“How are you feeling?” Serran asked, even as he worked to check on Velis’en’s wound. 

It was still very early in the morning when Velis’en woke up. The healing cabin was vacant, save from the two of them, and Serran was glad he could give his undivided attention to tend to Velis’en.

There was still a slight lingering damage on Velis’en brain tissue that Serran had overlooked before. It was not deep enough to interfere with his connection to the Dreamvoid, but Serran couldn’t leave it untreated like that. Lingering damage could mean an untreated affliction, and Serran didn’t want Velis’en to leave with permanent disability, whatever it might be.

In worst cases of Grounding, Dreamers would develop many afflictions. Disconnection from the Dreamvoid was one major thing, but memory issues and epilepsy could be dangerous too. Serran made a mental note to monitor Velis’en condition for the upcoming weeks.

“Less like death”, Velis’en replied, his voice raspy as it had been unused for so long. He also sounded very weak, but he inclined his head slightly. “Thank you, for all you’ve done. I am indebted to you.”

Serran smiled. So Velis’en remembered what he said the first time they met in the Dreamvoid.

“I will fetch you food and drink. Do you have any dietary restrictions?” he asked. Considering that many of his Tribesfolk had food or drink they couldn’t eat, such as certain beans that would constrict one’s breathing or certain meat that would cause rashes, it was only reasonable for Serran to ask it from his patient.

Velis’en was quiet for a bit, mulling over the question, before finally answering, “No caffeine, please.”

Serran understood immediately — Dreamers often found enemies in caffeine, as it would interfere with their ability to Dream. Serran himself couldn’t stomach coffee, and could only handle the lightest of teas. He nodded at Velis’en.

“Sure. Please rest up while I’m away.”

Serran ducked out of the healing cabin and headed toward the galley. It was not meal time, but there were still leftovers in the food preparation area. Some hunters milled about, looking exhausted and dirty after a long night’s hunt.

“Late breakfast?” Adri asked when his eyes caught sight of Serran.

“For my patient”, Serran replied.

“Oh? He’s finally awake? Took him how many days now?” Adri mused, before taking a sip of his fermented honeymilk.

“Fifteen days, though I doubt he’ll be back on his feet soon. That kind of injury takes time to heal”, Serran replied. He scooped light porridge into a bowl and added meat and beans soup, forgoing the hard spices. He knew they would likely upset Velis’en’s stomach.

“Only you, Serran”, Adri chuckled, shaking his head. “The guy’s at Death’s door and you dragged him back to the land of the living.”

“I try”, Serran said, giving Adri a bright smile.

When he returned to the healing cabin, Velis’en was leaning against the wall, his fingers idly scratching at a scar on his neck. Serran noticed that the scar slashed the Imperial numbers that were once branded onto his skin. His slave brand, Serran noted with a pang of pity. 

Since the Cleaved Suns War and the Fall of Alvamar Kingdom, the Solaris Imperium colonized what remained of the Alvon civilization and enslaved its people. Those who barely escaped were hunted down like animals. As a mage, Serran thought he was quite lucky to be born a Freeperson. He shuddered to think if he was born a slave to the Imperium, chained — or worse, Grounded.

The scarred skin didn’t seem that old, still looking somewhat raw even under the dim light of the healing cabin. Perhaps that was the purpose of the scar, to cover the slave brand. Serran heard rumors that the Imperium used some kind of method to keep the brand visible, no matter how scarred and damaged the skin was. It was repulsive.

“Food’s here”, Serran called. Velis’en jolted in surprise and his hand immediately went to cover the scar on his neck. Serran tried not to pay attention to the way he looked ashamed, like Serran was not supposed to see the scar and the brand. Serran continued as if he didn’t see Velis’en’s reaction, nor the shameful expression he displayed. “No caffeine as you asked. And no spices for now, healer’s order.”

Velis’en reluctantly removed his hand from his neck and accepted the bowl, sniffing it curiously, before slowly eating his food. His every motion was sluggish and stilted. Serran couldn’t blame him — he probably was not used to moving again after being unconscious for so long.

“Let me know if you need assistance”, Serran told Velis’en after the third time he dropped his spoon.

“I can manage”, Velis’en replied, before stubbornly picking up the spoon again.

Once Velis’en was done eating, Serran helped him to lean back against the wall, using several pillows as a support before placing his hand gently on his lap. Velis’en eyed him the entire time, but when their eyes met, he pointedly averted his eyes. His brows furrowed as if deep in annoyance, and Serran couldn’t quite understand why.

“Would you like me to set up a curtain around you? My Tribesfolk often comes and goes for whatever injury they have, especially now that we are anchored. Perhaps you’d like some privacy while you rest”, Serran offered.

“They’ve seen me while I was unconscious, no?” he asked.

“They have. But if it makes you uncomfortable—”

“Being here is uncomfortable enough”, Velis’en replied, his voice clipped. He turned his head away again, staring at the stars outside the window. “I’m sorry, may I take you up on the offer for the curtain? I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

Serran was surprised at his reaction.

Back in the Dreamvoid, Velis’en was more open, more carefree. Confident. Serran certainly wasn’t expecting him to be this cold and closed-off, though he could understand why. Serran couldn’t claim he understood the life of a lone Chainsbreaker, but it had to be difficult.

Serran inclined his head slightly.

“I’ll set up the curtain soon”, he said.

“Much appreciated”, Velis’en replied.