Chapter 101 — Those Who Stayed

  They returned to the guild near late noon.

  Reports were delivered with practiced efficiency—Aldric concise, Garrick precise. Casualties were counted. Names were checked twice.

  No deaths.

  Injuries, yes. Broken bones. Deep cuts. Exhaustion that sank deep into the marrow.

  But nothing beyond recovery.

  The guild hall exhaled as one.

  Celebration was announced for the night.

  The injured were escorted to the clinic, cots filling quickly. Salves were applied. Bandages layered. The sharp scent of antiseptic replaced blood.

  “I can help,” Ivaline said simply.

  Dr. Suniel looked up from stitching a bloodied forearm.

  He said nothing.

  He studied her.

  Ivaline met his gaze without flinching.

  A moment passed.

  Then both nodded.

  “Wash your hands. Clean wounds only. No deep cuts. No bone. No heroics,” he said flatly. “If you’re unsure, call me.”

  “I understand.”

  “Hmph.”

  That was permission.

  Ivaline moved through the clinic with quiet efficiency—cleaning wounds, replacing dressings, rewrapping bandages.

  [First Aid – Lesser] was no miracle. It did not mend fractures or seal torn flesh whole.

  But it stabilized.

  It eased.

  It bought time.

  That was enough.

  The door burst open.

  Seraphine staggered in dramatically, one hand pressed to her side.

  “I’m injured too,” she declared. “Emotionally.”

  Dr. Suniel did not look up.

  “Out.”

  “But I almost died!”

  “You overextended your mana.”

  “I fell in love!”

  He finally turned.

  “…Out.”

  Nyssa grabbed Seraphine by the collar before the doctor could grab something heavier.

  “Yes, yes, tragic, very moving,” Nyssa said, dragging her away. “Come before he throws a scalpel.”

  “I’LL BE WAITING FOR YOU, IVALINE!” Seraphine shouted down the hall. “AS LONG AS IT TAKES!”

  “OUT!” Dr. Suniel roared.

  The door slammed.

  Ivaline blinked once.

  Then returned to her work.

  Questions on the Way Home

  When the clinic finally quieted, Ivaline left.

  Not to rest.

  But to let people know she was alive.

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  The bakery came first.

  Edwyn froze mid-knead when he saw her, flour dusting his beard.

  “…You’re late.”

  “Yes,” Ivaline said. “There was a goblin nest.”

  Silence.

  Then he reached behind the counter and placed a wrapped sandwich into her hands.

  Larger than usual.

  “Sit,” he said gruffly. “Eat. Then talk.”

  She did.

  She explained calmly. Honestly. The fight. The injuries. The confession.

  When she finished, he stared at the wall for a long moment.

  “…Marriage?”

  “Yes,” Ivaline nodded. “What does that mean?”

  He coughed. Hard.

  “…That’s when two adults decide to share their lives,” he said carefully. “Not now. Much later.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Then she said it very early.”

  “That she did.”

  He frowned, then added quietly,

  “But… did she said she’d wait?”

  “Yes.”

  “…Hmph.”

  He turned back to the oven.

  “She better.”

  Tomas’ Bakery

  Tomas cried rivers.

  He rushed over, checked Ivaline from head to toe, then brewed tea and brought out cookies.

  “Tell me everything,” he demanded.

  She did.

  “MARRIAGE?!”

  Crash.

  Tomas fell backward off his stool, staring at the ceiling.

  “You’re barely nine!”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s too early. You don’t need to answer anything.”

  “She said she would wait.”

  He exhaled in relief, muttering under his breath.

  “That’s… good.”

  Ivaline finished her tea.

  Left him muttering.

  The Dye Shop

  Corvix listened in silence, arms crossed.

  An elf.

  He noticed immediately.

  “…Long-lived,” he muttered.

  “Yes,” Ivaline said. “She said time is not a problem.”

  Corvix exhaled slowly.

  “…Then she’s serious.”

  He studied her—her posture, her eyes, the way she spoke without flinching.

  “But you don’t owe anyone an answer,” he said firmly. “Not now. Not ever.”

  “I know.”

  “…Good.”

  A pause.

  “…Still. An elf with taste. Figures.”

  Seems like Corvix saw her in a good light because she knew Ivaline value.

  The Guard Station

  Brannic listened without interruption.

  When she finished, he nodded once.

