5. Kael

5

KAEL

I rix and Thalos leave, their heavy footfalls fading into the distance. I carry the girl to the makeshift bed in the corner of our lair, her body limp and fragile in my arms. She feels so light, like a bird with broken wings.

I kneel beside her, my hands moving with the practiced ease of a healer. Blood stains her skin, marring the pale canvas with dark, crimson streaks. Her breath comes in shallow gasps, each one a battle for survival. She's on the edge but not beyond saving.

"Hold on," I murmur, though she can't hear me. She’s so fragile, and Irix handled her so roughly. He should have carried her instead.

Her wounds tell a story of brutality and suffering—marks left by cruelty. I cleanse each cut and bruise with gentle precision, applying salves and herbs to stem the bleeding and dull the pain.

As I work, her eyelids flutter. Our gazes lock, her green eyes wide with fear.

"Don't worry," I say softly. "I'm healing you."

She tries to push herself up but fails, her strength all but spent. "Why...?" Her voice is barely a whisper.

"Because a life is a life," I reply, my tone steady and calm. "Do you not want to survive? Do you not want to live?"

Her eyes flicker with confusion and defiance. She tries to speak again but only manages a pained moan.

"You need to rest," I insist. "If you behave, my brothers might let you live. You must understand that you're in no condition to fight or run. My brothers doesn’t want trouble, especially from you, so be a good human.”

She stares at me, her eyes swimming with exhaustion and doubt.

"I know you're scared," I continue, my voice as soothing as I can make it. "But you're safe here—for now. Trust me; I'm a healer."

I press a damp cloth to Laia's forehead, wiping away the dirt and blood. Her skin is soft beneath the grime, a stark contrast to the roughness of my own fur-covered hands. My brow furrows in concentration as I tend to her wounds, my touch as gentle as I can make it. Where my brothers see a potential threat or an object for fun, I see a life worth preserving, especially with one who has such a fire for life.

Humans were nothing in Protheka, and I never bothered with them. But I can’t look away when one dropped half-dead in front of me. Even if I’m a minotaur and I kill for a living, I still distinguish between the innocents and my foes.

Her eyes flutter closed again, her body too weak to stay awake. She needs rest more than anything else right now. I let out a slow breath, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in my mind.

Her small frame seems so delicate, so breakable. It's strange to think that such fragility can house such defiance. I can't help but feel a twinge of curiosity about her—about what she's endured and how she managed to escape.

But I pull back from these thoughts. It's not my place to pry into her past or her pain. My role is to heal, not to judge or question.

I focus on the task at hand, methodically cleaning each wound and applying healing oils. The smell of herbs fills the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood. Her breathing steadies as she slips into unconsciousness once more.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” Thalos growls from behind me, his voice a low rumble of disapproval. I didn’t notice his approach. He moves silently like a predator in the night. “She’s not our concern.”

I don’t look up, my focus entirely on the woman before me. Her skin is pale, almost translucent in the dim light of afforded by the torch. “If she dies, it will be on me. Besides,” I add, my voice calm but firm, “she’s no threat in this state.”

“She’s a human,” Thalos snaps, his frustration evident.

“Exactly,” I say, pressing a cloth to a particularly deep gash on her arm as gently as my strength will allow me. “I know what they’re capable of and they can’t hurt us. Right now, she’s just a wounded girl who needs help.”

Thalos crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing. “We can’t afford to take risks. You’re thinking with your heart, not your head.”

Thalos continued, “What we do is survive. That’s all that matters.”

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my emotions in check. “Life is life,” I insisted.

Irix steps into the room, his eyes flicking between us. “What’s going on?”

“Kael wants to save the girl,” Thalos growls.

“And you don’t?" Irix asks, tilting his head curiously.

“No,” Thalos replies flatly.

“We had an agreement,” Irix says with a shrug, “I think she might be interesting.” He grins at me. “But if she becomes a problem, it’s on you, Kael.”

Thalos shakes his head in frustration but doesn’t argue further. The majority wins.

I return my attention to Laia, feeling my brothers’ gazes on me but refusing to back down. She stirs slightly, her eyes fluttering open for a moment before closing again.

“You’re safe now,” I whisper more to myself than her.

I feel her pulse—weak but steady—and a flicker of relief passes through me. She's holding on, against all odds.

Thalos watches in silence, his arms crossed, his gaze hard. “Don’t get attached,” he warns. “She’s not one of us. She’s here for a reason.”

I don't respond immediately, focusing instead on the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. The forest's silence presses in around us, broken only by the faint sounds of my brothers moving about the lair.

Thalos continues, his voice low and insistent, “Humans are cattle. Slaves.”

I press a fresh cloth to Laia's forehead again, her skin cool and clammy beneath my fingers. “I am aware, brother.” I say, my tone neutral.

“Aware? So why do you insist on having her here? You and Irix always need to have your way.” Thalos’s voice rises slightly, incredulous. “What will this girl ever offer us? I don’t get why you and Irix want her around.”

"I think she deserves a chance," I say simply. “And majority wins, brother.”

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