A New Beginning

Treatise on Stab Wounds from the Healer’s Book

A stab wound is a treacherous affliction, for it heals slowly and may reopen with every movement. The greatest peril comes when pus takes root within, for then sickness strikes with the force of a storm, and the body falls victim more to the ravages of fever than to the wound itself.

Tojas balm is highly valued for its healing virtues, yet it cannot work miracles if the wounded do not heed the need for rest. The best course is to keep the wound clean and exposed to the air so it may heal on its own. If the edges have parted, they must be stitched anew—be it with needle and thread or at least bound tightly with a firm bandage. Otherwise, the blood will continue to flow, and death shall become a constant companion.

Reng, Karhen Rouz Oasis

Reng lay in bed, staring at the thin cobweb of cracks in the plaster above him. He knew each fracture by heart, yet they still felt like a maze. His thoughts tangled just as the fissures did.

Time was running out. It had been seven days since his injury, leaving him three, maybe four more before Lanis removed the stitches and sealed his fate. He wasn’t ready. He couldn’t be.

Noel’s plan was clear: the Subjugated status. It meant losing his freedom. Losing himself. A humiliating brand he would carry for the rest of his life. How could he accept that? How could he watch them take away the last thing he had left?

Every day was the same. Around noon, Lanis arrived to check his wound, applying tojas balm, rebandaging him, and never missing a chance to throw in a venomous remark.

“Jara was a good girl,” she muttered today, as if offhandedly. “If you weren’t so blind, you could’ve had a happy life. But no—you had to get tangled up with that crazy girl. You got what you wanted.”

Reng remained silent. It was pointless to respond. But something inside him screamed. Was it guilt? Or anger? He couldn’t tell. Everything churned within him like a restless storm.

As soon as Lanis left, he carefully got up. Every movement was a trial, as if his body had forgotten how to function. His back ached from too much lying down, his legs trembled, and with each step, he felt a tug in his wound, as if someone were stretching the skin too tight.

Still, he trained. Every movement was a step toward escape. The pain tried to drag him down, but he had to push through. He couldn’t afford to be weak. He couldn’t wait for help that would never come.

Today’s goal had been saved for last. The steep attic stairs had never been a challenge before, but now he climbed them with utmost caution, as if each step might betray him. When he finally reached the top, he stood still for a moment and drew in a deep breath. This place, humble even by local standards, was his sanctuary.

Here, he could be himself. It was the heart of his home.

His gaze swept across the room, and he was relieved to see that everything was exactly where he had left it. He didn’t own much, so his saddle bags were still half-empty even after packing. Then, he reached behind a beam where he kept his savings.

But the moment he lifted the box, he knew something was wrong.

It was far too light.

When he opened it, his blood ran cold.

Empty.

The savings that were supposed to be his key to freedom were gone. He hurled the box against the wall in fury.

"That...!"

The air caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. He felt the sting of betrayal deep in his bones.

Ela’s theft hurt more than Jara’s knife in his side. He had counted on that money. It was supposed to make leaving Karhen Rouz easier. Now he had nothing but empty pockets and desperately little time. He had no backup plan. Only the faint hope that Fate would still show him some kindness.

He bent down for his packed saddlebags, but their weight caught him off guard. He swung them over his shoulder and began descending the stairs with effort. Another step down—his legs failed him. A sudden drop sent him crashing onto his back. He tumbled down the stairs, only stopping when the wooden floor broke his fall. Pain shot through his side, knocking the breath from his lungs.

"Shit," he growled, forcing himself to his feet.

He looked at his bandages. A weak crimson bloom had already spread across the fabric.

“Lanis is going to kill me,” he muttered.

With difficulty, he bent down, fingers clenching around the straps of his saddlebags. He shoved them under the bed, breathing heavily as he straightened up and wiped the sweat from his face.

"I can do this," he whispered to himself.

Silence was his only answer.

At that moment, the front door banged open. Reng flinched.

Lanis had already been here today, and it was too early for Noel. Nervously, he leaned out of the doorway to see who was moving through the house. Relief washed over him when he spotted the plump cook emerging from the kitchen. She must have forgotten something and come back for it. When she saw Reng, she scowled.

"You know you're supposed to be resting," she scolded sharply, folding her arms. Her eyes flicked from his face to his side, searching for further proof of his irresponsibility.

"I do need to use the latrine sometimes," Reng retorted, curling his lips into a smirk. He tried to sound indifferent, but the pain in his side added a bitter edge to his tone.

She narrowed her eyes as her gaze landed on his bandages.

"You tore your stitches again," she hissed, as if it were his greatest betrayal.

"Yeah, looks like it," he shrugged. "Maybe if someone had stitched it properly—"

"It wouldn’t have made a difference, because you can’t sit still for a second!" she cut him off sharply, pressing him back onto the bed with a firm hand.

