The bath had long gone still, the water tepid now, but Nyxia remained nestled in Eurydice's arms. Her head rested against the Draenei's soft chest, the sound of a steady heartbeat lulling her further toward sleep. Her tail curled loosely around her thigh, her breath finally evened out into slow, weary exhales.
Eurydice hummed one last verse of the lullaby before slowly, gracefully, standing. She carried Nyxia like something precious, barely disturbing the water as she stepped from the bath and into the warmth of the chamber beyond.
With reverent care, she laid Nyxia down on the plush bed, her arms briefly tightening around her before letting go. The Draenei dried her gently with a cloudlike cloth enchanted to warm with her touch, each pass soft and slow, more like a caress than a task. She dried between Nyxia's fingers, behind her knees, across her back where thin new skin now glowed in the candlelight.
The white sleep dress she slid over Nyxia's head was simple but elegant—soft silk embroidered with delicate gold thread, loose enough not to disturb her healing skin, yet fitting like a whispered blessing. The hem reached her calves. Her black hair, damp but untangled, fanned around her face like ink spilled across snow.
Nyxia murmured once, unintelligibly, as her body shifted under the blanket. Then silence. Deep sleep finally claimed her.
Eurydice watched over her for a moment longer, her hands folded neatly over her chest. Her expression was calm, radiant even, but there was steel behind those glowing eyes—a silent vow that no one would hurt this girl again under her roof.
She turned away quietly and padded barefoot into the small adjoining kitchen, the scent of warm bread and herbs already beginning to rise. A gentle stew simmered over a low flame, the broth rich and nourishing. Beside it, slices of spiced fruit rested on a polished wooden tray, and Eurydice reached for a linen cloth to wrap the bread she'd just pulled from the oven.
And then—
A thud at the door.
Then another—footsteps. Voices.
She paused, tilting her head.
Outside, Loque snarled lowly, claws scraping against the wood.
They had arrived.
But Nyxia slept on, untouched by the noise, curled into the blankets like someone who had been too long in the cold and finally found the sun.
The door cracked open with barely a sound — not a creak nor groan — and from within the warm glow of the home, a single golden eye peered out.
Then it opened a little more.
Eurydice slipped through like silk, her movements fluid, the door closing silently behind her before anyone could glimpse what lay within.
They stood in stunned silence.
Even Loque, hackles raised, paused.
She was—breathtaking. Ethereal. The soft light from the windows behind her caught the sheen of her lavender-blue skin, her long white hair cascading down her back like moonlight through water. Her sleep dress hugged her plush curves with effortless elegance—wide hips, full thighs, and breasts that pressed softly against the gauzy fabric, each motion like the lull of ocean waves.
But her beauty was not fragile. No, it radiated with a presence that made even Perseus fall silent. She looked like she could both cradle you to sleep or command a legion of angels.
Her voice, when she spoke, was like warm honey over polished stone.
"You're loud for this hour," she said simply. "And you've frightened my stew."
They all exchanged a glance.
Perseus cleared his throat. "We're… looking for someone."
Eurydice raised a single, unimpressed brow.
"I gathered," she said. Her gaze swept over each of them like a judgment, pausing a beat longer on Perseus, as though she saw every harsh word he'd ever spoken. Then she folded her arms beneath her chest, the movement accentuating her already commanding figure.
"You come knocking at a strange woman's door in the middle of the night with weapons drawn and tempers flared," she added. "Tell me—why should I open it again?"
Loque growled again, stepping forward, but Eurydice held up a hand—firm but gentle.
"I know why you're here, noble beast," she said, voice softening a little. "You're not the one I'm questioning."
Boo stepped forward next, clearing her throat with a tentative grin. "We're not here to cause trouble. We… we think someone we care about is inside. We've been looking for her."
Eurydice tilted her head slightly. "And where were you when she needed someone to look after her in the first place?"
That question struck like a bell.
The group fell silent again, as if slapped by the truth they'd all been dodging.
Her voice gentled—just a hair.
"She is safe. Sleeping. No thanks to any of you."
Perseus opened his mouth to argue—then shut it again.
"She doesn't need chaos," Eurydice said finally. "She needs quiet. Warmth. Rest. And someone who doesn't demand pieces of her when she's already falling apart."
She turned slightly, glancing back toward the door.
"You may see her," she said at last, her tone still unreadable. "But only if you're prepared to give her what she needs. Not what makes you feel better."
And with that, she slipped back through the door like a shadow returning to candlelight—leaving them standing in the cool night air with nothing but their own guilt, questions, and the sudden, painful realization of just how much they had left to fix.
The door cracked open barely an inch, and Loque slipped inside with the silence of a falling leaf. His great spectral form moved carefully around the room, his glowing eyes fixed tenderly on Nyxia's sleeping figure. The soft rise and fall of her chest brought a rare lightness to his usually fierce gaze.
