Symon frowned, looking down at the pointed ears belonging to the maybe-not-dying-anymore figure lying unconscious on the floor. They were face down, exposing the bolt that protruded from their lower back.

They weren't human, but that wasn't a problem for Symon. I'm not racist... or speciest, I don't know which it is. Hell, even Keelgrave's best friend was an orc.

This wasn't an orc, though. He'd seen enough movies to recognise an elf, although there were a lot of differences to what he'd been expecting. For that matter, he'd already seen one in his last memory dream, the one of Keelgrave enacting a prison break, although that one had seemed a bit insane.

He was pretty sure the elf on the floor was a she, but they were so emaciated and covered in filth that they might have been a younger boy. She was about as tall as Symon was, though, so he didn't think that was the case, but for all he knew, elves grew to be twenty feet tall here.

Her skin was a pale grey, although it was difficult to see with how much dried blood and pollen coated her, while her stark white hair was similarly covered in grime. As far as he could tell, the bolt sticking out of her back was the only serious wound, although there were plenty of bruises and tiny, half-healed scratches scattered around her body.

He felt for a pulse, sighing in relief when he detected it: weak but steady. It felt incredibly odd to touch someone without needing to worry about killing them, but he had bigger priorities. He gave her another once over, although it was difficult with her face-down posture, but was confident he should be focused on the bolt. He spotted her long, slender fingers, which perfectly matched the imprint he'd found on the door to the hallway. They were tipped with dark claws.

That was curious, but he could just ask her about them once he'd healed her up. To do that, he needed to remove the bolt first. He didn't want it to get healed into her, so it was necessary. He'd given her ten units of vitality, leaving him with twelve in his vessel, half of which was the Gharzoth's impure stuff. Using that was out of the question, and he wanted to spend as much vitality as he could as soon as he removed the bolt, so he needed a refill.

There were plenty of roses left outside, so he wasn't worried about being a little wasteful with his vitality. Better to err on the side of giving her too much healing, considering he wasn't sure how bad the internal damage was.

He made a quick trip outside, then back in as soon as he'd harvested enough of the roses to get him to full. He hadn't considered that having the impure vitality in his vessel was essentially lowering his maximum capacity until it was converted. It was something that he'd usually want to investigate and find a way to immediately fix, but he was a little preoccupied with his lifesaving measures.

With his vessel now topped off once more, he made his way back to the elf. Predictably, she hadn't moved at all. His healing didn't look like it had done much externally, which he took to mean it had been focused on internal injuries.

Okay, Symon, he thought to himself, just pull the bolt out nice and quick. He knelt down next to her, his hand hovering around it. It felt wrong to perform an impromptu surgery like this, both because it wasn't the type of thing he'd been trained to do as well as being in such an unsanitary environment, but it wasn't like there was a hospital he could take her to.

One hand clenched around the protrusion, while the other rested on the base, his hand brushing against her too-cool skin. He pulled all his vitality out of his vessel and held it inside that hand, careful not to accidentally use any of the twisted essence. He needn't have bothered, as it wasn't responding to his commands, but he wasn't in the mood to experiment. In one smooth motion, he yanked the bolt out, sending a weak spray of blood through the air while pushing all the prepared vitality into the wound.

She let out a tiny, muffled grunt, but didn't wake up. That was probably for the best, as he didn't have any painkillers.

So little blood came out... she must have lost a lot.

A full fifteen units of vitality flooded into her system, rapidly closing the hole in the small of her back that was almost as wide as his wrist was. He'd been thinking of it as a bolt, but he wasn't sure how accurate that was. It had a tapered end, but was way too large. If anything, it reminded him more of a javelin or broken off spearhead. He left it resting against her as he closely followed the wound's progress.

The vitality was enough to roughly seal the wound, but it would take a little more for it to heal completely and for any scars to fade. Most of the smaller injuries vanished as well, the healing spreading out through her body instead of focusing on the most important area like he'd prefer. Quantity had a quality all its own, though, so he was confident she'd survive. She was still asleep, so he left her like that. He wanted to collect more vitality and finish the healing.

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He returned outside, his steps no longer as urgent as they had been. He wasn't sure what he should do next. His evolution for Seize had a cooldown of an entire week before he could switch it to one of his Dumosan friends, which was pretty inconvenient. It was nowhere near as bad as always needing to keep track of his distance from other people, though. He may as well use the time he had properly to ensure she was fully taken care of. His healing wouldn't take more than another trip or two outside to fully fix her injuries, but there were other problems with her two.

