Nox jerked awake, her breathing ragged and heart racing while her pale eyes darted around the dark room as if she expected to be attacked. It took a few minutes, but she steadied slowly as she recognized the dingy side room of a small house in Lowtown. She lay listening to her adoptive brother shift uncomfortably on the bunk above her and Kassel snoring on the floor beside for what felt like hours before she gave up on returning to sleep and slipped silently from the bed. It didn’t take long to pull on a black jacket over her dark trousers and red, sleeveless shirt, securing at least one blade to her belt before wrapping a forest green scarf around her neck, and pulling on her boots so that she could slip soundlessly out the door with a quick pat on Kassel’s head as she stepped around him.
It didn’t take long for her to find her way into the alleys beneath the city, either, following the by now familiar path into the slums, careful to avoid the chokedamp mist as she made her way deep into the maze-like sewer tunnels and mine shafts using the light of phosphorescent lichen clinging to the slick walls and her own natural night vision to navigate. Or at least until she found what she was looking for: a small band of the local gang, a dwarven crime syndicate looking for a fight. They attacked, looking to steal everything they could from her to sell later, but Nox was fast, agile, and ready for their onslaught, dancing around their weapons and targeting weak points with deadly accuracy. Still, a few arrows and a few blows with maces and swords managed to make it through her guard and by the end of the little brawl, she was bleeding more than she’d expected and actually a little out of breath, fingers digging into the slick layer of lichen, mold, and gods only knew what else that clung to the wall in an attempt to keep herself upright after rifling through their pockets because they wouldn’t be needing their things anymore and her adoptive family could always use the extra funds. Then she started through the tunnels again, holding onto the wall as much as possible and looking for the lit lantern she’d once heard marked the doors of a skilled healer.
Nox found the lantern she was looking for by following a familiar low hum of a wistful tune that seemed to speak of some faraway, long forgotten place, the blood loss and toxic gas making her a little dizzy as she knocked on the door and hoped for the best, sliding down to sit leaned against it and the frame while she waited, her hand pressed to her side where she could swear her ribs shifted more than they should with every breath.
The door opened and Nox slumped sideways at the feet of a rather tired looking man a few years her senior, light hair mussed as if she’d woken him up, the low hum a little clearer now, emanating from a pendant hanging from his neck embedded with mana.
“Sorry to—” she started to push herself back into a sitting position as she spoke but it didn’t seem to be working very well so he crouched beside her to help, quietly taking in the amount of blood on her clothes as she tried again, “sorry to bother you so late, but I uh…” she flashed him a sheepish smile, her pale eyes barely focused, he suspected from the combination blood loss and toxic fog, “I ran into a gang, you see?” The man breathed a heavy sigh before shifting to help Nox to her feet and get them both inside.
“What were you doing out this late?” His voice was quiet and even as he closed the door behind them, probing because he tried to avoid treating criminals when they tended to bring him too many problems.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she raked her fingers through white ended brunette hair when he left her leaned against one of the tables in his little clinic—she sounded deliberately vague, but she didn't seem to be lying if the dark circles under her eyes were anything to go off, “I figured I’d go for a walk… clear my head.” He was pretty sure he could guess what she was trying to clear, most of his patients still had nightmares about the ongoing war beyond the city walls.
“I can heal you,” he started to explain, to ask that in exchange, she not share his location with those hunting him, but to his surprise, she seemed to pick up on what exactly he’d meant and shook her head slightly.
“No, thank you but I’m okay without magic so there’s no need to waste your energy on me,” she spoke as if she was used to being left to suffer for the sake of others and something about it made him want to help her all the more.
“You appear to have several broken ribs and you haven’t stopped bleeding.” Nox flashed him another sheepish grin.
“I’ve had worse if I’m being honest,” the way she said it, he believed her, “but if you can spare some bandages, that’d be appreciated; Ælfreda will kill me if I go back like this again.” He was silent, debating for a moment whether or not to force real treatment on her before he took a deep breath and drew a roll of bandages from one of the crates nearby.
“Only on the condition you let me treat your wounds.” She seemed to hesitate a moment before relenting, pulling the scarf from her neck and shrugging painfully out of her jacket to allow him access to the worst of them and an unintentional glimpse of the knife in the back of her belt. He murmured an apology under his breath as he slid cool fingers up under the side of her shirt to get a better look at the fresh bruising across her ribs there and she shivered at his touch when they grazed a mark burned into her skin, the magic racing like a static shock across the connection. He didn’t look closer, figured there were more important things that required his attention at the moment than an old magic brand.
“Thank you,” her voice was soft when she finally broke her silence again, and tentative, as though she was waiting for him to tell her what the catch was. He didn’t comment, taking a moment to study the ritualistic scars on her arms embedded with a silvery-blue substance he recognized as concentrated mana in a strange combination of Norse culture and something else he wasn’t familiar with. His curiosity was almost enough to distract him completely from the places where blades had nicked her forearms rather than her torso or throat; she’d defended herself well if the wounds were anything to go on, mostly defensive in nature and shallow aside from the few places blades and maces had gotten lucky and slipped past her defense or she'd taken arrows. He made a mental note to look into the marks later to satisfy his curiosity before setting about cleaning and bandaging the worst of the injuries.
“Hall,” he offered her a hand once he’d finished his work, figuring she might be seeing him again in the future. Again she seemed to hesitate before she clasped his hand in a solid grip.
