Patch of Druid-Chapter 13 – A helping hand

The morning broke cold and damp, with a thick fog from the nearby river creeping into the estate's courtyard, muffling every sound. Alex and Lyra emerged from their cell under the escort of guards who led them to the place of their daily duties. His muscles ached with the aftermath of the previous day, but he refused to let exhaustion slow him down. Deep inside, he felt that something important might happen today.

The courtyard was already bustling. Guards barked orders, assigning tasks to slaves who obeyed in silence, lifting heavy loads without question. Alex quickly spotted Lyra standing nearby, her head held high and her gaze fixed sternly on a guard.

The guard narrowed his eyes and marched up to Lyra with a threatening look on his face. "You have the arena today, elf. I suggest you don't cause trouble," he hissed, leaning in so close she could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath.

Lyra raised her chin and looked at him coldly, one brow slightly arched. Her eyes burned with a cold defiance. "If you're so eager to see a fight, maybe you should step into the ring yourself," she replied with scorn, her eyes narrowing. "Without your shiny armor and whip, you're not so confident, are you?"

The guard's face turned crimson, the veins on his neck bulging. He grabbed her arm violently, yanking her close. "You think you're funny, elf?" he growled, spitting each word with disdain.

He struck her across the face with such force that she collapsed to the ground. As she fell, she instinctively reached for his leg, which only enraged him more. He kicked her brutally in the side, sending her sprawling like a rag doll.

She tumbled to the side, landing on the hard-packed earth. For a moment she lay still, then—without a groan, without a word—she rose, bracing herself on one arm. She stood slowly but firmly, as if the pain meant nothing. Lifting her head, she looked him straight in the eyes—without fear, without hesitation. In that gaze was something that stayed his hand. Pride. Contempt. And a silent challenge.

Her cheek was reddened from the blow, and blood dripped from a split lip.

"Fine. You don't want to fight? We'll see how tough you are when you're hauling crates with the rest of these worms. Maybe then you'll learn your place."

He shoved her away with disgust. Lyra didn't flinch, holding her gaze on him until he turned and stormed off.

Alex had watched the whole encounter, a tight knot forming in his throat. When Lyra turned, he saw a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes, a steely resolve, but no fear or regret. She said nothing, merely nodded in his direction.

Work began immediately. The crates were large and heavy. From the corner of his eye, Alex noticed Lyra struggling. She moved with grace, her pace swift and calculated, but with every new load, her strength waned. She was agile, precise in her movements, but lacked the raw power of the men. Each lift visibly cost her more.

Yet she didn't utter a sound. Even when she dropped one of the smaller crates and the guard shot her a contemptuous glance—she picked it up instantly and continued. Alex saw the tension in her jaw, the white-knuckled grip on the wooden handles. Her pride wouldn't let her ask for help.

Read 𝓁at𝙚st chapters at ƒrēenovelkiss.com Only.

When he saw her barely lifting another load, he moved without thinking. He knew it was against the rules—everyone had their assigned work, and stepping out of line was punishable. He noticed the sideways glances, the guard at the gate straightening in suspicion. But he couldn't stop.

Before he even realized it, he was beside her. Without a word, he reached out and took the crate, placing it a few steps away. He felt the stares—from the guards, the slaves, and especially from her.

He grabbed the crate by the other end and looked at her questioningly. Lyra didn't say anything. For a split second, their eyes met. In hers was surprise, anger, maybe even shame. But she didn't pull away. She didn't tell him to leave. And that was enough. Finally, she gave a slight nod, accepting his help. Together, they lifted the weight and moved, sharing the burden. Neither of them spoke, avoiding any further attention.

The rest of the day, they helped one another in silence, sidestepping both the guards and curious glances from the others. Alex felt the fatigue mounting.

By evening, after the last crate was set down, Alex exhaled in relief. Then a shadow appeared in front of him—a massive slave he recognized, the same one who had already proven his brutality. Alex froze, his heart pounding.

"Still haven't learned the rules, boy?" the man sneered, approaching. "Thought you'd know your place by now. Maybe today I'll teach you."

Alex tried to back away, but the man was faster. The first blow landed squarely in his stomach, stealing his breath. The next knocked him to the ground, and more followed—vicious, relentless. The other workers formed a ring, shielding the scene from the guards.

Curled on the ground, gasping for air, Alex saw the man's foot rising, ready for another kick. He closed his eyes, bracing for pain that didn't come.

He opened them just in time to see Lyra behind the attacker. Before anyone could react, she lifted a heavy plank and slammed it into the back of his head. A sickening thud echoed through the yard, and the man stumbled, collapsing like a felled tree.

He didn't even cry out. Lyra pounced, fists pounding into his face. Her blows were fast, brutal, seething with raw fury. Blood spurted from his nose and brow, staining her hands and the sand below. His head jerked with each strike as he tried feebly to move.

Then she slammed her palms into his ears—hard, precise. He howled, stumbled, and she kicked him square in the face. His head snapped sideways, blood gushing from his mouth.

He finally lay still, wheezing and moaning, shielding his face from another blow that never came.

Silence fell. The other slaves parted, some stepping back, not daring to be in her path. Their eyes said it all—fear, respect, disbelief.

Lyra turned slowly, her chest heaving. Her face was streaked with blood, her eyes lit by a focused, cold rage. She looked like she might attack anyone who came too close.

She extended a hand to Alex, and he stared at her, stunned and moved. He took it carefully, letting her help him up.

Without a word, Lyra supported him as they walked back to the cell, gently but firmly. Alex walked beside her, the pain giving way to something else—a bond forged in that one, brief moment.

When they reached the cell, she helped him sit on the bed and stood in silence, as if searching for the right words. Alex said nothing, meeting her gaze.

She turned away, but a faint smile flickered on her lips—brief as a shadow. Yet Alex saw it clearly. From that moment, he knew something had changed between them. Even if neither of them yet understood where it would lead.