Felix walked out of his room after two days spent flat on his back, every part of him still aching in ways that made simple movement feel like negotiation. On his way back from the Death Forest to the guild house that first night, half-conscious on his feet, he’d run straight into Jackson. He couldn’t remember exactly what was said, some vague offering of sympathy he’d barely registered through the fog of pain, before Jackson steered him bodily back toward the house.
Jackson had returned quickly after with two healers pulled from the guild, though "healer" felt generous once they actually got to work. They cycled through scroll after scroll, forced down potions that tasted like something scraped off the bottom of a well, packed his arms and stomach with crushed herbs and leaves he’d never heard the names of in his life. The following day turned into pure agony, his skin burning like he’d been left out under direct sun for hours, every nerve screaming in protest.
Jackson had asked about Dune at some point, and all Felix managed was that she was safe, nothing more. When Jackson pushed further, asking exactly how this had happened, Felix simply couldn’t answer. Not out of shame exactly, though there was plenty of that too, but because Jackson knew the old version of him too well. The reckless one. The one who charged in headfirst and called it courage. Felix didn’t want him realizing he’d slipped back into that same shape, even for one afternoon. So he brushed it off as bad luck, an accident, nothing worth dwelling on, and refused to say anything more no matter how many times Jackson tried circling back to it.
By the next day he felt marginally better, though still barely capable of sitting upright without the room tilting sideways. He’d tried anyway, crawled out of bed against every ounce of good sense, and made it exactly as far as the top of the stairs before his legs gave out entirely. He fell the rest of the way down and blacked out near the bottom.
When he came back to consciousness, he was still lying exactly where he’d landed. He stayed there a long while, unmoving, staring up to the ceiling while the battle replayed itself behind his eyes.
Dune, getting hit, flying back, hitting the ground hard, and getting up again. Again. And again. No matter how many times he’d screamed at her to stop, to stay down, to run.
Jackson found him there eventually, hauled him back upstairs with an arm slung under his shoulder, offering some string of well-meaning advice the entire way that went in one ear and straight out the other before it ever had a chance to land.
Now, finally upright, hands and legs still wrapped tight in bandages, every step a slow negotiation with his own body, Felix made his way out the door.
He wanted to see her.
He had no idea what he’d actually say once he did, no words that felt like enough, nothing that came close to covering it. He wanted to see her regardless.
Felix had left not long after dawn, the sleepy town of Fillipo only waking up slowly around him, its merchants and store owners still closing up their shops as he went by. It did not take long for the road to leave the town behind and take him out into the countryside, vast expanses of green interspersed with rickety carts traveling in the other direction. He maintained a steady rhythm of walking, hands in his pockets, letting his thoughts wander elsewhere from time to time while the sun was moving ever higher above the horizon.
By noon the farmland started thinning out and the road became hilly, winding through some small hills before becoming flat again, as he saw the outer district of the capital come into sight, buildings growing denser as he continued walking forward. He managed to get past two checkpoints easily, the guards hardly giving him more than one glance, and continued walking through the heart of the district until the road opened up in front of him.
After two hours of continuous walking during broad daylight, Felix stopped in front of the imposing silver gate of the Duke’s palace, taking a moment to admire the sprawling gardens that could be seen behind it and the scale of the building itself, before addressing the guard standing there ramrod-straight and folding his arms behind his back.
"Hey. You. Mr. Gatekeeper."
The gatekeeper’s head turned toward him, brow lifting in open disdain. "Stupid beggar. Go ask somewhere else."
"I’m not a beggar." Felix shot back. "Just open the damn gate. I need to speak with Lady Diana. It’s important."
"You said what?" The gatekeeper stepped closer to the bars, planting himself firmly in front of the gate. "Do you have any idea who you’re even talking about right now?"
"Yes. I know exactly who I’m talking about."
"Then leave. The Duke’s orders were explicit. No visitors for Lady Diana. None."
"What— why not?"
The gatekeeper’s eyes narrowed further, sweeping over Felix’s plain, travel-worn clothes with obvious contempt. "You’re not even from the North Ward. Who are you supposed to be?"
"Felix. And you might not know this, but I’m good friends with both her and her personal knight, Hakimi Morrow."
The gatekeeper let out a short, unimpressed laugh, waving a dismissive hand. "Every third beggar that shows up says the exact same thing. You’re nothing special. Walk off. Lady Diana’s got no time to waste on a peasant like you."
Felix’s grip tightened around the bars, eyes hardening. "Then go ask her yourself. That’s all I’m asking. Is that really such a difficult sentence to understand?"
"And I already told you to walk away." The gatekeeper’s hand dropped to his sword, drawing it halfway free.
"Let him through."
The gatekeeper’s head snapped back at the voice, finding Hakimi already approaching down the path. "But, sir, Lady Diana isn’t permitted any outside visitors right now—"
"I know this man."
"But the Duke’s orders—" The rest of the sentence died the moment Hakimi’s gaze landed on him. He sheathed his sword without another word and unlatched the smaller side door built into the gate.
"See, told you." Felix shot the gatekeeper a smug look as he stepped through. Hakimi had already turned and started off toward the left without waiting, and Felix fell into step behind him, the smugness fading fast the second he registered the silence stretching between them.
The gatekeeper watched them cross toward a tree near the far wall, frustration still simmering under his skin from being overruled twice in one conversation.
Then, without warning, Hakimi’s hand shot out, grabbing Felix by the collar and slamming him back hard against the stone.
The gatekeeper’s heart skipped a beat.
I’ve never seen Hakimi like that before.
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