Yarik, unaware of the guards' conversation, continued on his way, hurrying back to the village.
He didn't want to stay here any longer. He didn't want Theron to think he had bailed and activate that damn serum.
He could still remember the goat—its eyes bulging, body shaking, bleats turning into choking gurgles as its flesh twisted and swelled. That image haunted him every time he even thought about not following Theron's orders.
He couldn't escape.
No, he was now caught between two forces, either of which could destroy him.
Maybe if he hadn't tried to sneak out tonight, he wouldn't have been seen. Maybe if he had just waited a bit longer.
But how could he have known something like this would happen?
He had been careful, watching patterns and planning the right moment to sneak out. Turns out, his luck had finally run out.
All he could do now was hope Commander Voss wouldn't find out what he had just done—at least not until after they had dealt with Underwood Village. That way, Yarik would get his reward and wouldn't have to worry about the serum anymore.
Even now, he still believed the Underwood Village didn't stand a chance against the Vanilia men.
But for now, he could only hope, walking faster with every step.
Better to arrive breathless than arrive late.
Unaware of all this, the very person Yarik was so afraid of was fast asleep—snoring even in his deep slumber.
---
Morning arrived soon enough, heralded by the soft warmth of sunlight slipping through the window of the modest room.
A golden beam landed right on Theron's face, slowly waking him.
He groaned quietly, lifting a hand to block the blinding light.
Sleep still clung to him, but his mind was slowly returning. The soreness in his muscles, the tight feeling of bandages, and the dull ache of healing wounds reminded him that he was still alive. That was something, at least.
Before he could fully sit up, the door creaked open with a soft push.
Elira entered, carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming broth and a small cup filled with a dark green tonic.
She seemed calmer today—less moody than she had been the day before.
There was still a shadow in her eyes, but it was softer now, filled more with concern than anger.
"Good morning," she said gently, placing the tray on the table beside his bed.
"Morning," Theron replied, giving her a faint smile, still squinting from the brightness.
There was a short pause. Elira didn't speak right away, nor did she leave. Instead, she stood quietly beside the bed, her hands clasped in front of her.
Her eyes dropped slightly, like she was thinking about something.
"I… I'm sorry about yesterday," she finally said, her voice low and hesitant. "I wasn't myself. I was just—" she bit her lip, "—I was afraid. Afraid of losing you."
She looked up then, eyes glassy with unspoken pain. "I've lost enough people, Theron. Too many. I couldn't stand the thought of losing you too."
Theron looked at her face for a while, his expression slowly softening. A flicker of understanding appeared in his eyes.
"You had every right to be afraid," he said quietly, his voice gentler than before. "And I'm sorry too—for the way I spoke to you. I didn't mean to shut you out. I just... didn't want you to worry more than you already were."
A moment of silence followed, thick with unspoken feelings.
Then Elira let out a small breath and gave a tiny nod. She was glad they were on good terms again.
But her mood changed quickly. Her lips pressed into a firm line, and she crossed her arms.
"But don't think that means I'm letting you off the hook for yesterday."
Theron blinked, confused. "What?"
"You threw away your food," she said, raising an eyebrow with a scolding look.
Theron looked caught off guard.
"How—how did you know?" he asked, clearly confused.
Elira scoffed, shaking her head. "Please. What do you take me for? I know you better than you know yourself. I knew something was off the moment I saw the food and tonic gone so fast. You're a terrible liar, Theron."
He opened his mouth to argue, then sighed and slumped slightly. "Right. Guess you caught me."
"Yes, I did," she said with a smug smile. "That's why I brought you a bigger portion this morning. And I'm not leaving until I see you finish every last bite." She waved toward the tray with mock grandeur.
Theron frowned and sat up halfway, clearly uncomfortable. "I... I don't think I can eat while you're just sitting there staring at me."
Elira narrowed her eyes. "Would you rather I feed you myself?"
He flinched. "No! No, that's—okay, fine, fine. I'll eat."
Even though he seemed unwilling, his stomach betrayed him with a loud, desperate growl.
He hadn't eaten anything real since the day before yesterday, and it was starting to catch up with him. Hunger gnawed at him from the inside, mocking his caution.
'Who am I trying to fool?' he thought as he slowly lifted the bowl. 'I won't last two more days like this. If I die, I die.' He sighed, making up his mind.
He took the first spoonful.
The warmth of the soup spread through his chest instantly, a soothing heat that relaxed his tight muscles.
The flavor was rich and deeper than he expected—he could taste herbs, likely added to help with recovery, but they didn't overpower the dish. If anything, they brought out the taste even more.
The meat was also excellent—tender and soft, it melted in his mouth like butter, soaked in a savory broth that was clearly made with care.
He continued eating, spoonful by spoonful, and glanced up at Elira only to find her still staring at him with sharp focus.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, frowning once he was halfway through the bowl.
Elira hesitated for a moment, like she was unsure of her thoughts. "You seem... different," she finally said.
Theron paused, the spoon halfway to his mouth.
"Different?" he repeated.
She nodded slowly, studying him. "I don't know how to explain it. Something about your eyes... they feel older."
Theron blinked. That actually made sense.
This wasn't the same Theron anymore. His body may be, but now it held the soul of Ryan, someone who had lived many lives. Of course there would be changes, but he didn't say any of that. Instead, he pretended not to understand what she meant.
"Is there something wrong with them?" he asked, touching around his eyes, acting clueless.
Elira just stared.
"No," she said at last, shaking her head. "It's not that. It's just... something's changed. Maybe it's the stress. You've been through a lot, after all."
Theron nodded, still pretending.
"Maybe," he said softly.
Luckily, Elira shifted the subject.
"Speaking of stress," she said, pointing at the tonic cup, "I made what you asked for."
"Oh. Right," Theron said, glancing toward the cup.
Last night, when she came to redress his wounds, he had asked her to prepare something potent—something that could heal his injuries fast. He needed to be at full strength by tomorrow night, before the fight with the Vanilia forces.
"It used up most of our high-grade herbs," she admitted, frowning. "The village doesn't have enough left to make more for the others. But it'll help you recover—eighty to ninety percent by tomorrow, at least."
Theron's expression darkened, guilt rising in his chest.
"I'll fix this soon. I promise," he said, though even he didn't believe his own words.