Jack Lowel's Perspective
Batch Four started filing in, same as usual—hoods pulled low, breath fogging in the cold clinic air. Most of them looked half-awake, shoulders heavy with that particular type of exhaustion you only get in this part of the world. Orell March and the Aurellia Duchy—the absolute last place anyone sane wanted to be stationed.
And yet here we were.
I leaned against the wall by the supply shelf, watching them settle in.
Still no sign of the girl.
I hadn't thought much of her at first. Just a little thing, far too small for this place. I figured someone somewhere must've pulled the wrong string or misread a file. A child stationed as a healer? It was absurd.
But… strange as it was, she seemed to be the least fazed out of all of us.
Didn't flinch at torn limbs or frostbitten flesh. Didn't mutter prayers under her breath when the divine light passed over someone. Just moved with the same strange rhythm. Quiet. Mechanical. Like a clock that had wound itself.
Still, this place—
I glanced out the clinic's frost-covered window.
This place was hell.
Aurellian soldiers were trained for it, born into it. They moved in threes, read the terrain by the minute, and could pull off synchronized strikes on packs of demonic wolves like it was a weekend sport. Hell, even the civilians here fared better than I had when I first arrived.
The corruption was heavier here. You could feel it when demonic beasts got close. Like the pressure shifted, like breathing was suddenly work. The air didn't thicken, not really—it was probably just in our heads. All in my head. But it didn't make it any easier.
That's why we, the regulars, were kept near the walls—backline support. The Duke and his men were the ones who actually cull during winter. They treated it like a damned holiday. Said it "kept them sharp."
They were due back tomorrow. I couldn't wait.
Two hours passed. Still no Alliyana.
I noticed one of the healers—Lina, I think—pacing back and forth, eyes darting to the door every few minutes.
"Hey," I said, stepping over. "You seen the kid today?"
She stopped mid-step, turned to me. Her face was pale.
"No… I haven't. She's never late. She's usually early." Her voice cracked a little. "She wasn't in her bed when I woke up."
She looked like she was holding back tears. I didn't really know what to say.
"She's probably fine," I offered. "Wandering around the courtyard or something. You know how kids are."
Lina bit her lip and looked back at the door again.
The door creaked open.
Lina gasped.
Alliyana stepped inside, looking like she'd walked through a furnace and out the other side. Her cloak was dusted in snow. Her face was smudged with something—mud? soot? blood?
Before I could even blink, Lina rushed her and threw her arms around her.
Alliyana blinked, surprised, then patted her awkwardly on the back. "Sorry," she said softly. "Didn't mean to worry you."
I leaned back against the wall again, arms folded.
I wouldn't admit it aloud, but… yeah. I was relieved too.
Their conversation carried across the room.
"Where were you?" Lina asked, still clinging to her.
Alliyana held up a small knife. "I had to return this to the kitchen."
"But you still have it," Lina said, confused.
Alliyana gave a sheepish shrug. "Chef told me to keep it. He's probably starting to like me."
Lina sniffed, but smiled. "That still doesn't explain where you've been."
And then—Alliyana lit up. It was subtle, but real. Her eyes sparkled. Her voice lifted. She actually… smiled.
First time I'd ever seen that.
She launched into her story—how she'd snuck out the northern gate, of all places. I stifled a laugh. The northern forest and the mountains were the most dangerous region in this entire Duchy. That's where the Duke himself went with his elite squads.
She went on and on. Killed a demonic bear with that same knife she was holding. Said it like she had tripped over a log.
I couldn't help but chuckle. Aurellian soldiers form parties of three to take down one bear. With backup. With strategy.
But she wasn't done.
She said she hiked up into the mountains. Killed demonic wolves along the way. Didn't go all the way up—just high enough to watch the sunset.
"Lost track of time," she said.
"The view was breathtaking."
I watched her as she described it—her voice softening, hands gesturing, like she was still up there in her head, watching the light turn gold over the treetops.
I smiled.
For all her strangeness—for all her calm, surgical detachment—she was still a kid, after all.
I didn't need to worry about her.
She was just playful. Adventurous.
Just a weird little girl who liked sneaking out and making up stories. Right?