After two days of deep, dreamless recuperation, Soren finally awoke in a room he didn't recognize. It was nothing like the drafty tent of the wounded knights, nor the modest little tent he had beside the noble healers.
This place was far too luxurious for someone like him.
Soft warmth spread beneath him, sheets were impossibly smooth, and a fur-lined blanket rested over him, heavy and comforting. Elegant lamps cast a gentle glow across the space, their light reflecting off polished surfaces and muted gold accents. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was still more extravagance than Soren ever expected to see the moment he opened his eyes.
When he pushed himself upright, he immediately noticed something else such as his clothes had been changed. The robe and inner trousers he remembered wearing were gone. Instead, he was dressed in clean, soft garments he didn't recognize. Beside the bed, his satchel had been carefully placed on a small table, neatly arranged as if someone had handled it with care.
Still confused, Soren swung his bare feet onto the warm floor and began checking over his body, running his hands along his arms and torso. He went as far as removing his top, fingertips tracing where wounds should have been.
"My injuries… they're gone," he murmured to himself. "How long was I unconscious? And where even is this place? Did I… sleepwalk into the wrong tent?"
Just as he reached for his shirt to put it back on, a familiar figure appeared at the edge of his vision that made him froze.
"O–oh, Your Highness," he stammered, scrambling to cover himself. "Greetings… and my deepest apologies for letting you see something so unsightly."
Cael, who had unknowingly witnessed the healer's slender figure and soft, pink-tinted nipples, felt a strange rush of embarrassment followed almost immediately by an unexpected flicker of intrigue. Soren was unmistakably a man and Cael knew that well. Yet he still couldn't comprehend how someone like Soren could possess such a delicate, feminine frame. In truth, Soren surpassed even the noble ladies in beauty.
His long red hair spilled over his shoulders in loose waves, looking almost sinful in its disheveled, just-awoken state. And those golden eyes that's calm yet full of determination only added to that ethereal allure.
'What a peculiar guy,' Cael thought, gaze trailing unabashedly from Soren's face down to his bare torso. 'He's… intriguing, endearing, even that it's almost impossible to look away. How can a man outshine the beauty of every noble lady I know?'
But Soren did not react to the scrutiny. He simply lowered his gaze and continued dressing himself, as if such staring was something he had grown accustomed to long ago whether used as mockery or humiliation.
"A–ahem," Cael cleared his throat, stepping forward once Soren finished pulling his shirt back on. "Don't mind me. How are you feeling?"
"I'm feeling alright, Your Highness. I've actually rested enough," Soren replied softly. "But… Your Highness, were you the one who rescued me? Why would you do that?"
Cael stepped closer, his height casting a shadow over the smaller man. Without hesitation, he reached out and lifted a loose strand of Soren's red hair between his fingers, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Hmm. Don't get ahead of yourself," he said. "It wasn't me. The knights insisted on pulling you out of there. Still… saving you turned out to be quite interesting." His smirk deepened. "Tell me, how did you survive that fall? And not just that, you even walked through the snow despite the cold. That's not normal. You're… something else, do you know that?"
Soren's breath hitched as memories of his curse, of surviving wounds, of enduring things he shouldn't flashed in his mind like sharp lightning. The way people had treated him for it with disgust and calling him names. Instinctively, he took a step back, his eyes widening for the first time since waking. Cael noticed it immediately and released the strand of hair, observing Soren's shaken reaction with an unreadable look before smirking once more.
'I really can't understand this person,' Soren thought, throat tightening. 'What does he want from me? Did he figure it out? Did he discover that I can't feel pain? Of all people… does he already know? I can't let that happen or I'll be…' His mind choked on the word.
—a freak again.
"I'm a healer, Your Highness," Soren forced out. "I… slowly healed myself back there. Though I truly didn't expect to survive."
He couldn't think of anything else to say and the lie felt flimsy in his throat, but it was all he had.
At first, Cael said nothing. The silence stretched until Soren nervously lifted his gaze until their eyes met and Soren saw coldness there, a depth he couldn't read, but it vanished almost instantly as Cael's expression softened into another slow, unsettling smile.
A smile that only made Soren even more confused.
Though they had only spoken for a short while, Soren could already tell that Cael was a difficult person to read. Compared to Alaric who wore his emotions openly and even the expressive twins, Cael felt… complicated. His words and expressions never quite aligned.
"Hah, forget it," Cael said at last, brushing off the topic with a lazy wave. "This is my tent, actually. You can rest here as long as you need. Your wounds are gone, sure, but you've still got internal damage that needs time. I won't mind if you stay." He paused, glancing at Soren with a hint of something unreadable. "You've been unconscious for three days. Anyway… I'll just tell the Duke you're still not ready to return."
He shrugged and turned away with his earlier teasing gone as if he had suddenly lost the interest to poke at Soren any further but before he could step outside, Soren quickly spoke up.
"I'm alright, Your Highness. Thank you, truly for taking care of me and giving me a place to recuperate but I've rested enough. I want to return and continue my duties." He hesitated, lowering his voice. "If… if I could at least trouble you for a set of clothes to wear, I'd be grateful. I apologize for the inconvenience."
Cael stopped mid-step, slowly turning back then his gaze dropped to Soren's exposed nape that looks soft, pale and vulnerable before he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and let out a muted sigh.
"Fine," he said. "I don't really care. I'll have my servant bring you clothes. Just wait a bit."
"Thank you, Your Highness," Soren replied quietly.
While Soren was preparing to return to his duties, the noble healers had already run into trouble.
"What? You can't heal me? What is the meaning of this?" a knight snapped, his voice echoing sharply across the tent.
His torso was bare, revealing an ugly, frost-bitten wound clawed into his side as the mark of a Cryomaw Bear. The beast was notorious for its brutal melee attacks and freezing claws, a creature no ordinary knight could face without consequence.