They reached the final steps.

Valir extended his hand toward the door.

"Come."

And he opened it.

The heavy wooden door of the Cathedral opened with a low, deep sound. Cool air wrapped around them at once. Lyra crossed the threshold, and for a moment, her steps slowed.

The Cathedral's interior opened before them, imposing and quiet. Tall stone columns rose toward the ceiling like the trunks of ancient trees, while narrow aisles opened between them, leading toward the center of the nave.

Light poured in through the enormous stained-glass windows in strips of color.

The colored light spread across the polished marble tiles, painting them in shades of blue and gold. Tiny particles of dust drifted in the air, moving slowly through the light.

Each step echoed softly through the space. In here, there was a deep, almost sacred silence. An elderly woman lit a candle in a stone alcove near the wall. The small flame flickered for a moment before steadying, casting golden light over the stone figures around her.

Lyra lifted her gaze toward the high windows. The angels painted in the glass looked almost alive within the light. Their wings stretched over the city depicted lower in the glass, as if protecting it.

"It's... beautiful," she whispered.

For a moment, she stood still, as if trying to absorb the sight.

Her voice almost vanished inside the vast space.

Valir stood beside her. His gaze also rose to the stained glass.

"They are the Angels of the Wind," he said calmly. "That is what they call them."

Lyra turned slightly toward him. Valir continued looking at the windows and spoke in a low voice, careful not to disturb the quiet of the cathedral.

"They say that before the city was built, the northern winds ravaged this land and left nothing standing. The first king climbed this hill and prayed for his people to be saved, even if the price was his own life. An angel heard his prayer and granted him the blessing to tame the wind. That was how the first Lord of the Northern Wind was born. That is why the angels are still considered the protectors of the city."

Lyra looked up again.

"It's a wonderful story," she replied, following his steps.

The angelic figures seemed almost to move within the light.

Then Valir gave a small nod toward the side.

"This way."

They did not head toward the central altar. Instead, they followed a side aisle that passed beside the columns.

As they moved away from the center of the Cathedral, the light became softer. The sounds faded even more. At the end of the corridor stood a smaller arch. Beneath it was a simple wooden door, far humbler than the great gates of the Cathedral.

From behind it came low voices.

A woman was giving instructions.

"You'll change the bandage later at noon," she was saying. "And keep the leg raised as much as you can."

The door opened.

Alina appeared in the doorway, speaking to a young healer who was holding an earthenware bowl full of herbs. The scent drifted out with her into the corridor. Fresh leaves, clean cloth, and that distinctive smell of places where wounds were treated, and the injured were cared for.

It reminded Lyra of the hospital where she used to work.

The young healer nodded.

"Yes."

Then Alina lifted her gaze, and when she saw them, her face brightened immediately.

"Ah, you're here."

Lyra smiled.

"How is he?"

Alina loosely crossed her arms in front of her.

"Better than I feared."

Her gaze passed over Lyra for a moment, assessing her, as if remembering the previous day.

"The pressure you applied to the wound helped a lot."

Lyra felt a flicker of awkwardness.

"I'm glad."

Alina stepped aside, clearing the way inside. Behind the door was a narrow corridor with several small rooms. A few doors were open, and low voices could be heard from within.

"He woke a little while ago," Alina said. "And he's already complaining."

Valir smiled faintly.

"Then he will probably be fine."

Alina nodded.

"He's inside."

Lyra looked toward the corridor. Valir cast her a glance before they entered.

"Ready?"

Lyra took a small breath.

"Yes."

The corridor behind the door was narrower and quieter than the grand space of the Cathedral. The stone walls kept the light low and gentle. Here, small windows near the ceiling allowed white rays of sunlight to slip softly into the hallway.

The air smelled of herbs. She could make out sage and lavender. And something sharper, more bitter, familiar to Lyra.

The smell of places where wounds were cleaned and the injured were treated.

Clean alcohol.

From one room came a quiet conversation. From another, the soft sound of water dripping into a basin. Alina walked ahead of them with sure steps and stopped in front of one of the doors.

"Here."

She pushed the door open gently.

The room was small, but morning light entered through a narrow window and filled the space with a warm glow. A simple wooden bed stood beside the wall, and Karl was lying on it.

The young knight turned his head as soon as he saw them.

"Grand Master!" he called, trying to sit up at once.

"Don't move."

Alina's voice was calm but firm.

The young man froze halfway through the movement and fell back onto the pillow with a small grimace.

"It's not that serious."

"It will become serious if the wound opens."

The young man sighed.

Then his eyes fell on Lyra, and he lifted himself a little more.

"You!"

Lyra smiled.

"Good morning."

"You stopped the bleeding."

Lyra lifted her shoulders slightly.

"I just helped."

"Just helped?" he said, with a small touch of theatrical outrage. "My brother Roland almost fainted when he saw the blood."

Alina smiled discreetly.

Lyra approached the bed and bent slightly to look at his leg. The bandage was clean and tightly wrapped. The cloth had already absorbed most of the earlier bleeding.

Her gaze moved carefully over the dressing, as if she were assessing the condition without thinking.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"A little."

Lyra nodded.

"That's good."

Karl looked at her in confusion.

"Good?"

Lyra smiled faintly.

"It means your leg remembers it's alive."

The young man laughed. The sound echoed softly in the small room.

"I hadn't thought of it that way."

Valir stood near the door. He had not spoken. His hands rested calmly on his chest, and his gaze followed the scene with that familiar, quiet attention.

Watching.

The way Lyra approached the injured man. The way she checked the bandage. The way she spoke to the young knight to calm him.

She was not simply someone who had "seen things on the road."

She was someone who had done this many times.

That much was certain.

Lyra straightened again.

"In a few days, you'll be back in training," she said.

The young man smiled broadly.

"That's what I wanted to hear."

Valir spoke then for the first time.

"Alina."

The healer turned toward him.

"Yes?"

"How long will he remain here?"

Alina glanced at the young man's leg.

"Two or three days, just to be safe."

Karl grimaced.

"Three?"

Lyra laughed quietly.

"Trust me. It'll pass quickly."

The young man looked at her with gratitude.

"Thank you for everything," he said.

Lyra smiled.

"I'm glad I could help."

When she turned toward the door, she felt Valir's gaze on her.

Steady. Observant.

He said nothing.

And yet, for a moment, it seemed to her that his silence held more questions than words ever could.

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Thank you for reading "Rookie of the Wind".