When he thought of elves, he thought of them as being lithe, but he doubted they were meant to look as skinny as she did. Relying on Earth movies to inform decisions in Cathar wasn't a great idea, but luckily, Keelgrave's jailbreak memory came in handy again. The elf he'd briefly seen there was actually pretty jacked.

She was severely malnourished, but that was a simple problem to fix. More complex was the damage that had been inflicted. He doubted she just fell on a spear herself, so someone must have done this to her. The question was why.

She still had massive manacles tightly binding her legs together, which gave him a clue.

Hmm, probably a prisoner or slave. What could justify being treated like this, though? The numerous tiny wounds made it clear she hadn't been well taken care of, while the recently dislodged spear showed that her life hadn't been very highly valued.

He wasn't about to return an escaped slave to their master, but he couldn't wave off the possibility that she was a dangerous criminal. For all he knew, she was a mass murderer. And how the hell did she make it through the mist wall?

She looked more like a starving orphan than something dangerous, more pitiable than threatening, but it was hard to tell what the Ledger had changed. Being able to make it through the wall without the pollen harming her — even now, some of it still rested on smooth, unblistered skin — when his friends had been completely unable meant she must have some hidden capabilities.

Maybe I keep those chains on her until she wakes up and I can get some details, he thought, feeling a little bad about how willing he was to keep her chained. Considering he had just saved her life, he felt like he was afforded a bit of extra moral leeway when it came to ensuring she wasn't going to kill him the moment she woke up.

He returned, gave her a little extra vitality, then once more got a refill from outside before being satisfied with her physical state and his vessel. Even with the magical healing, some rest would do her good.

He checked one of the doors in the hallway she was in, finding a simple but decent bedroom. It didn't have any of the ostentatiousness of the other rooms, so he assumed this was where a servant had slept. It was dusty, but that was the case everywhere, so he gently rolled her over.

It was his first time seeing her face, and it looked... odd. He wasn't sure how much of it was due to her malnourishment and how much was because she wasn't human, but there were numerous little things that made her look uncanny.

If she'd had a hood on and he'd passed her on the street, he probably wouldn't have spared her a second glance, but the features were very distinct up close. Her face was incredibly angular, her jaw, chin, cheekbones, and nose all hollow and sharp. Her eyes were closed, but he could still tell they were larger than a human's would be. The ears were exactly what he'd expected, although he'd already seen their sharp points before. Her eyebrows were also thin and overly long and were the same pure white colour of her hair.

Individually, none of her features were that strange. But when taken as a whole, they all worked together to give her a distinctly inhuman appearance.

He wiggled his arms under her, before picking her limp form up in a bridal carry. She felt unnervingly light, and Symon knew his Strength was only a minor reason for that. It was so disconcerting that he barely registered that he'd finally managed the first step in taming his wild magic. She didn't stir, not even when he placed her on the bed. It didn't have a pillow, but it was certainly better than being face down on some floorboards. From his pack, he produced one of the apples they'd bought from a farmer on the start of their journey out to the manor, and left it on the bedside table.

Next, he wanted to scout out the rest of the manor on the off chance that more revenants were hanging around. Finding out what happened to Lady Renske and the manor's connection to the dungeon was also on his list, but they weren't time-sensitive. He'd have to get his friends through the barrier for that. There was the matter of all the twisted vitality in his vessel, too.

Hmm, maybe I should work on freeing Keelgrave first. It was nice to have a break, but I could really use his expertise. It's nice to have someone to bounce ideas off, at least.

Before he could decide what his next steps would be, he heard a gentle thunking noise from the bedroom. He'd assumed her not waking up even after being fully healed meant her body just needed more time to rest, but it seemed she disagreed.

He pushed the door open slowly, trying not to scare the probably very confused woman, but was unsuccessful. The moment he opened the door, he saw the apple, fallen onto the ground, and the woman, who had pushed herself upright in the bed. Her overly large eyes were wide open, revealing onyx-black orbs without any visible whites. He might have thought they had the black pollen in them, but was disabused of that notion as she continued to hold unblinking eye contact. Despite the lack of a visible pupil, he knew exactly where her eyes were looking.

Both of them were frozen, staring at each other. After what felt like an eternity, Symon broke the silence.

"Hello there," he said in Common, as calm as he possibly could. "Can you understand me?"

"Sravna shkaal, rukth narlok!" she hissed weakly, her sharp teeth bared in worried anger. Her hands, slender and bony, flexed out, causing her long, clawed nails to glint slightly in the torchlight.

"Godsdamnit," Symon complained, "I can't believe I'm going to have to learn another language."

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