Tactical Embarrassment

Noel's Perspective

The Solenari had a saying: "Light reveals what shadow hides, but both are needed for healing." As I stood in the doorway of the infirmary, watching the quiet movements of healers and visitors, that ancient wisdom resonated deeply. Four days had passed since the grave site battle, yet the air still hung heavy with grief and exhaustion, a shadow that lingered despite our best efforts to bring light.

I adjusted my cream-coloured diplomatic robes, a habit more than a necessity. My rabbit ears twitched forward with interest as I observed Miyuki working with Emi, whose physical injuries had been minor compared to the psychological trauma of seeing her deceased study partners animated by shadow-flame magic.

"Close your eyes, Emi," Miyuki instructed gently, her voice steady despite the fatigue etched across her features. "We're going to revisit that moment, but I'll be with you this time. You won't be alone."

Emi's hands trembled as she obeyed, tears already leaking from beneath her closed lids. "I can't... I keep seeing their faces, those burning eyes..."

"I know," Miyuki soothed. "That's why we're doing this. My Mnemonic abilities always let me organize memories, but as a Chronosophist, I can help you experience them differently."

I watched with diplomatic discretion as Miyuki placed her fingertips at Emi's temples. A soft shimmer of temporal energy, distinct from regular magic to my sensitive Velunari ears, enveloped them both. The air around them seemed to ripple slightly, like heat waves rising from sun-warmed stone.

"Timeline Visualization," Miyuki murmured.

The magic took effect immediately. Emi's expression shifted from terror to surprise, then to a sad calmness. Rather than being trapped in the memory's emotional maelstrom, she was now viewing it from a different perspective, seeing the events as part of a timeline rather than reliving them.

"They weren't really Daiki, Kaito, and Shota," Miyuki reminded her softly. "Their souls had already moved on. What we fought were merely vessels, shadows without substance."

Emi nodded slowly, her breathing evening out. "I... I can see that now. The way they moved wasn't natural. It wasn't them."

"Hold onto that truth," Miyuki encouraged. "We're going to strengthen this perspective so it becomes your primary memory, not the traumatic one."

As they continued working, I moved further into the room, my gaze drawn to the far corner where two beds had been arranged side by side. Miyako occupied one, now sitting up and alert though still weakened from her injuries. A tiny bed in the middle of the two-infirmary bed, which what the earthlings called a sofa bed, remained empty, a place for Andie to rest, though he rarely used it. And at the side, in the second lay Ruri, my fellow Velunari and distant cousin, still unconscious after taking the brunt of Shadow-Shinji's magic missiles.

Andie sat in a chair positioned precisely between Miyako and Ruri's beds, his posture betraying both vigilance and exhaustion. He held Ruri's limp hand in his right, while his left occasionally reached to squeeze Miyako's fingers when she stirred. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his clothing looked rumpled from days of minimal self-care.

I approached quietly, not wishing to disturb the fragile peace. Miyako noticed me first, offering a wan smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Any change?" I asked softly, though I already knew the answer from Andie's defeated posture.

"Mochi says Ruri's vital energy is stabilising," Miyako replied. "The injuries themselves are mostly healed, but..."

"But she hasn't woken," Andie finished, his voice rough from disuse. "Four days now."

I nodded solemnly, my ears drooping slightly in shared concern. The Solenari were known for diplomacy, but even the most carefully chosen words seemed inadequate in the face of such suffering.

Miyako shifted slightly in her bed, wincing as she did. Though Mochi's evolved Chirurgical Thaumaturge abilities had saved her life, healing the devastating injuries inflicted during the battle, recovery would still take time. I could see the evidence of Mochi's work, faint silver tracery marking Miyako's skin where the worst wounds had been, a distinctive signature of high-level healing magic.

"You should rest more," Andie told her, concern evident in his voice.

Miyako huffed a small laugh. "Says the man who hasn't slept properly in four days."

I found myself smiling despite the sombre atmosphere. Even wounded and exhausted, these Earth children demonstrated remarkable resilience.

"I was present when Mochi healed you," I said to Miyako, recalling the intense magical working. "Her evolution to Chirurgical Thaumaturge is quite extraordinary."

Mochi had worked for nearly six hours straight, her hands glowing with complex patterns of magical energy as she meticulously repaired Miyako's injuries, a deep gash across her abdomen, three broken ribs, and internal bleeding that would have been fatal without immediate intervention.