  “…Someone saw you clearly.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s rare.”

  A pause.

  “…Doesn’t mean you have to decide anything.”

  “I won’t.”

  “…Good.”

  He glanced west, toward the road Ray once took.

  “…People like you don’t walk simple paths.”

  He saw Ivaline left and turn to whisper with his guard friends in secret.

  The Butcher

  Edric burst into laughter so loud it startled customers.

  “YOU?! Proposed to?!”

  “Yes.”

  “By a woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “An elf?”

  “Yes.”

  He wiped his eyes, then sobered.

  “…Did she say she’d wait?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded once.

  “Then that ain’t foolishness.”

  He handed her a wrapped bundle.

  “Extra protein.”

  “I am not growing.”

  He snorted. “That’s what they all say.”

  The Smith

  “I’m sorry.”

  “…HA?!”

  Harlund stared at the snapped steel sword.

  He inspected it carefully.

  “This break,” he said slowly, “came from protecting someone.”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded.

  “Then it served its purpose.”

  A pause.

  “…Anything else?”

  “I was proposed to.”

  “…HAAAAAA?!”

  Ivaline goes through with it again.

  The Celebration

  By nightfall, lanterns filled the guild hall.

  Nothing extravagant.

  Hot food. Cheap ale. Sweet cider.

  Laughter born of survival.

  Ivaline arrived late—not from hesitation, but because Dr. Suniel had chased her out after confirming everyone was treated.

  When she entered, conversations paused.

  Recognition.

  Then warmth.

  The Guild Master raised his cup.

  “To the success of the subjugation.”

  Cups rose.

  “And to the youngest among us,” he added calmly,

  “who held the line when it mattered.”

  The cheer was louder.

  Ivaline bowed.

  Just a little.

  Words That Stayed

  Hennel stood so fast his chair fell over.

  “…I’m sorry,” he said seriously. “last time If you hadn’t—”

  “You learned,” Ivaline said. “That is enough.”

  Ayra nodded vigorously.

  “It felt like nothing could pass you.”

  Ivaline looked away, warmth spreading across her face.

  ‘Chronicle, what is this feeling?’

  ‘Pride,’ Chronicle replied.

  ‘…Pride?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She smiled.

  Garrick watched from a distance.

  When she passed him, he said quietly,

  “Well held.”

  That was all.

  It meant everything.

  Four Bastion’s Table

  Aldric raised his cup.

  “You saved one of my party.”

  Seraphine slammed the table.

  “SHE SAVED ME.”

  Nyssa covered her mouth.

  “Tactically,” Nyssa said. “Very tactically.”

  Seraphine bit her hand.

  “Nyouch!?”

  “IVALINE! MARR---”

  She didn’t finish that.

  Bram and Nyssa shut her first.

  Aldric smiled faintly.

  “If you ever seek a party,” he told Ivaline, “You will have a place to ask.”

  “I will remember.”

  Seraphine looked like she’d just been promised the world.

  Bram put her in a sack, tie tightly by Nyssa later.

  Quiet Gifts

  Someone pressed a plate into Ivaline’s hands—she didn’t see who.

  Roasted meat. Warm bread. Soup thick enough to cling to the spoon.

  Edric waved from across the hall.

  “Eat. You earned it.”

  Edwyn and Tomas sent a small wrapped dessert—honeyed, soft.

  Corvix didn’t come himself. Instead, one of his workers delivered a neatly folded cloth bundle.

  Inside: fresh bandages.

  Better quality than the guild.

  No note.

  She understood.

  Nightfall

  By the time she reached home, the sky was dark and full of stars.

  “They celebrated,” Ivaline said.

  “Yes.”

  “…I didn’t do it alone.”

  “No,” Chronicle replied. “But you stood.”

  “…I was afraid.”

  “And acted anyway.”

  She nodded.

  “Marriage means deciding to share a life,” Ivaline said. “But not now.”

  “Correct.”

  “She said she would wait.”

  “Yes.”

  “…Is that strange?”

  “No,” Chronicle said. “That is resolve.”

  Ivaline nodded.

  “When I’m certain about marriage,” she said softly, “I’ll answer.”

  “Not now?”

  “Not now. Later.”

  Somewhere in the guild, an elf mage was still being physically restrained from writing poetry to sung for a child she proposed to. One that she would regret in a century.