Finnian’s frown deepened. "You’ve gone silent for a long while—what’s with the sudden question?"
Alistair forced his voice to remain steady. "Nothing important. Just wondering."
That’s all he could say. He couldn’t reveal the truth to them.
They’d only fall apart and beco useless—worse, if their emotional breakdowns caused a spiritual power collapse, they’d face complete disaster.
Currently controlling the butler robot’s body, he stared down at Elara’s battered form. Wounds covered her skin, and her shoulder bore a gaping hole where sothing had torn straight through.
’I’m so sorry.’
Without his abilities, he couldn’t even properly care for her...
Guilt crashed over him in waves, mixed with heartache and bitter regret.
Back in Chamber Five, tears stread down his face.
Alistair collected warm water and began the delicate process of removing Elara’s clothing—the chanical arms made everything awkward, but he moved with painstaking care. Modesty ant nothing now. Only reducing her suffering mattered.
Despite his gentle touch, she whimpered at every contact with her injuries.
"It hurts..." she murmured through her unconsciousness, face twisted in pain, skin ghostly pale.
"I’ll be more careful," he whispered, voice cracking as he tried to soothe her. Every movent took forever as he peeled away the blood-soaked fabric, then dusted hemostatic powder across her wounds.
Her flesh hung in shreds, her shoulder completely punctured by so insect’s claw. The sight made him sick thinking about what she’d endured.
After cleaning everything, he wrapped her in fresh bandages. Elara lay completely spent, too weak to care about anything—though so part of her hazy mind recognized his presence.
Whatever. Even if it’s him, I’ll accept it.
"Alistair..." she breathed, then sank into deep sleep.
He stayed beside her through the entire night. She stirred once before dawn, then imdiately fell back asleep.
Several days passed without Elara waking. But thank god, her wounds were finally healing, and the crushing tension he’d carried began to ease.
While Alistair felt relief, the n in the other wards were suffering.
He had the robot announce Elara’s ergency leave and seamlessly took over her responsibilities—including al preparation.
For days on end, they’d choked down boiled vegetables with nothing but salt and a few drops of oil floating on the surface.
Alistair swore he wasn’t sabotaging them on purpose. He’d given it his best effort—but he couldn’t distinguish salt from sugar, creating these barely edible disasters.
The n had no clue why Elara had vanished. They only knew life without her was hell.
Dorian had attempted entering her dreams repeatedly, failing every ti. He’d spent days wallowing in complete isolation.
He couldn’t stomach nutrient liquid anymore, and he definitely couldn’t eat Alistair’s cooking. In just days, all of them had shed significant weight—Dorian most of all. Going from Elara’s spoiling and attention to this felt crushing.
"Elara, did you leave for another world? Why can’t I reach your dreams anymore?"
He’d destroyed his ward in frustration—but that was nothing compared to what Elara was going through.
She was so depleted and injured that even lying still felt like suffocation.
If she were conscious, she could heal herself using her powers—but trapped in this coma, she couldn’t access any energy.
She was depending entirely on her natural immune system and healing abilities.
Alistair continued nursing her while managing her duties. After several days, Silas finally connected the dots. He handed Alistair a dical kit while he operated the food delivery robot.
"External injury dications and healing potions to speed recovery. Instructions are inside, plus other essentials," Silas explained, cramming every dication he could think of into the kit. He didn’t know Elara’s exact condition, but he wanted to cover everything.
"Take care of her," he said, voice rough with helpless desperation.
They were all prisoners—they had to depend on Alistair.
Alistair nodded. "I’m sorry..."
Silas shook his head. "Don’t apologize. You just didn’t want us panicking."
A silent understanding passed between them—no more words needed.
After delivering als, Alistair quickly switched back to the butler robot. Elara remained unconscious, now running a low fever. He followed Silas’s detailed instructions precisely, tending to her with extre care.
How to reduce a mild fever...
What to do if her temperature spiked... How to administer dication...
How to dress wounds to prevent infection...
Silas had been incredibly thorough. He’d docunted dosages, timing intervals, and potential side effects with their treatnts. He’d even color-coded each dicine so Alistair could identify them easily.
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