CHAPTER 173: LEGENDS

The air carried the mingled scents of iron, sweat, and poultices, a heavy blanket over the groans of the injured.

Teachers who knew a little healing magic moved constantly between patients, their hands glowing faintly as they dulled pain, reset bones, and forced shattered flesh to knit.

But magic only stretched so far. Bandages, splints, and patience had become the true tools of survival.

When Jae was lowered onto an empty cot near the far wall, the hush around him deepened. Elise was already there, sleeves rolled to the elbow, her hair sticking to her forehead with sweat and soot.

She pressed her hand against his chest, searching for his pulse. Her expression tightened, lips pressed together, before a shiver of relief passed through her when she found it. "Still here," she whispered, not to anyone in particular, perhaps not even to herself.

Yuna leaned forward at once, her eyes still red from both wind and tears. She brushed soot and ash from Jae’s cheek with the edge of her sleeve, as though that tiny act of care could undo the ruin carved into his skin. "He looks... he looks so pale," she said, her voice trembling. "But he’s breathing. That’s all that matters."

The next to arrive was Mrs. Lira. Her arms were stacked with rolls of clean bandages, the edges fraying where they had been torn apart to meet the growing demand. She was no healer in the magical sense, but she had patched more reckless students in her years of teaching than she cared to count.

Her hands moved briskly, her eyes sharp, but when they settled on Jae she slowed. She looked down at him, shaking her head.

"Fool boy," she muttered. The words carried no malice. Her fingers were careful as she set her supplies down beside the cot and reached for his arm.

She worked quickly but with a gentleness that stood at odds with her tone, binding the glowing cracks as though bandages could somehow keep his fire from spilling out into the world again.

A little farther back, Tirel stood with his arms folded tight across his chest. He wasn’t the type to hover, but he didn’t leave the wall. His eyes never strayed from Jae’s form.

When he finally spoke, it was in a low voice, as though saying the words too loud might tip the fragile balance that held Jae alive. "He doesn’t look like he should be breathing."

"He is," Elise answered firmly, though the sharp edge in her voice was only there to cover the tremor underneath. "That’s enough for now."

Byun stepped forward next, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the cot. Unlike the others, his worry didn’t show in restless movements or quick words.

He said nothing at first, simply lowered himself into the chair beside the bed. His hand settled against the cot’s wooden frame, anchoring himself there as if the contact might somehow keep Jae tethered to the world.

His gaze never left Jae’s face. The golden cracks across Jae’s skin reflected faintly in his eyes, a reminder that they had all witnessed something they weren’t ready to understand.

Finally, Byun spoke, his voice steady and deep. "He’s not alone," he said. "I’ll make sure of that."

No one argued. It was the kind of promise that needed no reply.

xxxx

The hours stretched, heavy and slow, until time itself seemed to sag beneath the weight of waiting. Jae’s breathing was shallow but steady, each rise and fall of his chest a fragile rhythm that the others clung to.

His body was wrapped in clean bandages, the golden cracks still visible beneath, dimming and brightening in irregular pulses. Sometimes they looked like veins of molten ore cooling in stone.

Other times, when the light caught them just right, they seemed less like wounds and more like chains, binding something vast and unseen inside him.

Mrs. Lira checked on him at intervals, moving with the brisk efficiency of habit, but her mutters betrayed the truth. She complained of fever, of exhaustion, of how his pulse spiked and slowed without pattern.

But when pressed, she always circled back to the same conclusion: the boy was alive through something more stubborn than medicine. "He’s too damn hardheaded to die," she grumbled more than once, though her hands lingered on his wrist a moment longer than necessary before she turned away.

Elise stayed close, taking on the quiet tasks no one else had the patience for. She wiped sweat from his forehead with a cool cloth, straightened his bandages, whispered words he was too far gone to hear.

Yuna, after fighting the pull of exhaustion for hours, finally took to dozing in a chair at his side. Even in sleep she leaned forward, one hand resting lightly on the edge of his cot as though afraid he would slip away the moment she let go.

Tirel came and went in restless cycles, too tightly wound to sit still, yet always finding himself back in the same corner of the infirmary.

Byun remained planted, a quiet sentinel, his eyes seldom blinking, his presence as steady as the cot frame he gripped.

The infirmary itself had transformed into something closer to a battlefield tent. Students groaned in pain, healers whispered spells until their throats grew raw, and the smell of blood clung stubbornly to the air.

Lantern light painted the walls in uneven shadows, flickering over faces drawn with fatigue. To many, Jae’s bed became a center of gravity.

They looked when they passed. Some muttered blessings, others kept their distance. Whatever else he was, his survival had become a symbol.

Word spread quickly through the academy. At first, it was simple: Jae had defeated a monster that could have leveled the entire city. Then the tales grew, each retelling reshaping the truth.

Some whispered that he had cut the Shadow General down with a single strike, flame roaring like the breath of a dragon. Others claimed the golden cracks on his body were not wounds at all, but proof that something had entered him, something ancient and dangerous.

More superstitious voices went further, warning that the cracks would spread until the boy burst apart, taking the rest of them with him.

The stories twisted with every hour, fed by fear and awe in equal measure. In the crowded halls, frightened voices passed them along, the truth slipping further away with each exchange.

But none of that noise reached Jae. For him, there was only the fever-dream of recovery.