Jeim'Dal

CHAPTER 9: Embers

"What place have I in all of this?" Melbourne whispered as he walked the silent corridors. The Lord Knight Commander's words still echoed in his mind heavy, cold, unyielding. "What truth must I bear? What duty am I bound to?"

The remnants of battle clung to the barracks like a haunting memory. The scent of iron hung thick in the air, mixed with crushed herbs and the musk of sweat and suffering. Wounded men lay upon straw bedding, wrapped in linen and silence each face etched with pain, shock, or grief. Some stared blankly, as if their souls teetered between realms. Others muttered the names of loved ones, or enemies, or gods perhaps unsure which mattered more.

Melbourne slowed his pace, letting the weight of their reality settle on him.

"This slaughter must end," he murmured. "There must be purpose or we are nothing but beasts in armor."

His step grew heavier.

His resolve sharper.

At last, he reached the door to their shared quarters.

The moment he opened it, chaos erupted.

Razen had Keith in a chokehold while Dave pushed from behind an attempt that looked more comedic than successful.

"I told you, " Razen growled through clenched teeth, "to go to the infirmary!"

"For the last time, I'm fine!" Keith bellowed, thrashing. "It's a scratch barely worth a bandage!"

"It's a scratch across your chest that looks like death took a bite out of it!" Dave snapped. "If it festers, you'll rot before sunrise!"

Razen delivered a quick smack to the back of Keith's head.

Keith yelped. "Would you STOP doing that?!"

"Then stop being thick as siege stone!"

Melbourne blinked. Once. Twice.

Then firm and loud enough to command attention:

"RASCALS! What madness is this?"

All three froze mid-struggle like children caught by a strict father.

Dave pointed instantly.
"It's Keith. Completely his fault."

Keith pointed at Razen.
"It's him he assaulted me!"

Razen pointed at everyone.
"You're all idiots."

Melbourne exhaled sharply, then chuckled despite himself.

Their chaos a strange comfort.

Razen pointed an accusatory finger at Keith without hesitation. "This buffoon refuses treatment. We removed our armor to rest and 'gods above' his wound looks like it's preparing to grow legs and run."

Dave nodded vigorously. "We were meant to visit Francis in the infirmary, but then we saw that" he gestured wildly at Keith, "and priorities changed."

Keith puffed his chest. "I do not require coddling. I've survived worse and"

Razen hit him again.

Keith recoiled. "Stop doing that!"

"Then stop being thick!"

Before Melbourne could speak, Keith forced a grin and asked casually:

"So... how was the talk with the Commander?"

Silence fell like a dropped sword. Dave and Razen turned, watching Melbourne closely.

His answer was soft but resolute.

"We'll speak of it later. First Keith goes to the infirmary."

"No! WAIT!" Keith protested.

But Melbourne had already grabbed him beneath one arm, Razen under the other, Dave pushing from behind. Together they lifted the struggling warrior like a sack of grain.

"I can walk! Unhand! I swear on my ancestors! AAAAHHHH!"

"Oh hush," Dave muttered. "If you die, I refuse to inherit your debt."

Razen snorted. "Or your stench."

Melbourne said nothing, but despite the exhaustion weighing down his shoulders, the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly.

The infirmary was dim and quiet, lit by lanterns casting soft gold against stone walls. Healers moved silently, tending wounds, whispering prayers, resetting bones. The atmosphere was sacred pain and hope stitched together by trembling hands.

Keith grimaced as the healer pulled the bandage taut.

"Hold still," the healer warned.

Keith growled, "I am holding still."

"You are breathing like a wounded boar."

"That's because you're wrapping me like a rolled ham!"

Razen muttered, "A fitting comparison."

Once Keith was treated and no longer in danger of dying from stubborn pride, the group moved deeper into the room.

Francis sat upright in a straw-padded bed, his shoulder bound thickly. Blood had stained the wrappings where the arrow had been removed. An inch differently and he would have been a memory instead of a man.

Still, he grinned as though death were merely a mild inconvenience.

"Well," Francis declared grandly, lifting his uninjured arm, "look what the winds dragged in. A tall elf prettier than any maiden, a dwarf disguised as a walking ale barrel, a horse-obsessed rogue, and, ah, our perpetually troubled hero knight."

He nodded at Melbourne with a theatrical flourish.

"So what brings you all? My radiant charm? My near-death? Or Keith's inability to keep himself out of the healer's hands?"

Keith puffed his chest.
"Says the man who nearly sprinted into the afterlife."

Razen crossed his arms.
"Or beneath it. We would have buried you with a marker that read: Here lies Francis, struck down by the world's most predictable arrow."

Dave added quietly, "But you fought well. You held the line."

The humor softened.

Francis smiled but this time, it trembled.

Melbourne pulled a chair beside his bed and leaned forward.

"How do you fare, truly?"

The room fell silent.

Francis' eyes drifted toward the ceiling. His voice when it came was soft.

"When the arrow struck... everything stopped. Not fear. Not pain. Just stillness. As if the world paused to ask whether I would stay or go."

A long breath escaped him.

"But then, I heard your voices. I remembered the battlefield. I remembered Keith's ridiculous promise of drinking until sunrise after the war." He smiled faintly. "And I realized I didn't want to miss it."

Keith sniffed loudly and looked away.
"It wasn't ridiculous. It was strategic morale planning."

"No," Dave said dryly, "it was idiocy."

Francis laughed weak, but full of life.

Melbourne rested a steady hand on his shoulder.

"You are here. Alive. That is enough."

Francis nodded, eyes misting.
"Aye. And for now that is victory."

So they stayed not as warriors, nor knights, nor soldiers but as brothers who survived when many did not.

In the quiet, where lantern light trembled and time slowed, they breathed together.

Grateful.

Alive

As the night sky swallowed the last remnants of daylight yet somewhere beyond the darkness, unseen flames still glowed.

For even when hope flickers, its ember refuses to die.