Soldiers in tattered uniforms moved with quiet urgency, their faces etched with exhaustion, while refugees huddled in shadows, their whispers drowned by the low moans of the wounded. The camp hummed with a desperate energy, a thread of hope stretched thin against despair.
Xin stood at the heart of it, his cloak stained with dust and blood, the Dharma Wheel clutched tightly in his hands. Its faint hum grounded him, a tether to his purpose amidst the chaos. Liang Shun, the silver-haired dragonborne leader, stood beside him, his noble features shadowed by grief, his horns glinting like polished steel in the lantern light. The weight of his earlier plea—
hung between them, an unspoken vow Xin couldn't ignore. He'd seen the wounded as they'd walked through the camp: bandaged limbs, scorched skin, eyes hollow with pain. The sight had stirred something deep within him—pity, resolve, and a flicker of anger he couldn't yet name.
"...Where do I start?" Xin asked, his voice steady but soft, betraying the storm of emotions beneath. His dark eyes scanned the rows of beds, each one a testament to suffering he wasn't sure he could ease.
Shun gestured to a nearby tent, its flaps stained with soot and blood. "Here. They're the worst off. Anything you can do… it'll mean more than you know."
Xin nodded, swallowing the knot in his throat. He stepped inside, the air growing heavier, thick with the stench of infection and despair. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, their light dim and wavering, illuminating a dozen figures sprawled on cots. Some stirred, their breaths ragged; others lay still, their faces pale as death. Medics moved between them, their hands steady but their eyes haunted, fighting a battle they knew they were losing.
He approached the nearest cot, where a young woman lay, her arm wrapped in bloodied cloth, her chest rising and falling unevenly. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his, and for a moment, hope flickered in their depths—a fragile, fleeting thing. Xin knelt beside her, his heart tightening as he placed the Dharma Wheel against her arm. "Hold on," he whispered, his voice gentle, a promise he wasn't sure he could keep.
Golden light spilled from the Wheel, soft and warm, curling around her like a mother's embrace. The ether pulsed, knitting torn flesh, easing the jagged edges of her pain. Her breathing steadied, and a faint smile curved her lips, though it trembled with exhaustion. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible, before her eyes closed, slipping into a restless sleep.
Xin exhaled, relief washing over him, but it was short-lived. Shun's hand rested lightly on his shoulder, guiding him to the next cot, then the next. A man with burns across his chest, his skin cracked and weeping. A girl, barely older than sixteen, her leg mangled beyond saving. Each time, Xin poured himself into the healing, the Dharma Wheel's light flaring brighter, then dimmer, as his own strength waned. The faces blurred together—pain, gratitude, fear—but the weight of their suffering grew heavier, a burden he carried in his chest, his hands, his soul.
Hours passed, or maybe minutes—time lost meaning in the haze of effort and emotion. Xin's knees ached, his fingers trembled, but he kept going, driven by a stubborn refusal to let despair win. Shun stayed close, his presence a quiet anchor, though his own grief was palpable, etched in the lines of his face, the slump of his shoulders. They didn't speak much, but the silence was filled with shared purpose, a mutual understanding of the cost of survival.
Then they reached him—a soldier, older than most, his grizzled beard streaked with gray, his cot tucked in the tent's corner. His name was Kael, whispered by a medic as they approached, and he was dying. Blood soaked the bandages around his abdomen, seeping through faster than the medics could staunch it. His skin was ashen, his eyes half-open, staring at the ceiling as if seeing something beyond the cave's walls. His breaths were shallow, each one a struggle, a countdown Xin could feel in his bones.
Xin knelt beside him, his heart lurching. "Kael," he said softly, resting the Dharma Wheel against the man's chest. "I'm here. I'm going to help you."
Kael's gaze shifted, slow and labored, settling on Xin's face. His eyes were clouded, but a spark of awareness flickered within them, a stubborn will clinging to life. "You… one of Shun's?" he rasped, his voice a broken thread.
"No," Xin said, forcing a small smile, though it felt brittle. "Just someone trying to help. Save your strength, alright?"
The golden light flared again, brighter this time, as Xin pushed every ounce of ether he could muster into the man's wounds. The air warmed, the Wheel humming with a desperate intensity, but the blood kept coming, dark and relentless, pooling beneath Kael's cot. Xin's hands shook, his breath hitching as he realized the truth: Kael was slipping away, faster than he could heal.
"Don't… waste it," Kael murmured, his voice weaker now, barely a whisper. "Not on me."
Xin's chest tightened, a surge of frustration and sorrow threatening to choke him. "I'm not wasting anything," he said, his voice cracking. "You're going to make it. Just hold on."
Kael's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. "You sound… like my boy. Always stubborn." His eyes drifted, unfocused, as if seeing someone else. "He didn't make it… out there. Tried to save him… couldn't."
Tears pricked Xin's eyes, hot and unbidden, but he blinked them back, focusing on the Wheel, on the light, on anything but the grief clawing at him. "Tell me about him," he said, desperate to keep Kael talking, to keep him here. "Your boy. What was he like?"
Kael's breath hitched, a faint chuckle breaking through the pain. "Brave. Too brave. Thought he could… fight the whole world. Loved the stars… always pointing them out." His voice faltered, his hand trembling as it reached for Xin's. "You… you remind me of him."
Xin's throat closed, the words hitting like a blow. He gripped Kael's hand, his own shaking now, the golden light flickering as his strength waned. "I'm not giving up on you," he said, his voice raw, almost pleading. "You're going to see those stars again. I promise."
But Kael's eyes were dimming, the spark fading like a candle starved of air. "Good kid," he whispered, his grip loosening. "Don't… don't let this place break you."
The light from the Dharma Wheel sputtered, then died, leaving only the dim glow of the lanterns. Kael's chest stilled, his hand falling limp in Xin's grasp. Silence descended, heavy and suffocating, broken only by Xin's ragged breathing. He stayed there, kneeling, staring at the man who'd slipped beyond his reach, the weight of failure crushing him.
Shun's hand found his shoulder, gentle but firm. "You did everything you could," he said, his voice low, laced with his own sorrow.
Xin shook his head, tears spilling now, hot against his cheeks. "It wasn't enough," he choked out. "I couldn't save him."
"No one could," Shun said, kneeling beside him. "Not this time. But you gave him peace. That matters."
Xin's hands clenched into fists, the Dharma Wheel digging into his palm. "What kind of horrible person would do this?" he asked, his voice trembling with anger, grief, and something darker—a need to understand, to make sense of the cruelty. "Who could hurt people like this? Leave them to die?"
Shun's expression darkened, his silver eyes glinting with a pain that ran deep. "The Sovereign," he said, the name like a curse. "She did this. Her soldiers, her traps, her obsession with power. She takes everything...lives, hope, souls..and calls it salvation."
Xin looked at him, his anger burning brighter, though it was tempered by exhaustion. "Why?" he asked, his voice breaking. "Why would anyone choose that?"
Shun's gaze dropped to the floor, his horns catching the light as he sighed. "I don't know. Once, I thought I understood her. Now… I only know the cost." He gestured to the tent, to the wounded still fighting for breath. "This is her legacy. But you, Xin—you're fighting it. Every life you save pushes back against her."
Xin wiped his eyes, the words sinking in slowly, like rain on parched earth. He looked at Kael's still form, at the faint smile frozen on his lips, and felt a flicker of resolve amidst the grief. "I'll keep going," he said, his voice hoarse but firm. "For him. For all of them."
Shun nodded, a quiet pride in his eyes. "I know you will."