Chapter 43
The forest had grown darker, even though the sun still hovered in the sky. Eitan trudged through thick roots and overgrown ferns, his hand clutched tightly around Elia’s wrist, helping her walk. Her steps were uneven, her silver-white hair matted with blood, and her robes were torn across the back where Halden’s spell had burned through the fabric—and her skin.
They were far from the battlefield now. Hours had passed since the teleportation scroll had pulled them from the brink of death and dropped them deep into the Blackridge wilderness. But peace had not followed them. Only pain. Silence. And exhaustion.
Elia stumbled, a choked gasp escaping her lips.
"Hey—careful," Eitan murmured, catching her before she hit the ground.
He helped her lean against a thick tree, then knelt beside her. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow. A healing potion bottle lay empty in her hand, but its effects had already faded. The magic had closed her external wounds, but her internal mana channels were damaged. Severely. Even lifting her arm was an effort now.
"I’m fine..." she whispered.
"No, you’re not," Eitan replied. His voice trembled with fatigue, with restrained fury. "Damn it... I swear I’ll kill you, Halden. I’ll fucking kill you."
The name alone tasted like poison.
Elia opened her eyes weakly. "We should go back... tell the Magistrate. Ask for help."
"I know," Eitan said, his jaw clenched. "But we’re in no condition to use teleportation magic. Our circuits are too strained."
[Author’s Note: Teleportation is a Rank 6 spell. Even a fully-trained magician risks death if used while physically or magically unstable.]
Elia nodded faintly. Neither of them had any mana left to spare. Just one wrong spell now, and they’d rupture from the inside.