Sei woke already tired.

  Not the dull ache of sore muscles or the heaviness of poor sleep—this was different. His limbs felt intact, responsive, but moving them carried the same reluctance as wading through deep water. Every action took more effort than it should have.

  He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

  “…That’s new,” he murmured. “I’d like to return it.”

  Sitting up made the room tilt, just slightly. Light leaked through the window too brightly, edges too sharp. He squinted and rubbed at his eyes, waiting for the sensation to pass.

  It didn’t.

  By the time he reached the guild, the noise hit him like a wall.

  Not loud—just too present. Every voice distinct. Every footstep sharp. The scrape of chairs against wood set his teeth on edge.

  He paused just inside the doorway.

  “Breathe,” he muttered, more habit than comfort. “In. Out. You’ve handled worse.”

  Someone nearby laughed.

  The sound landed wrong. Too sudden. Too close.

  Sei forced himself forward.

  People noticed him now—but not the way they had yesterday. No whispers. No stares. Just space. Conversations adjusted around him, like water flowing past a stone.

  He didn’t know which was worse.

  At the back, a young adventurer sat hunched over a table, blood seeping through a makeshift bandage around his forearm. He looked up when Sei approached, eyes widening.

  “I—I’m okay,” the man said quickly. “I can wait if—”

  “Don’t,” Sei replied gently, already kneeling. “Show me.”

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  The wound wasn’t life-threatening. Deep cut, messy edges. Poorly cleaned.

  Sei worked on instinct—pressure, cleaning, stitching. His hands knew what to do even if his head felt wrapped in fog. He focused on the rhythm of it, the familiarity grounding him.

  Halfway through, a warmth stirred.

  Not real.

  Not quite.

  A suggestion at the edge of sensation, like remembering a word just before you lose it.

  Sei’s breath hitched.

  “No,” he whispered, barely audible. “Not now.”

  The warmth faded.

  The cost didn’t.

  By the time he finished, his vision had narrowed again, black creeping in at the edges. Sweat beaded at his temples despite the cool air.

  “You’re… done?” the adventurer asked, uncertain.

  Sei nodded and stood.

  The room spun.

  He barely made it to the wall before bracing himself against it, breathing through the nausea that surged up without warning.

  “Hey,” someone said. “You good?”

  “Yeah,” Sei replied automatically. “Just—stood up too fast. Classic mistake.”

  The lie tasted thin.

  Eva found him outside.

  He was sitting on the low stone wall behind the guild, elbows on his knees, staring at his hands like they might confess something if he watched long enough.

  “You’re pale,” she said.

  “Fashion choice.”

  “You nearly collapsed.”

  “Dramatic exaggeration.”

  Eva didn’t smile.

  She stepped closer, studying him with the same intensity she used on a battlefield. His posture. His breathing. The way his fingers trembled just enough to notice.

  “You’re not meant to carry this alone,” she said.

  Sei sighed. “You already said that.”

  “That doesn’t make it less true.” She paused. “That also doesn’t mean you won’t.”

  He laughed softly, rubbing at his face. “Great. Love that for me.”

  Eva crouched in front of him, lowering her voice. “You don’t get to bleed quietly. Not anymore.”

  He met her gaze then, humor fading.

  “I don’t know how to put it down,” he said.

  Eva straightened. “Then learn when to stop picking it up.”

  Later, alone again, Sei tried to do what he always did.

  He analyzed.

  He listed symptoms. Fatigue. Sensory overload. Delayed recovery. Emotional flattening punctuated by sharp spikes of guilt. He ran through possibilities, ruled out what he could.

  Nothing fit cleanly.

  “This isn’t how bodies work,” he muttered.

  But some part of him—the part that remembered the green glow, the warmth under his palms—knew better.

  This wasn’t damage.

  It was accumulation.

  Healing didn’t tear at him the way violence did.

  It drained.

  Like grief.

  Like staying strong for too long.

  A mission notice sat on the table when he returned to his room.

  Low risk. Escort duty. Short distance. No expected combat.

  He should rest.

  He knew that.

  His body sagged just thinking about staying still.

  Sei picked up the notice, folded it once, and tucked it into his pocket.

  “Motion over stagnation,” he murmured. “That’s healthy. Probably.”

  He lay back on the bed, exhaustion finally pulling him under.

  As sleep claimed him, one thought lingered—quiet, dangerous, unresolved.

  If this was the cost of saving people…

  …how much weight could he carry before something finally gave?