The blade remained against Ivelle’s neck for another heartbeat before the stranger finally moved.
Instead of cutting her, the cold edge slowly withdrew from her skin.
Ivelle remained frozen for a moment, her body refusing to believe that the immediate danger had passed. The river continued to flow around her, its current brushing against her waist as she carefully turned her head.
The first thing she saw was the man’s clothing.
He was dressed in a dark robe and loose trousers, both of which were thoroughly soaked, the fabric clinging heavily to his body as though he had only recently emerged from the river. Droplets of water slid from the ends of his clothing and disappeared into the river around him.
His hair was equally wet.
Several strands clung to his forehead and cheeks, while the rest fell loosely around his face, giving him an almost careless appearance despite the blade he had just held against her throat.
But it was his eyes that caught Ivelle’s attention.
Blue.
Not the ordinary shade of blue she had seen in the sky or painted onto cheap glass ornaments.
His eyes were a deep, striking blue that seemed almost unnaturally clear beneath the faint moonlight.
Ivelle stared.
She did not even realize she was staring until the corner of the stranger’s mouth lifted.
A short laugh escaped him.
It was quiet, almost amused, but it was enough to break the silence surrounding them.
"Are you done looking?"
Ivelle blinked.
She suddenly became aware of how close she was to him and how obviously she had been studying his face.
Her cheeks warmed.
"I’m sorry."
She quickly looked away, suddenly embarrassed by her own behavior.
The stranger did not immediately respond.
Instead, he studied her with an expression that was difficult to read.
Ivelle was still trying to recover from the embarrassment when something else caught her attention.
There was blood on his arm.
Her eyes widened. "You’re bleeding."
The man’s gaze dropped toward his arm as though he had only just remembered the wound.
"I am aware."
Ivelle frowned.
"You’re bleeding quite badly."
"It isn’t something you need to worry about."
"But—"
"I said you don’t need to worry." His tone was calm, almost dismissive, and Ivelle stared at him in disbelief.
How could someone look at an open wound and behave as though it were nothing?
She had seen injuries before.
She knew what blood looked like.
She knew how quickly a small wound could become dangerous when left untreated.
Yet the stranger seemed completely unconcerned.
Ivelle looked at his arm again.
The wound appeared deep enough to have caused considerable bleeding, although the blood was already beginning to slow.
"You should at least wrap it."
The man glanced at her.
"You are strangely concerned about a stranger."
"You are standing in a river bleeding."
"And?"
Ivelle opened her mouth, then closed it.
She had no answer to that.
The stranger gave a faint, amused smile before turning his attention toward his arm.
"Watch carefully, then."
Ivelle frowned.
"What?"
He lifted the wounded arm slightly.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then she saw it.
A faint light appeared beneath his skin.
Ivelle’s breath caught.
The wound began to change.
The torn flesh slowly drew together before her eyes.
The bleeding stopped.
The edges of the injury closed as though an invisible hand were stitching the broken skin from within. Within moments, the deep wound had become nothing more than a faint red mark.
Ivelle stared.
Her mind refused to understand what her eyes were showing her.
She had heard stories about people possessing strange abilities.
Stories whispered around village fires.
Stories about powerful beings, ancient bloodlines, healers, monsters, and people capable of doing things ordinary humans could never accomplish.
But stories were different from reality.
She had never seen anything like this.
The stranger looked toward her.
"You look pale."
Ivelle did not answer.
Her eyes remained fixed on his arm.
The wound was gone.
Completely gone.
She took a small step backward in the water.
"You..." Her voice trembled.
The stranger raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"Your wound."
He glanced down at his arm.
"It healed."
Ivelle stared at him.
"You healed it."
"Yes."
"How?" The stranger seemed genuinely puzzled by the question.
But before he could answer, the world suddenly tilted.
Ivelle’s vision blurred.
The sound of the river became distant, as though she were hearing it from beneath the water.
She tried to steady herself.
"I..."
Her knees weakened.
The stranger’s expression changed.
"Hey."
Ivelle barely heard him.
The last thing she saw was the faint confusion in those striking blue eyes.
Then everything went black.
Her body went limp.
The stranger caught her before she could sink beneath the water.
For several seconds, he simply stared down at the unconscious woman in his arms.
"...What?" There was genuine disbelief in his voice.
He looked at her face, then at his completely healed arm.
Then back at her. "She fainted?"
There was no answer and stranger frowned.
He shifted his grip and held her upright.
"Hey."
Nothing.
He tapped her cheek lightly.
"Wake up."
Ivelle remained completely still.
He tapped her again, this time with slightly more force.
"Wake up."
Nothing.
His brows drew together.
He glanced toward the dark riverbank.
There was no one around.
The men who had been chasing her were long gone, and the night had returned to its former silence.
The stranger looked down at the unconscious woman again.
"You cannot be serious."
He gave her cheek another gentle slap.
Still nothing.
A sigh escaped him.
"Of all the things you could have done..."
He had expected fear.
Questions.
Perhaps screaming.
He had not expected her to faint simply because she had witnessed him healing himself.
The stranger shook his head.
"Humans."
There was something faintly amused in the way he said it. He adjusted his hold beneath Ivelle’s shoulders and lifted her from the water.
She was lighter than he expected.
Her wet clothes clung heavily to her body, dripping water onto the rocks as he carried her toward the shore. He stepped out of the river and carefully lowered her onto a relatively dry patch of ground.
For a moment, he remained standing over her.
Her breathing was steady and that reassured him slightly.
He crouched beside her and studied her face.
She looked entirely different now that she was unconscious.
The stubbornness that had been written across her expression when she stood at the cliff was gone.
So was the defiance.
She simply looked exhausted.
The stranger noticed the dirt on her clothes, the damp strands of blonde hair stuck against her face, and the small traces of blood around her injured foot.
His gaze lingered there.
He frowned.
She had been running for quite some time.
Perhaps that explained why she had been willing to jump from the cliff.
Or perhaps she was simply reckless.
His eyes returned to her face and a faint smile tugged at his lips.
"All that courage..."
He paused. "And you faint at the sight of a healing wound?"
A short laugh escaped him again and he shook his head as he sat down beside her, resting one arm against his raised knee.
The river continued flowing beside them, its endless movement filling the silence.
For a while, he simply watched her.
He had no idea who she was.
He did not know why three men had been chasing her through the capital.
He did not know why she had chosen to throw herself from a cliff rather than allow them to catch her.
And, judging from the way she had looked at him before fainting, he suspected she knew even less about what she had just witnessed.
The stranger leaned back slightly and looked toward the dark sky.
"What exactly have I gotten myself into?"
His gaze returned to the unconscious woman beside him.
For some reason, he did not leave.
He simply remained there, listening to the river while waiting for the strange girl who had nearly drowned herself to escape three men...and then fainted because he healed a wound...to wake up.
But shortly after, heavy footsteps approached and an irritated look passed through the his face.