Blind Box World - SSS-Rank Eye of Truth

Chapter 37: The Torn Dragon Wing

When Ethan came to, the first thing he felt was cold.

Not the cold of the Void Flame, nor the chill that had seeped into his soul during the nightmare of the eye. Just the damp cold of stone. His back rested against a hard, rough surface. The air carried the smell of wet earth, blood, and burnt ash.

This place was deeper than the cave from before. The stone ceiling was low, the walls covered in gray moss. A few crystals lodged in cracks in the rock gave off a faint glow, reluctantly pushing back part of the darkness.

Beside him, Mira was kneeling on the ground.

Her face was pale, almost drained of blood, her hair plastered to her forehead. Her hands still rested near Ethan’s shoulder and injured hand, the healing light flickering on and off, weak as a candle about to die out.

When she saw Ethan open his eyes, she froze. Then her eyes lit up.

"Ethan! You’re awake."

Her voice was hoarse with exhaustion, but she couldn’t hide her joy. She turned toward the mouth of the cave and called out, "Laira! He’s awake."

A figure immediately appeared in Ethan’s line of sight.

Laira stepped over. Very fast. But when she was a few steps away, she suddenly slowed, her gait becoming strangely cautious.

She knelt down beside him, keeping just enough distance, her upper body leaning slightly forward.

"It’s good that you’re awake." Her voice was calm, even carrying that familiar hint of a smile. "I told you. A little wound like this couldn’t kill you."

Ethan looked at her.

His head was still hazy from blood loss, but something wasn’t right. Laira was smiling, talking like she always did, but she was sitting in the wrong posture. She always sat upright, proud, her wings folded high behind her back like a conqueror’s cloak.

Right now, she was hunched slightly, her shoulders slumped, as if trying to hide something behind her.

"I’m alive." Ethan said hoarsely, not yet asking directly about his suspicion.

"Alive." Laira nodded. "Mira is better than I thought. Your hand was saved."

Mira, sitting beside them, lowered her head and said nothing. She wasn’t looking at Laira. Nor at Ethan.

It was that very silence that made Ethan more alert.

He drew in a breath, and at the same moment, a thick smell of blood rushed straight into his nostrils.

Not his own blood. This smell was too close. Too warm.

Ethan’s gaze slowly dropped to Laira’s body.

Her white dress was stained red in large patches. The black and red patterns on the fabric were nearly buried under the blood. There was a long tear along one side of her waist. On her arm were several deep cuts, and though they had been sealed by red flame, blood still seeped out bit by bit.

Ethan tried to sit up straight.

His body immediately resisted. Pain exploded in his chest and shoulder, nearly making him collapse again.

Laira quickly reached out to steady him. "Don’t move."

But that motion made her lose her timing. In the moment she leaned forward, the thing hidden behind her back came out from its cover.

Ethan saw it.

He went rigid.

"Stand up." His voice was so hoarse it nearly cracked. "Let me see."

The smile on Laira’s face stiffened for an instant.

"There’s no need. They’re just some skin-deep wounds." She was still smiling, but this time the smile was somewhat forced. "You’re the one who needs to worry. Lie still."

Ethan didn’t take his eyes off her. His gaze was very weak, but so stubborn that Laira couldn’t look straight at it.

"Laira." He said each word. "Stand up."

She was silent for a long while.

At last, she gently set him back against the stone wall, then slowly stood up and stepped back a few paces, turning fully around so he could see clearly.

The faint crystal light fell over her.

And Ethan saw everything.

Her white dress was torn in many places, the blood dried to a dark red. On her left shoulder was a very deep claw wound. On her belly was the mark of something that had pierced through the thin layer of protective scales. But none of those wounds compared to the thing behind her back.

One of Laira’s dragon wings had been torn apart.

The dark red wing membrane, once vast and full of pride, was now shredded into many pieces. A long tear ran from the middle of the wing all the way down to the lower edge, as if something had hooked into it and yanked it backward. The wing’s bone frame was exposed in several spots. The wing could no longer be folded, only left to droop to one side, dragging along the stone floor.

Blood ran down the bone frame, dripping to the ground drop by drop.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The sound was very faint. But in Ethan’s ears, each drop was heavy as a hammer blow.

Those wings, he had once seen them spread wide enough to cover the whole sky. Had seen them sweep along red flame, turning the air into warped waves of heat. Had seen them wrap around him within that locked-down space, shielding him from the Bone-Winged Dragon’s fireball.

Now, half of them was gone.

Ethan opened his mouth, but couldn’t utter a word.

Laira saw his expression change. She immediately stepped closer, knelt down, and once again turned her body so the broken wing was hidden from his view, as if simply keeping him from seeing it would make the wound cease to exist.

"Master." She said. "Don’t dwell on it."

Ethan stopped short.

Master.

She only called him that when she was truly afraid.

"Once I level up, these wounds will heal." Laira kept her voice soft, nonchalant. "I’m a Crimson Dragon. Skin-deep wounds like these, I don’t even feel the pain."

The words were very calm.

But the hand resting on her knee was clenched tight, her knuckles white. And Ethan saw, under the dim crystal light, that the corners of her eyes had gone red.

She was forcing herself.

Forcing herself so he wouldn’t have to worry. Forcing herself as if one of a dragon’s wings being ripped apart was some trivial little thing. She lied so clumsily that the lie itself was the thing that hurt Ethan’s chest the most.

He slowly reached his right hand toward her.

