Songs of Souls

017: Kyura's Familiar Chime

Honilla. Sweet honilla. But even its gentle fragrance couldn't hide the sharp tang of metal, the scent of the infirmary. Cling. A tiny chime escaped her bell, a silent plea as her fingers tightened around its worn leather. Each touch a prayer: for strength, for courage... for peace.

The air inside was thick, heavy. Grunts and coughs, the sharp scent of blood—each inhale was a punch to her belly. Her shoulders slumped, each rasping breath, a thorn piercing her own chest. How oft must her soul endure this grievous sight?

A sea of pale faces, bandaged limbs blurring into a tapestry of suffering as her gaze swept across the rows of cots. Must she bear witness to such suffering every new shine of Light? Her bell chimed a somber note, a reflection of the dread twisting in her gut. Turn away? Never. A faint tinkle of her bell, a vow echoing in the hushed tent. Their pain is hers to mend. To soothe... to heal... is this not her purpose?

With a gentle chime escaping her bell, she approached the first cot, a silent promise accompanying each step. This pain, too, shall know her touch. Her fingers twitched, aching to heal.

To mend their pain... to grow in strength. The Friedenguard, Arguilla's words echoed in the chime of her bell: Strength grows from compassion. Cool elemenium embraced her skin as she drew the glove onto her right hand, a grounding weight against the ever-present tide of suffering.

Energy twining, warm and soothing, like waning light through a garden trellis. The wound closed, knitting together under her aid. The lines around the patient's eyes, etched deep by moments of agony, slowly smoothed away. Now, each breath came easier, gasps replaced by steady rhythm. Yet his chest still moved with shallow breaths. Tis not enough.

Her gaze lifted to the canvas roof, fingers dancing across the rope. Waning light filtered through the newly opened hole, falling across the soldier's wound. Bathe in the Light, and may his strength return.

The wounded soldier sighed, his tense muscles uncoiling beneath the Light. His lips curved upward, just a little, and her chest ached with something like hope. Perhaps even in the heart of this terrible war, small kindnesses could still bloom.

Her fingers tightened on her bell, the gentle chime doing little to soothe the sigh that welled up from deep inside her. How many more sighs? How many more wounds? She imagined a world bathed in the Light, not stained with blood. A world where the only sounds were the laughter of children and the sweet melodies of birdsong, not the harsh clang of her bell announcing more suffering.

Her gaze drifted to the symbol of the Miers Empire adorned on the soldier's tunic. The Empress... Another life offered at her feet. Each healed wound... another body back to the bloodbath. Was this peace?

Her steps dragged her toward the corner. Away from the rows of pain. Fingers traced the rough edges of bandages and herbs, the cool touch of salves a balm against the throbbing ache in her left arm. She prodded the bruise. Still tender. Each chime of her bell, a beat of defiance. So it is... To mend, to soothe, to defy the sting of pain.

That soldier from earlier. A brute. He dared... Her fingers tightened around a roll of bandages. Did fear of the Vorst Warden's wrath not grip his heart?

"Kyura..."

Her bell chimed, a startled cry. The voice... wrong, yet...familiar?

"Kyura, is it really you?"

Her fingers froze on the bandages, the sudden silence heavy in the air. The chime of her bell faltered as her head snapped up. Her skin prickled, every hair on her neck standing at attention. The name reverberated in the silence. A voice, both foreign and strangely unsettling, like a half-remembered dream clawing its way to the surface. Who was this, daring to speak her name with such familiarity?