"Let me see."

She yanked the bandage off with a sharp tug, making him hiss in pain. Leaning closer, she ran her fingers lightly over the reddened, swollen skin.

"Congratulations," she muttered. "It looks worse than when I last saw it. But I’m not stitching it again. With your attitude, that’d just be a waste of time."

"How long until you take the stitches out?" he asked, trying not to sound too desperate.

Lanis looked at him, mischief glinting in her eyes.

"Noel already told you what's coming, huh?"

He didn’t need to answer. She could see it on his face.

"I think you deserve that punishment," Lanis muttered, tossing the bandage onto the table. "And it looks like you’ve finally realized it. You ruined a good girl’s life—"

"Jara may have been good, but unlike her, I didn’t stab anyone," he cut her off before she could launch into another of her endless lectures. His voice was probably harsher than he’d intended. "You can’t blame me for everything."

Lanis froze, her hand stilled mid-motion.

"You’re right. We all make mistakes. Jara included," she finally admitted. "She should’ve stabbed you higher. That, I wouldn’t have been able to fix."

A moment later, the door slammed shut behind her.

Reng exhaled and let himself fall back onto the bed. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying her words. And then it happened. Laughter.

At first, soft, barely audible. But soon, it burst free, unrestrained, until he had to clutch his side to keep the pain from stealing his breath.

He laughed at Lanis. He laughed at Noel. He laughed at himself.

That evening, Noel found him sitting at the table, dinner already laid out. Reng seemed composed. Calm.

Noel sat down without a word, and together they ate, just as they had so many times before.

Had it not been for the events of the past days, it might have felt like a return to old times.

But Reng knew better.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

***

It had long since grown dark, yet Reng was still awake.

He lay in wait, patient as a hunter stalking its prey, attuned to every sound around him—the ticking of the timer, the whisper of the wind pressing against the house, the occasional snore from Noel’s room. The house was asleep, but Reng’s mind remained sharp. He heard every creak, every breath, and with each passing moment, the darkness of the room coiled around him like a tightening noose. He waited for the right moment, and when it came, he knew he could not hesitate any longer.

Slowly, he pulled the saddlebags from beneath the bed, the metal buckles faintly clinking against the silence of the night. He dressed and crept toward the door, gripping the handle. It turned easily.

Noel had trusted him to obey, as he always had.

The thought sent another wave of bitter anger rolling through him. Noel had unknowingly revealed just how little he truly knew him. He had never seen anything in Reng beyond the obedient boy he had raised.

But it wasn’t fear or Noel’s authority that had kept Reng loyal all these years. It had been trust. And tonight, that trust was broken.

Even so, he hesitated one last time in the doorway, taking in the familiar surroundings. The shadows in the house twisted, warping the outlines of the furniture into something foreign. He saw the table where he had eaten every day, the curtains faded with time, the worn furniture, the framed pictures on the walls. Everything suddenly looked different. The home that had once given him certainty now felt cold and unwelcoming.

Noel’s heavy snore broke the silence again, accompanied by the creak of the bed as he rolled from one side to the other. Unaware, he was urging Reng to move faster, to stop hesitating.

Reng slipped out into the night and carefully scanned his surroundings. The distant glow of the farm halls shone where night shifts were in progress, but he had no intention of going in that direction. The official way out led through the main gate—heavily guarded. After Ela’s escape, Noel had undoubtedly made sure that no one from his family would ever leave Karhen Rouz again. That route was out of the question. But those precautions might work on the others.

Not on him.

He headed toward the far end of the oasis.

Unlike the rest, Reng knew that the eastern sewer concealed his escape. As a child, he had spent his time wandering and exploring, and it was then that he had found a weakness in the otherwise impenetrable high wall. One of the bars in the sewer grate had never been properly secured.

All it took was lifting it, twisting, and pulling…

And it would come free.

He had slipped through that narrow gap countless times as a boy. No one had ever discovered it, and Reng had used it only rarely, cautious not to risk its exposure. As if, even back then, he had known that one day he would need it.

When he reached the spot, the sharp stench of waste hit him immediately. The humid air clung to his skin, and the walls around him were slick with grime.

His fingers found the grate. It was there. Just as he remembered.

He shut his eyes, replaying the sequence in his mind.

Lift. Twist. Pull.

Nothing happened.

He held his breath. Had it really stayed the same all these years?

He tried again, harder this time.

Pain flared in his side, and for the first time, panic flickered through him. What if someone had fixed it?

Sweat trickled down his forehead. Gritting his teeth, he tried once more, putting his full weight into it.

The bar finally gave way.

With a soft metallic click, it came loose in his hands. Reng froze, listening to the silence of the night.

Nothing.

No one had heard.

The way out was open.

