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Chapter 838: A Special Day

Broken Sword was already fully awake when the sky was still just turning from black to pale grey.

She lay still for a moment, then rose and crossed to the window, pushing it open. The morning air moved through — barely chilly, carrying the mineral bite of melting snow, the faint green suggestion of spring pressing up through the cold. The sky was thin blue, clouds sparse enough to read. Today would be clear.

She dressed and went to the living room, where she found the table already set for four: roasted nuts in a dish, a pot of vegetable soup still steaming. Annie had been up before her, as usual. Annie not only rose first and finished washing before anyone else stirred, she occasionally made breakfast, and did so without being asked. In the first month after she began receiving her salary, she had gone to the convenience market for firewood, butter, and salt, and now went foraging for wild fruits and vegetables once a week.

Broken Sword had asked about it once. Annie’s answer was plain: survival in the wilderness was a skill, and a skill left unpracticed would eventually be forgotten. If it ever came time to flee again, she wanted to be certain she hadn’t lost it.

Broken Sword didn’t entirely understand why Annie always held herself ready to run. But the wild fruits were good, and she ate them without argument.

“Good morning.” She pulled out her chair and reached for the nuts. “Are you going to the factory today?”

“Yes.” Annie finished the last of her soup and set the bowl aside. “There are some large components the workers can’t move manually — the machines can’t fit the connectors either, so they have to be joined by small iron pieces. Miss Anna handled it all before. Now that’s my work.”

Beneath the economy of her words, Broken Sword heard something else: a quiet, private satisfaction. That small note of accomplishment — barely there, almost embarrassed to exist — was the most significant change the four of them had undergone since arriving in Neverwinter. Their abilities were no longer meaningless. Working for His Majesty and being paid for it gave what they did the weight of a trade. The feeling of being self-sufficient rather than dependent on the charity of strangers, or on their own wits run against other people’s trust — it was something Broken Sword could not name precisely but felt in her chest every morning she woke here. She believed Annie felt the same, or Annie wouldn’t be first through the factory doors each day, without anyone to push her.

But today was not an ordinary day.

“Don’t forget — today is Hero’s—”

“I know.” Annie’s expression changed, sharpening to something more serious. “I’ll finish my work early. I’ll be there in time.”

Broken Sword relaxed slightly. “She’ll feel better with you around.”

“I’ll go, then.” Annie stood, and left without another word.

The hot water’s in the kitchen. Those were her last words, spoken over her shoulder. The rest is up to you.

Broken Sword ate her share, then went to the kitchen and filled a basin with hot water. She carried it carefully down the short hallway and eased the door to Hero’s room open.

Hero slept in Annie’s room still — a choice, not necessity. There were enough rooms now that she could have had her own, but old habits of proximity held. During the day, the other three took turns with her care; Iffy and Wendy came to help sometimes too.

What Broken Sword hadn’t expected was to find Hero already awake.

The girl was sitting up in bed, turned toward the window, watching the light coming in. Her lilac hair was soft in the morning brightness. Her complexion clear. Under that light, against that stillness, it was almost impossible to imagine the kind of treatment that had been done to her.

But Broken Sword caught herself and read the stillness more carefully. Hero had woken earlier than usual. That told its own story.

“Good morning,” she said.

Hero came back from wherever she had been. “Ah — good morning.” The apologetic note in her voice arrived almost before the words did. “Sorry to trouble you again.”

“No one thinks it’s trouble.” Broken Sword stuck out her tongue. “And maybe after today you’ll be able to do it yourself.”

Something complex moved across Hero’s face — tension, anticipation, fear, excitement, all of it together and none of it dominant. She held herself still until it passed, then forced a careful smile. “I don’t know if I can. I’ve completely forgotten the feeling of walking. Even in my dreams — I can only crawl.”

“Then you’ll learn again from the beginning. It’s no great matter.” Broken Sword pressed a hand to her shoulder. “Even God’s Punishment Witches can do it. Come — try to raise your legs.”

Hero drew a slow breath, then folded back the quilt.

Her legs were exposed: thin, almost branch-like, but not what they had been. The stumps that had once ended at the knees were longer now — reaching almost to the ankle, the skin smoother where the worst scars had been. They looked fragile. Crumpled, slightly, as though the bones were still negotiating their shape. They looked like legs that could snap at a wrong angle. But they were there, and they were longer than they had been three months ago.

This was what the Witch Union had built together.

At the start, Nana’s ability had been limited to smaller wounds — severed fingers, tears and cuts. The regrowth of an entire limb had been beyond her, even with Leaf’s help. The breakthrough came when Broken Sword arrived and Roland suggested combining their abilities: with Broken Sword transformed into a blade that Nana held, her strengthening ability passed directly into Nana’s healing, expanding what Nana could attempt. The test with an injured hunting dog — which grew new claws — had confirmed it.

This discovery opened the door to Hero’s recovery. But the door led to a difficult passage.

The first problem: Nana’s healing worked on wounds. Hero’s stumps had already healed. To encourage new growth, they had to be cut again. The second problem: even with Broken Sword’s amplification, treatment could sustain for only a few dozen minutes at a time, meaning recovery had to proceed in stages, across many sessions.

Hero had to let her broken legs be cut, again and again, so that they could grow. Nana had to perform that cutting herself, as many times as needed.

It was Wendy who saw what was being asked of them and mobilized the entire Witch Union. For the first time, Broken Sword truly understood what sisters meant here — not a form of address, but a fact of how they treated each other, extended without hesitation even to four witches from the Kingdom of Wolfheart who had arrived not long before.

Leaf cultivated sleeping fern into unconsciousness herbs — consumed before a session, keeping Hero under for hours, insensible to pain.

Anna performed the cuts. Under Blackfire, a new wound opened instantly, flat-edged and precise. Nana only had to direct her healing.

Marquess Spear Passi delayed her return from Fallen Dragon Ridge to be here, linking Leaf’s vitality to Broken Sword through her ability as a Carrier, allowing them to work in combination for longer stretches. Each session, Nana’s power was brought to its limit recovering sections of leg as short as half a finger’s length. Once her magic was spent, the open wounds had to be left to heal naturally before the next round could begin.

With Spear’s involvement, recent sessions had made greater progress. If today went as expected, Hero would recover her full feet by nightfall.

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