He stepped closer, lowering his massive head in a deep, solemn bow toward Eurydice, who stood by the bedside, her hands folded gently in front of her. Her serene expression and the soft glow of her holy magic filled the room with a comforting warmth.
Loque's voice broke the quiet, a low rumble of gratitude.
"Thank you… for keeping her safe." Perseus managed to squeak out.
Eurydice offered a gentle smile, her eyes soft but unwavering. "She needed rest and healing. It's what she deserves."
Outside the door, the others lingered, their voices a cautious murmur, thick with concern and guilt.
"She's so still… almost fragile," Boo whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. "I didn't realize how much she was breaking inside."
Perseus stood apart, his usual sternness cracked by remorse. "I was too harsh. I… I thought pushing her would help, but I only made her worse."
"She's been through so much," another voice said softly. "We need to be patient. She's not the same right now."
The door shifted slightly as they moved closer, inching into the room one by one, careful not to disturb the fragile peace.
Loque remained beside Nyxia, vigilant and protective, his glowing eyes watching over her as Eurydice prepared a small, warm meal nearby, the faint scent of herbs and sweet broth filling the air.
Perseus finally took a tentative step inside, bowing his head slightly in silent apology. Boo followed quietly, her usual fire tempered by a heavy heart.
One by one, they gathered around the bed, their presence a quiet promise: they were here for her, no matter how long it took.
Nyxia's breath remained even, her body at rest, as the room filled with soft whispers, hopeful prayers, and the steady comfort of those who refused to let her go.
The room was dim, lit only by the faint golden hue of a nearby lantern and the flickering shadows of holy runes gently pulsing on the walls. It smelled of lavender and healing salves, a stark contrast to the scent of blood and battle that had lingered on Nyxia just days prior.
Eurydice moved gracefully across the room, her radiant form a stark, maternal presence — like an angel come down to earth. She was stirring something warm in a pot over the small hearth, humming that same quiet, soothing tune she had sung to Nyxia in the bath. There was peace in her motions, effortless and timeless.
Loque sat curled protectively by the bedside, his sleek spectral tail wrapped around his paws, ears angled forward. His eyes, always sharp, had softened, watching every rise and fall of Nyxia's chest like it was the most sacred thing in the world.
The door creaked as the others slipped in.
First Boo, hesitant, as though she expected the worst. But when her eyes landed on Nyxia — not broken and bloodied, but clean, warm, swaddled in a soft white sleep dress, her face finally relaxed — her breath caught in her throat.
"Gods…" she whispered, hand over her mouth. "She looks like she's finally dreaming… and not reliving nightmares."
Perseus followed, slower. He hovered in the doorway, eyes locked on Nyxia, his jaw clenched. He didn't speak at first. Just watched, a mix of guilt and awe twisting behind his gaze.
"She's… safe," he said finally, voice low. "I didn't think we'd ever see her like this again."
"She looks peaceful," murmured another, stepping in behind them.
"I don't think I've ever seen her like this," Boo said, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. "She always carries that edge. Like she's waiting for the next fight. But now…"
"She's just a girl," one of them added quietly. "Sleeping. Like she should've been this whole time."
Perseus stepped closer. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, like he wanted to reach out but didn't trust himself. "She looks so… small," he said, his voice thick. "I didn't realize how much weight she was carrying. We all saw it. But we didn't see it."
"She didn't let us," Boo murmured. "She kept all of it buried. Deep."
Loque looked up at them then, his bright eyes catching the lantern light. He gave a soft rumble — not a warning, but a sound of agreement. Of trust.
"She fought so hard," Perseus whispered. "And we were so damn blind."
"Well," Boo said after a moment, glancing at Eurydice, who had said nothing but watched them with quiet, knowing eyes. "She's with someone who knows how to care. Really care."
Eurydice gave a soft nod and offered no smugness in return. Only a firm, motherly warmth.
"You're welcome to stay," she said gently, "but keep your voices down. She needs rest. All of you—" she looked at them with subtle weight, "—need to remember what that kind of pain does to a soul. Don't repeat your mistakes."
They nodded slowly, shame woven into every breath.
"I don't think I've ever seen her look… so clean," someone muttered, and it wasn't sarcastic, just amazed.
"She's practically glowing," Boo added, a bit softer, folding her arms over her chest. "Leave it to a goddess to make her look like a storybook princess after four days of rotting on a floor."
A small laugh broke the tension. Brief. But needed.
"Do you think she'll hate us?" someone asked quietly.
Perseus didn't answer. He just watched her sleep, shoulders heavy with silence.
"No," Boo said. "But she might not forgive us right away. And honestly? That's fair."
They stood there together, watching her — not the warrior, not the beast that had clawed her way through the pit — but Nyxia, just as she was.
Sleeping. Breathing. Alive.
And for now, that was enough.