With effort, he squeezed himself through the narrow gap. The stone walls pressed against him so tightly that he could feel the fabric of his shirt scraping against his skin. Sweat stung his eyes, and every movement sent pain through his side, as if someone were driving a nail into the wound.

When he finally forced himself through, he remained on his knees for a moment, breathing heavily. He dragged the saddlebags behind him, their edges scraping against the rough stone. But at last, they, too, were free.

Shivering, he steadied himself against the wall and carefully slid the loosened bar back into place. One last glance to ensure he’d left no trace behind. Only then did he move on. It wasn’t over yet. The worst was still to come.

He took a deep breath and stepped into the dark sewer. The stench hit him like a slap to the face. A mix of rotting meat and piss, too strong to ignore. Every breath left a scratchy sensation in his throat and the foul taste of filth on his tongue. With each step, he waded through thick, slimy muck that clung to his boots.

By the time he reached the end of the sewer, he scrambled up the steep embankment, collapsing at the top into a bed of damp leaves. He lay there motionless, gathering his strength. His side burned more than it should.

He touched the bandages. His fingers found warm wetness.

"Great," he muttered. "Exactly what I need right now."

Lanis’s words echoed in his mind. The wound would have to be stitched again.

But there was no time for that now.

The first part of his plan was done.

Slowly, he got to his feet. His shoulders ached under the weight of the saddlebags. Every step was agony, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on. A long journey along the wall lay ahead.

He couldn’t stop. Not now. Sirnak was waiting for him. He couldn't leave him behind. He had to find him.

As he slipped over roots and stumbled in the dark over unseen stones, he kept his gaze fixed on the dark outline of the perimeter wall to his left. Each step grew harder. He couldn’t stray too far from the wall, yet he had to keep enough distance to avoid drawing attention. It would have been a challenge even in perfect health, let alone in his current condition. It didn’t take long before his whole body trembled with exhaustion, and cold sweat broke out on his forehead once again.

He knew he was pushing himself too hard. By all rights, he should have been in bed, letting his body recover. Instead, he was burning through the last of his strength, knowing this was only the beginning.

He found the pens just as the horizon began to take on the soft hues of early dawn. The night was close to breaking. Luckily, it was still dark enough for him to slip over the fence unnoticed.

He crept toward the large barn where the riders stored their gear. Sliding in through the back entrance, he kept his breathing steady. He knew there was usually a night watchman. The door creaked slightly.

Reng froze.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears.

He listened.

Nothing.

No one had heard.

His saddle and equipment were right where he had left them after his last ride. Clenching his teeth, he gathered everything and dragged it outside, preparing for the moment he could retrieve Sirnak. For once, luck was on his side.

He found the kernal not far away, watching the approaching figure with cautious eyes. Its head lowered slightly, as if waiting, but its amber gaze gleamed with alertness. It wasn’t sure who was coming. Only when Reng spoke in a hushed voice did the tension in the creature’s scaly body ease. Sirnak let out a relieved snort.

Without resistance, he followed Reng back to the barn and obediently knelt so he could be saddled. Finally, Reng secured the saddlebags behind the saddle and gave the creature a firm pat on its scaled neck, exhaling in relief.

"It'll be fine," he whispered, partly to himself and partly to the creature beneath him, which had no idea of the danger looming over them.

The first streak of light pushed past the horizon. Reng knew he had no choice. He had to go. Now.

"Hey, you! What are you doing here!? You’re not supposed to be here!"

Sirnak flinched, his scaly flank tensing as he reared slightly, nearly knocking Reng off balance.

"Shit," Reng cursed, desperately grabbing onto the creature’s back, straining to pull himself up.

The first attempt ended in near disaster. The second pushed him to the edge of his strength. A sharp pain shot through his body—something inside him tore. He let out a strangled cry, his eyes burning with unshed tears. But he didn’t give up. With gritted teeth, he swung his leg over Sirnak’s back and landed firmly in the saddle.

The creature beneath him, as if sensing the life-or-death urgency, surged forward without hesitation.

"Stop! Stop right now!" the guard shouted, sprinting toward them.

Reng urged Sirnak on, his body clinging desperately to the saddle.

The guard blocked their path.

"I said stop!" he yelled, lunging for the reins.

For a split second, his fingers caught them—but Sirnak wrenched his head away. His scaled flank slammed into the guard, sending him stumbling backward with a cry before he crashed to the ground in a cloud of dust.

Reng glanced back, relief washing over him as he saw the man slowly rising. He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone. He just needed to get away. And now, they had.

Sirnak burst through the open gate, and the land finally stretched out before them.

To the east, the horizon was already bathed in the first light of dawn. Reng tightened his grip on the reins, his breathing steadying with each powerful stride that carried them farther from the oasis.Beneath him, Sirnak raced like the wind, and at last, exhaustion, pain, and sheer relief crashed over him like a wave.

They had made it.

They were free.