for a solution, driven himself through the harshest training. He had truly believed that one day he would succeed.
But hope was a liar. It promised freedom, yet bound him tighter than any chains.
Grey thought he had already rid himself of it. Thought he had finally become free. But the moment a choice appeared, its voice echoed in his mind again:
"This is your chance! Isn't this what you've been craving all this time?"
And now Grey held in his hands a chance to save a friend.
He could save her right now.
And yet he stood still, stubbornly clutching that cursed resource, because somewhere deep inside, hope still lived. Hope for himself. That one day he would be able to grow stronger. That Lily would pull through without his help.
And just like that, he was bound again.
Hope would not leave him in peace. It would not let him breathe in relief.
He was not free again. The same chains, the same illusion of choice, the same torment.
How long would he keep biting this hook?
Grey wanted to save Lily right now. He could save her. But hope refused to let go of him.
He was trapped once more, torn between someone else's life and his own pitiful dream.
All kinds of excuses flooded his mind:
"I barely know her, why should I sacrifice my own chance for her healing? Does she even consider me a friend? Not long ago, she tried to kill me." All those arguments repeated in his head, each one sounding more convincing than the last.
But deep down, Grey understood that they were nothing more than pitiful excuses.
"Sleep, Lily, you need to gather your strength," he said under his breath, feeling each word scrape against his throat.
Even as he said it, he did not move away from her.
He watched her fragile figure and listened to the rhythm of her breathing as if addicted to it. His eyes were bloodshot, and his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice in his head, as if it were his own, yet at the same time чужой.
"Dude, you're thinking way too loud!"