It took longer. Helena's hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the needle twice. But with Viktor talking her through it—calm and steady despite the agony—she managed to close the wound in his back.

When it was done, he reached for the herb pouch again and smeared it over both sets of stitches, the paste cooling slightly against his burning skin.

Then he grabbed strips of cloth—torn from the bedsheets—and started wrapping them around his torso, creating makeshift bandages.

"Young master, let us—" Mira tried to take the cloth from his hands, but Viktor shook his head.

"I got it."

He wound the fabric tight. [Craft King] made the knots perfect on the first try.

When he was done, Viktor slumped back against the headboard, exhausted.

His whole body felt like one giant bruise. His head swam. His vision blurred at the edges.

But he was alive.

And more importantly, he was winning.

"It'll be fine," he said softly. "I'll be fine. Just... need rest."

Viktor managed a small smile despite everything. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm not dying."

That broke them.

Mira's face crumpled. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks—relieved now. Raw.

Helena sobbed openly, her shoulders shaking.

Viktor reached up with both hands—slowly, carefully—and pulled them closer.

He pressed a soft kiss to Mira's forehead, right between her tear-filled eyes. Then turned and did the same to Helena.

"I'm okay," he whispered. "I promise."

That was all it took.

Both women collapsed onto him—carefully, mindful of his wounds, but desperately. Their arms wrapped around him from either side.

"Young master—!" Helena's voice broke into sobs. "You—you could've died! You could've—hic—"

She couldn't finish. Just buried her face in his shoulder and cried.

Mira wasn't any better. Her hands clutched his arm, her face pressed against his chest, and she shook with silent sobs.

"Don't ever do that again," she choked out. "Don't ever—I thought—I thought I lost you—"

Viktor's arms came up slowly, wrapping around both of them. Holding them close despite the pain.

And for a moment—just that moment—he let himself realize it was stupid of him to think it only pained him physically.

He now had women who loved him, so rather than his pain alone, his was now his family's.

He just held them.

'This is dangerous,' part of him whispered. 'But I can't stay weak, Can I?'

But the rest of him—the part that was tired and hurting and bleeding—didn't care.

"I'm not going anywhere," Viktor murmured into Mira's hair. "I promise but I will need daily sponge massage... to heal faster."

"...Y-you are too perverted, Young Lord..."

----

Kaida just stood there in the hallway, blood-soaked and numb.

Her mind replayed everything. The fear in Mira's eyes. The way she'd screamed. The way she'd clung to Viktor like he was the only thing keeping her alive.

'You did this. This is your fault.'

Kaida had thought—fuck, she'd genuinely thought—that Viktor dying would be the answer. That it would free Mira from whatever hold he had over her. That they could run, could escape, could go back to how things used to be.

But watching Mira break down like that, watching her sob and scream and hold onto him with everything she had...

'She loves him.'

The realization hit like a punch to the gut.

It wasn't fear. It wasn't obligation or duty or whatever bullshit Kaida had convinced herself it was.

Mira actually, genuinely 'loved' that bastard.

And Kaida had almost killed him.

Her hand trembled around the dagger. Blood dripped from the blade, pattering onto the floor in a steady rhythm.

'What the fuck have I done?'

Movement at the end of the hallway caught her eye.

The slave woman.

Still standing there in the sitting room, right where they'd left her. Still wearing that tattered cloak. Still looking like death warmed over.

Something in Kaida snapped.

She crossed the distance in four long strides, her boots pounding against marble. Her hand shot out, fingers closing around the woman's throat, slamming her back against the wall.

"You BITCH!" The words exploded out of her. "How DARE you!"

The woman didn't resist. Didn't fight back. Didn't even flinch.

She just let Kaida hold her there, her body limp and unresisting.

Through the dirty, matted strands of hair hanging over her face, those yellow eyes blinked once. Twice. Slow. Mechanical.

Empty.

"He almost died because of you!" Kaida's grip tightened. "You tried to kill—you were going to—"

But the words died in her throat.

Because the woman wasn't looking at her.

She was looking at her hand.

Slowly, like moving through water, the assassin's hand lifted. Her fingers—thin and bony and covered in dirt—reached up toward her own face.

Blood. Viktor's blood. It was smeared across her cheek, on her chin, dried and crusty.

Her fingers touched it. Rubbed at it. The dried flakes came off, staining her fingertips red.

She pulled her hand back, holding it in front of her face.

Staring.

Her yellow eyes focused on the blood coating her skin. On the evidence of what she'd done—what she'd 'tried' to do.

Blood of the man who'd saved her.

Blood of the man who'd thrown himself between her and death.

Again same repeated word.

'Why?'

"Uwaah... waah..."

Kaida's gaze snapped toward the sudden, sharp cry piercing the thick silence.

"Toby?"

The small boy's sobs ripped through the air like a dagger sharper than any blade she had thrown that day. His tears fell freely as he waddled—not ran, but hurried toward something, someone.

Kaida's breath caught in her throat, and in that instant, reality slammed down on her like a freight train. The child was here. Toby. And she had done all of this, dragged the battle into this home, into his world.

Her grip on the slave woman she'd just thrown against the wall slackened. The woman crumpled, collapsing to the floor with a quiet thump.

Kaida's eyes darted away from her and toward the boy.

Toby's little arms reached out, and despite Kaida's shock, the boy's tiny hands wrapped around the woman's gaunt frame, pulling her in a fierce hug.

His voice, breaking and childish, said, "Aun... aunti Kaida not … Oh, forgive, forgive," but then he startled her by asking in his broken tongue, "You fine, you fine?"

The slave woman nodded slowly, her fragile form covered in grime and starvation, but there was a resilience—something indomitable hiding beneath her malnourished exterior.

Even more so, Kaida's narrowed eyes caught the subtle movement of long ears and a flick of furred tail from beneath the tattered cloak.

'C...catkins,' Kaida breathed, rubbing her forehead as the weight of what she'd done crushed her from the inside out.

She sank down onto the cold floor, pressing her palm against her forehead.

It was her fault. She had wanted Viktor dead, had believed that removing him would free Mira, and now the house was fractured, the family teetering on chaos.

A soft weight pressed against her side, and she looked down.

Toby had moved again, this time wrapping his small arms gently around Kaida herself, seeking comfort and peace.

"Please, not fight, Auntie..." His voice was hopeful, innocent beyond his years.

Kaida lifted her tear-stained eyes to meet his, then followed his gaze to see Toby clasping the slave woman's hand tightly.

She glared at the pair but sighed deeply.

She had already done too much. Mira's hatred pierced through her like knives, and if even Toby turned against her, there would be nothing left.

Toby's lips trembled, the child's innocent voice carrying a truth bigger than any of them dared to speak aloud. "We family. Family no fight."

Kaida forced her gaze away.

Behind them, the slave woman muttered softly, voice cracked and tired, "...fa...mi...ly...?"

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.