The motion was very slow, very weak. The fingers Mira had just reattached hadn’t healed, and even one small movement made the white bandages soak red.

"Ethan, your hand..." Mira spoke up quickly.

Ethan didn’t stop.

Seeing his hand reach out, Laira immediately lowered her head to catch it, as if afraid of missing even a fraction of his wishes. She turned her face and pressed her cheek into his palm.

That hand was ice-cold from blood loss. The back of it was covered in fresh scars, rough and misshapen, from where Mira had forced the skin closed to preserve its function.

But Laira closed her eyes and pressed her face against it, as if it were the gentlest thing in the world.

Ethan looked at her for a long time.

Then he asked hoarsely, very softly:

"It hurts a lot, doesn’t it?"

Laira didn’t answer right away.

Her eyelids trembled.

And the smile she had been holding on to all this time finally broke.

She bent forward, resting her forehead against his chest, careful to the point of not daring to press on any of his wounds. But her shoulders shook violently. The broken wing behind her flinched instinctively, immediately oozing another trickle of blood.

Laira bit down hard on her lip.

But a sob still escaped. Very faint. Very choked. Like someone who had held themselves together far too long, finally unable to keep pretending.

"As long as you’re safe, that’s enough." Her voice broke apart. "I said I would protect you. But you still got shot. Still ended up hurt like this. I was locked in place. I watched you stand blocking in front of me, watched you strike his shield with your bare hands, watched the bullet lodge into your body, and I couldn’t do a thing."

She drew in a trembling breath.

"I was so afraid."

Ethan closed his eyes.

He had never thought there would be a day he’d hear Laira say those words.

She was always strong. Always free-spirited. Always as if just standing before him, the whole world wasn’t worth a glance from her.

But right now, she was trembling. Crying.

Not because one of her wings was gone.

But because she had nearly lost him.

"It’s not your fault." Ethan said.

Laira shook her head very slightly, her forehead still resting against his chest. "I knew you would say that."

"Then believe me."

She didn’t answer. A hot tear fell onto his clothes.

Ethan watched that drop soak into the fabric already dark with blood, and in his eyes, a cold color slowly rose.

His anger didn’t erupt. It settled. The more it settled, the colder, the deeper it grew.

One image after another drifted past behind his eyelids. The Temporary Link Lock clamping Laira in place. His fist shattering against Victor’s energy shield. The silver bullet tearing through his shoulder. And one dragon wing, the thing that had once sheltered him, now drooping to the stone floor, dripping blood drop by drop.

"Laira." He called.

She lifted her head. Her red-orange eyes were still wet.

Ethan looked straight into her eyes and said very slowly, very clearly:

"I will make them pay."

Mira, sitting beside them, trembled slightly.

She knew who Ethan meant. Victor Hale. Nolan Greaves. Two people who had returned to the real world. Two people with an entire clan standing behind them. Two people who would surely never let the truth come out easily.

But hearing those words, Mira didn’t feel this was anger of the moment.

He wasn’t flying into a rage.

He was recording a debt. A blood debt.

Laira looked at him for a long time. Then she took his ice-cold hand in both of hers, pressed it to her cheek once more, so lightly it was almost trembling, as if afraid that with just a little more force, that hand would shatter again.

"I will go with you." She said.

"Mm."

"But before that..." She closed her eyes. "You have to live."

Ethan was silent for a few seconds.

Then he nodded faintly.

"I’ll live."

Mira drew in a deep breath, forced the emotion inside her back down, then took the last nutrient pack out of her backpack. She managed to squeeze out a smile on her pale face.

"Then first, the one who wants revenge should eat something. This is all I have left. Once you’ve eaten, you can keep on hating them."

Laira supported the back of Ethan’s neck. He swallowed bit by bit. The nutrient paste was cold and slightly fishy, but as it went down his throat, his body gained a little more strength. Not much. But enough to keep his eyes open a while longer.

Outside, the gray wind shrieked through the crack in the rock again. From far off echoed a low roar.

Laira immediately raised her head. Despite her serious wounds, her eyes turned cold in the blink of an eye.

"There’s a monster." Ethan said. Not a question.

"Still far off. Not here yet."

Ethan looked at the drooping wing at her side, the one that could no longer be folded.

"You rest."

"There’s no need." Laira answered almost by reflex.

"I said rest."

She stopped short. Mira raised her head too. The air in the cave went still for a few seconds.

At last Laira pressed her lips together and turned her face slightly to the side. "I’m not that weak."

"I know." Ethan paused a moment. "But I’ll worry."

The words of protest that had risen to Laira’s lips all dissolved.

She lowered her head and looked at him for a long time. Then she slowly sat down beside him, pressed close against him, trying to draw the broken wing as near to her body as she could. She furrowed her brow at the pain, but said nothing.

Ethan saw. This time he said nothing more. He only reached his bandage-wrapped right hand toward her.

Laira immediately took it. Very lightly. Warily. As if afraid that with just a little more force, that hand would shatter again.

Mira continued to let the healing light envelop Ethan’s shoulder.

In the dark cave, none of the three spoke another word. There was only the sound of weak breathing, the sound of a small fire smoldering, and the sound of blood dripping from the dragon wing onto the stone floor.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Ethan closed his eyes.

But this time, he didn’t sink into despair. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he saw only two names.

Nolan Greaves.

Victor Hale.

One day, he would return.

And on that day, those who had made Laira cry would understand that there are some debts no lie can ever wash clean.