It was a relentless, suffocating nightmare.
Unaware of how much time had passed, she was trapped within an endless cycle of dreams and nightmares, her mind dragging her through one painful scenario after another. She dreamed of disappointing her mistress, of failure, of rot and death, each nightmare twisting into the next without ever giving her a chance to escape. Yet strangely, throughout all of it, her body remained warm and comfortable. The warmth surrounding her was gentle and soothing, almost peaceful, and in some ways, that only made everything worse. The complete mismatch between the agony of her mind and the comfort of her body made the nightmares feel even more unreal, twisting the physical comfort into a sickening paradox.
She could remember that warmth. She could also remember a voice occasionally reaching her through the nightmares. It was a worried voice, one she had not known for very long, and it was not the voice she truly wanted to hear. Even so, hearing it helped. Whenever that voice reached her through the hellish worlds inside her mind, the nightmares seemed to become just a little less unbearable, giving her something to cling to whenever everything else around her became too much. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, she found something else within the darkness. A way out. A blinding door had appeared somewhere ahead of her, impossibly bright against the endless darkness, and with nothing else to follow, she crawled toward it.
She had no idea how long that took. Time had stopped meaning anything to her, but eventually, after what felt like an eternity of crawling through the darkness, she finally reached the door.
Amara slowly, very slowly, began to pry her eyes open. Her eyelids felt as heavy as solid stone. The light that greeted her was instantly blinding, forcing her eyes to agonizingly adjust after a full month of absolute darkness and forced slumber.
"Where..." she breathed, her voice a quiet, rough rasp from severe disuse.
"She finally woke up," a voice murmured from somewhere close by. Her muddled, exhausted brain couldn't quite place the tone. "Don't try to move much. While the Healing Springs kept your body completely healed, it will still take a little time for your brain to get used to moving your body again."
The voice did not wait for a response. She could hear the person moving away from her, followed by the heavy creak of a door opening and clicking shut.
Blinking several times, her blurred vision finally began to clear. She realized she was submerged in water, resting safely atop a makeshift, submerged bed designed to keep her head above the surface so she wouldn't drown. She slowly, ever so slowly, tried to look around. Turning her head felt like wading through thick mud while being weighed down by iron shackles, but she managed to take in her surroundings.
The air carried a cool, unnatural serenity, yet it brushed against her exposed skin with that same silken warmth from her dreams. She was inside a secluded stone chamber, resting in the center of a small but deep hot spring. The water enveloping her was perfectly clear—so pristine it looked like liquid glass—and a faint, soft-blue glow emanated from its depths. The light pulsed slowly, matching the steady rhythm of a sleeping heart, and cast gentle, dancing ripples across the damp stone walls.
"Is this...? Where is this? Where am I?" she whispered to the empty chamber, a little more strength slowly returning to her scratchy voice.
Suddenly, the heavy stone door thrust open with frantic urgency.
"You're awake! You actually woke up!" a voice cried out.
Unlike the previous one, Amara instantly recognized this voice. It was the familiar, anchoring tone that had pierced through her endless nightmares, the one that had occasionally eased her suffering in the dark. As the person rushed closer, stepping to the edge of the water, Amara looked up to see who it belonged to.
"Clara...?" she whispered, her heavy gaze landing on the woman who shared her exact same blonde hair and blue eyes.
"How are you feeling? Do you feel okay?" Clara asked rapidly, her expression tight with worry. "Nothing... nothing in your back, right?"
Amara's muddled mind stalled. *Nothing in my...!*
Then, like a shattered dam, the memories violently flooded back. The chaotic night. The hollow feeling of their victory. Xain leaving. And then—the sudden, agonizing impact in her back. The blinding pain. The sickening, consuming sensation of rot eating away at her flesh.
Raw panic seizing her, Amara tried to violently jolt upright. Her atrophied muscles immediately betrayed her, and she slipped off the slick surface of the submerged bed. She would have plunged completely beneath the water if Clara had not lunged forward, grabbing her by the shoulders.
"What are you doing?!" Clara cried out in a panic, completely ignoring the fact that she had just waded directly into the deep, glowing spring while wearing a full dress. "You should rest, not move so soon!"
"How long...?" Amara muttered, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.
Clara blinked, holding her steady in the warm water. "Huh?"
Amara forced herself to take a deep, trembling breath. "How long has it been?" she demanded, her voice straining.
Clara's expression changed as she finally understood what Amara was asking. "Oh! Uh... it has been a month since you were shot. The healing took much longer than expected because of the necrotic magic you were hit with," she explained softly.
Amara's eyes widened in absolute horror. A month. An entire month had slipped by in the dark. A whole month without her giving a single report, without moving, without doing anything for her mission.
"Get me my things. Bring me my things right now!" she exclaimed, a desperate, frantic edge bleeding into her rough voice.
Clara shook her head, her grip tightening on Amara's shoulders. "What? No, you still need to rest! You can do that la—"
"Please, Clara," Amara cut her off, locking her blue eyes with Clara's.
Her voice cracked, carrying a raw, shattered vulnerability that Clara had never, ever thought Amara was capable of showing. It was a plea of utter desperation.
Clara swallowed hard, the fight draining out of her. She took a slow, deep breath. "Okay... but just sit still, alright? Elsa is coming over, and she will look after you while I bring your things," she conceded.
Releasing her grip, Clara waded to the edge and pulled herself out of the water. Her soaked dress clung heavily to her legs, leaving a trail of water on the stone floor as she hurried out of the room.
Left alone in the gentle, pulsing blue light of the spring, Amara slowly pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her trembling arms tightly around them.
*I am sorry, Mistress,* she thought miserably, staring blankly at the rippling water. *I am so sorry for my failure...*