Chapter 172: Whispers Of A Storm
Nusayel watched as the healer’s cerulean glow faded from Selvienne’s forehead. The harsh lines of pain that had marred her face softened; her breathing steadied into the slow rhythm of deep rest. For the first time since the messengers arrived or those nightmares started, she looked peaceful.
Good. At least one of us can escape this nightmare, even if only in sleep.
He almost missed it—the single bead of sweat tracing the healer’s temple, the faint tremor in his fingers as he withdrew them. The boy’s eyelids fluttered open, revealing irises like fractured sapphires before he schooled his expression back into calm.
"She’s stable," the healer said, rising. "Rest is what she needs most now. However..." He hesitated. "The shock may resurface again. So I advise avoiding overwhelming her with strong emotions when she wakes."
From a hidden pouch at his belt, he produced a slender vial filled with iridescent liquid. "Lavender and moonpetal elixir," he explained, offering it to Nusayel. "No more than three drops a week, you can also give it with tea or water. It won’t erase the pain, but it will keep the worst at bay."
Nusayel took the vial, weighing its cool glass between his fingers. The craftsmanship was exquisite. A single drop must cost a merchant’s monthly earnings here.
"You have my thanks," he said, the words rougher than intended. "Eclipse Keep may not rival southern treasuries, but name your price. If it’s within my power, it’s yours."
The healer smiled, shaking his head. "No payment necessary. This is what healers do."
"No." The baron’s voice brooked no argument. "I won’t be indebted to a stranger, no matter how noble his intentions."
The young man stiffened. For a heartbeat, his polished composure cracked for a second—something baron couldn’t describe, flickering behind his eyes.
Nusayel noted the healer’s struggle.
"Very well," he amended, quieter. "Consider it an open favor. You can claim it when you finally decide."
The healer exhaled. "...Alright."
A sharp rap at the door shattered the moment.
"My Lord," came the butler’s voice, strained. "Apologies, but—there’s an emergency."
Nusayel’s grip tightened around the vial.
Of course there is.
Sighing inwardly, he strode toward the door, his voice clipped. "Let’s go."
The young healer followed silently as the baron led him out of the chamber. In the corridor, the butler stood waiting, his aged face taut with urgency.
"Report," Nusayel commanded, not breaking stride as they moved down the hall.
The butler matched his pace, words hurried but precise. "Scouts have returned, my lord. The Ashenfang Whitefall has begun descending earlier than we predicted."
Nusayel’s steps faltered for half a breath. "Are you certain?"
"Beyond doubt," the butler affirmed. "Visibility is already reduced to twenty feet. At this rate, the ridge trail will be impassable by nightfall—especially once the second wave hits."
The baron’s expression darkened further.
He glanced at the healer, who walked beside him with quiet focus. "I’m afraid you and your companions will have to remain here until the storm passes."
The young man nodded, a flicker of solemnity crossing his features. "Understood."
They arrived at the hall where the other three visitors waited—Professor Harken stiff by the hearth, the silver-haired youth standing unnervingly still beside the golden-eyed boy who was standing in front of the thick window, his gaze darting toward the gathering gloom outside.
Nusayel regarded the gathered visitors, his voice measured but firm.
"It seems the mountains have decided to keep you here longer than planned. A blizzard is descending right now—one severe enough that travel will soon become impossible. The winds are already picking up, and by nightfall, the paths will be buried."
He studied their faces, gauging their reactions.
Harken adjusted his spectacles, his expression unreadable. The golden-eyed youth’s fingers twitched at his sides, while the silver-haired one remained eerily still, his pale eyes fixed on the baron.
"For now," Nusayel continued, "one of our stewards will show you to your quarters. You’ll be housed in the guest wing—comfortable enough, though I warn you, the storm may make the halls colder than usual."
Harken nodded stiffly. "We appreciate your hospitality, Lord Luthaire."
The golden-eyed youth dipped his head in agreement, though his gaze kept darting toward the windows, as if searching for something in the gathering dark.
Just as Nusayel turned to leave, the silver-haired youth spoke.
"Excuse me."
The baron paused, glancing back.
The young man’s voice was quiet but deliberate. "Is there any way we might assist? The storm sounds... formidable. If there are preparations to be made, we would offer our aid."
The golden-eyed boy straightened, nodding fervently. "Yes! We’d like to help, if we can."
Nusayel’s brow furrowed slightly. He had expected gratitude, perhaps even resignation—not this. His first instinct was to refuse. These were guests, strangers, and the last thing he needed was outsiders underfoot during a crisis.
But before he could speak, the young healer joined the conversation.
"I’m sure you’ll at least need a healer’s help. Though I’m just a beginner, I’ll do my best."
Nusayel studied him for a long moment, weighing the offer. The storm was coming, and injuries were inevitable—especially if the winds brought more than just snow.
Finally, he gave a curt nod. "Alright. Then follow me."
He turned to the other three, his tone firm. "Thank you for your offers, but I’ll only take this young man. I can promise that I will protect him—but I can’t promise the same for you." His gaze hardened. "And I can’t exactly endanger the lives my son saved."
The golden-eyed youth flinched as if struck, his hands clenching at his sides. The silver-haired one, however, remained still—unnervingly so.
Harken dipped his head in understanding. "We understand, Lord Luthaire."
Then—
The silver-haired youth flicked his fingers.
A portal split the air between them, its edges shimmering with a silver aura.
Nusayel’s hand instinctively went to the sword at his hip, but the young man spoke before he could draw.
"I can protect myself," he said calmly. "And my friend here." He gestured to the wide-eyed youth beside him. "And if something happens, we can run away."
"T-This..." Harken looked at the youth dumbfoundedly.
Spatial resonance...
Nusayel muttered inwardly.
It was definitely impressive, but also potentially disastrous under these conditions.
"I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you to join us."