Chapter 2: Lioren’s POV

Chapter 2

Lioren’s POV

When he opened his eyes, I noticed he wasn't confused. He was aware. He looked at the ceiling, then the walls, then the small space between us. He seemed to be taking everything in without moving much. His breathing was still uneven, and his body was weak from whatever had happened. But his eyes were steady, which didn't match how weak he seemed.

Most people who woke up like this were confused. They asked questions before they understood. They reacted before they thought. He did neither.

His eyes found me quickly and stayed on me. I felt the weight of his gaze, sharper than I expected.

“Where am I?” he asked. His voice was low, a little dry, but calm.

I made myself stand still. “You’re somewhere safe,” I said. “I found you near the forest. You were hurt.”

He looked at me for a moment, as if trying to see if my words were true.

“My name is Liora,” I said. The lie came easily. It always did when I needed it.

He nodded slightly, accepting it without question. That should have made me feel better. It didn’t.

“What about you?” I asked. “Do you remember your name?”

He paused, not because he was unsure, but because he was holding back. “I tried,” he said finally. “There’s nothing there.” His fingers tightened on the ground, showing frustration despite his calm voice. “I don’t remember anything.”

I looked at him for a moment longer, searching for anything that might prove he was lying. There was nothing. “You should rest,” I said. “Whatever happened to you… it was serious.” He didn't argue, but I could tell he wasn’t fully convinced by something he couldn’t explain.

***

The first day went by with very few words. He spoke only when he had to, and his words carried meaning.

“Has anyone else seen me?” he asked at one point.

“No,” I answered.

“Good.” The answer came too fast, too sure. I didn’t ask why. But I remembered it.

***

By the second day, he was getting stronger. Not completely, but enough to move without too much difficulty.

“You shouldn’t push yourself,” I said when I saw him trying to stand.

“If I don’t, I won’t know my limits,” he replied.

“And if you fall again?”

“Then I learn something useful.” I watched him for a moment. “That’s a dangerous way to think.”

“It’s an honest one.” There was no pride in his voice. Just the truth.

***

By the third day, he asked a question I didn’t expect. “What should I call myself?”

I frowned slightly. “You don’t want to wait?”

“For what?” he asked. “For a name I might never remember?”

I didn’t have an answer. “Then choose one,” I said. “Something that feels right.”

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes looking far away in that way I was starting to notice. “Kael,” he said. I repeated it, testing the sound. “Kael.” He nodded, as if agreeing with himself.

***

The days that followed settled into a strange kind of routine. We spoke when we needed to. But when we did, it felt important.

“You don’t ask where I go,” I said one afternoon when I came back with food.

“If you wanted me to know, you would tell me,” he replied.

“And if I didn’t?”

“Then it’s not my place to ask.” I looked at him. “That’s not how most people think.”

“I’m not most people.” The certainty in his voice made it hard to argue.

It was the small moments that bothered me the most. “You haven’t eaten,” he said once, watching me too closely.

“I will.”

“You said that yesterday.” I frowned. “You’re paying too much attention.”

“And you’re ignoring what matters.” I didn’t answer, because I didn’t have one that wouldn’t prove his point.

Another time, I caught him watching me again, his focus quiet. “What?” I asked.

“You act like everything depends on you,” he said.

“It does.”

“That’s not the same thing as it being true.” I looked away. “You don’t understand how things work here.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” I said. “You survive, or you don’t.” He held my gaze, a look I couldn’t read in his expression. “That’s not survival,” he said quietly. “That’s endurance.” The difference bothered me more than it should have.

It was later that evening when I made a mistake. “If you leave,” I said, trying to sound lighter than I felt, “you’ll owe me.”

His eyes immediately moved to me. “For what?”

“For saving your life,” I replied. “That’s not something you walk away from.” He didn’t look away. 

“What do you want in return?” The question was too direct. Too serious. I shrugged, trying to make it seem like nothing.

 “Make sure I don’t end up like this again,” I said. “Take care of me.”

Silence followed. Then— “I will.” There was no doubt. No pause. I frowned. “You say that too easily.”

“I don’t think I make promises easily.”