"Internal Essence Restoration," Mochi had called it, her voice steady despite the strain evident on her face. The magic had flowed like liquid silver, seeping into Miyako's wounds and rebuilding damaged tissue from the inside out. At particularly difficult junctures, Mochi had employed her new "Wound Transfer" ability, temporarily taking some of Miyako's pain into herself to maintain focus on the healing.

Miyako nodded in acknowledgment. "When I woke up two days ago, Mochi was passed out in that chair." She gestured to where Andie now sat. "Apparently she'd been too exhausted to even make it back to her own bed."

"Your first words were 'Did we win?'" Andie recalled, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.

"And you said, 'Yes, but at what cost?'" Miyako replied softly. She reached for his hand again, squeezing it gently. "Not very reassuring bedside manner, you know."

Their attempt at levity fell flat as all eyes inevitably turned to Ruri's still form. Her silver-patterned rabbit ears lay limp against the pillow, lacking their usual expressive movements. Her platinum hair had been carefully braided to keep it from tangling, likely Nana or Haruka's handiwork. Despite her injuries, she maintained that otherworldly beauty unique to the Lunethnari, her features peaceful, as if merely sleeping.

"Isn't there..." Andie began hesitantly, turning to me. "Isn't there someone who could help her? Velunari healers? Or could we take her back to Veilfetura, to her people?"

The question I'd been dreading. I straightened my posture instinctively, diplomat training taking over as I prepared to deliver unwelcome news.

"Unfortunately, it's not that simple," I explained, keeping my voice gentle but firm. "To even travel to Veilfetura as a non-Velunari or non-Felinari, you would need certification from representatives of all six tribes: Lunethnari, Solenari, and Sylvanari from the Velunari, and Nyxashi, Eosashi, and Hestashi from the Felinari."

Andie's expression fell, but I continued. "Even if such permission could be arranged, which is borderline impossible under normal circumstances, we face additional complications. Ruri herself would count as the Lunethnari representative, but she cannot vote in her current state. The Sylvanari representative returned to Veilfetura after we left Crossroads."

"But this is an emergency," Andie protested. "Surely there are exceptions?"

I sighed, my ears drooping further. "The protections around Veilfetura exist for good reason. They've kept our homeland safe for millennia. Breaking those protocols, even for someone as well-connected as Ruri, would have severe political consequences." I paused, considering how to soften the blow. "Even if we managed to take her home, she might not be permitted to return here afterward."

"So, we're on our own," Miyako said quietly.

"Not entirely," I corrected. "The healing resources here are considerable, especially with the recent evolutions several of your classmates have experienced. I believe Ruri's best chance lies with the care she's already receiving."

As if summoned by our conversation, the infirmary door opened to admit Mochi, Sakura, and Miyuki, who had finished her session with Emi. The three newly-evolved healers approached Ruri's bedside, their expressions a mixture of determination and concern.

"We're ready for another attempt," Mochi announced, her medical bag slung over one shoulder. Despite her outward confidence, I could see the fatigue in her posture; healing magic, especially at such advanced levels, took a significant toll on the practitioner.

"You've all worked tirelessly," I acknowledged, genuinely impressed by their dedication. "Your job evolutions couldn't have come at a more crucial time."

Their responses were subdued, small, not-quite-joyous smiles and modest nods. The circumstances made it difficult to celebrate their advancement properly, yet I felt it important to recognise their achievements nonetheless.

"I... I might have another option," Sakura said hesitantly, her hands clasped tightly before her. "As a Temporist, I could potentially use chronomagic to rewind Ruri's physical state to before the injury."

A tense silence fell over the room. Time magic was notoriously unpredictable, especially when applied to living beings. The magical theory was sound, reverse the temporal flow for a specific object or person without affecting the surrounding timeline, but the practical application carried significant risks.

"I've been studying the theory," Sakura continued, her hands beginning to tremble slightly. "I think I could isolate her from the greater timeline, create a localised reversion field..."

"Sakura," Miyuki interjected gently, "temporal manipulation at that scale could have unforeseen consequences. Changing Ruri's physical state might alter the present in ways we can't predict."

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"But..."

"She's right," Mochi added. "The shadow-flame corruption we encountered has properties we don't fully understand. Attempting to rewind time around those injuries could potentially reactivate any residual corruption."

Sakura's shoulders slumped, but she nodded in understanding. "I just thought... I wanted to help."

"And you are," I assured her. "Your conventional healing abilities are still valuable, even without the temporal aspect."

As the healers began their work, I observed the care with which they approached their task. Mochi used her Chirurgical Thaumaturge abilities to assess Ruri's internal conditions, her hands glowing with diagnostic magic as they hovered above the unconscious Lunethnari. Sakura prepared healing poultices while Miyuki monitored Ruri's life essence, looking for any fluctuations that might indicate improvement or deterioration.

"Her lunar resonance is stable," Miyuki reported after several minutes. "That's a good sign for a Lunethnari."

"The physical injuries have healed completely," Mochi added. "It's her magical essence that remains depleted. The shadow-flame corruption disrupted her connection to lunar energies."

"Is there anything we can do to restore that connection?" Andie asked, his expression hopeful for the first time in days.

"We're trying," Sakura replied. "But Lunethnari magic is highly specialised. We can support her natural healing processes, but ultimately, she needs to reconnect with her lunar source on her own."

The session continued for nearly an hour, with the three healers working in coordinated silence. When they finally stepped back, their expressions were a mixture of exhaustion and cautious optimism.

"Her aura is stronger today," Mochi reported. "The corruption has completely dissipated."

"That's progress," Miyako said, forcing brightness into her tone. "Ruri's stubborn. She'll find her way back."

As the healers departed to tend to other patients, Miyako turned her attention to Andie. "You should get some fresh air," she suggested gently. "You've barely left this room in four days."

"I can't leave her," Andie replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if she wakes up and I'm not here?"

"I'll stay with her," I offered, seeing an opportunity to give Andie a much-needed respite. "If there's any change at all, I'll send for you immediately."

Andie hesitated, conflict evident in his expression. Guilt, self-blame, and loyalty kept him rooted to his chair, but I could see the toll his vigil was taking.

"Just a short walk," Miyako pressed. "To the workshop and back. See how the engine is coming along. You need to move, Andie."

After a long moment, he nodded reluctantly. "Alright. But only for a few minutes."

"I promise I won't leave her side," I assured him as Miyako carefully rose from her bed. Despite her injuries, she was determined to accompany him, her concern for his wellbeing outweighing her own discomfort.

As they departed, Miyako supporting Andie more than he was supporting her, I settled into the chair he had vacated. Alone with my unconscious cousin, I allowed my diplomatic facade to soften slightly.

"You always did have a flair for the dramatic, Ruri," I said quietly, adjusting her blanket with gentle hands. "But four days is excessive, even for you."

The silence that answered me was oppressive. In the hundreds of years I'd known Ruri, I'd never seen her so still, so quiet. The Lunethnari were generally more reserved than the Solenari, but Ruri had always been an exception, vibrant, flirtatious, impossible to ignore.

"The first male we are really attracted to in centuries," I murmured, "and you just had to go and sacrifice yourself heroically to help him." I shook my head, a sad smile touching my lips. "Not that I'm surprised. Beneath all that teasing and those scandalous outfits, you've always had more heart than sense."

I took her hand, noting how cold her fingers felt despite the room's comfortable temperature. "Do you remember the Triple Moon Convergence of 2802? When we snuck away from the ceremonial preparations to swim in the Moonpool at Velunmira?"

The memory surfaced clearly, Ruri, barely past her first century, convincing me to abandon our duties for a midnight swim. We'd been caught, of course. Moonpools were sacred sites, not meant for recreational use, especially during convergence preparations. Our punishment had been to transcribe ancient lunar texts for a full cycle, thirty days of meticulous copying that left our fingers stained with silver ink.

"You didn't complain once," I recalled, squeezing her limp hand. "Even though it was your idea. You took full responsibility and worked alongside me every day. That's when I knew we would be sisters for life, not just cousins by distant blood."

I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Please wake up, Ruri. We need you, all of us. Andie hasn't left your side for more than minutes at a time. Miyako tries to be strong, but I see how she watches you when she thinks no one is looking. And I..." My voice caught unexpectedly. "I need my outrageous cousin to scandalise me with inappropriate comments and embarrassing revelations."

Only silence answered me. I sighed, straightening in my chair and composing myself once more. Even alone, centuries of diplomatic training were difficult to set aside completely.

"The Lunethnari have a saying," I continued, my tone still gentle but more measured. "'What wanes must wax again.' You've given much of yourself to counter that shadow-flame corruption. Now it's time to return to us, to let your light grow strong once more."

The door opened quietly behind me, and I turned to see Andie returning alone.

"Miyako needed to rest," he explained, his voice rough. "I made her promise to lie down in her own bed for a while."

I nodded, rising from the chair. "That's wise. She pushes herself too hard."

"Thank you for staying with Ruri," he said, reclaiming his seat with the weariness of someone much older than his years.

"Of course." I hesitated, then added, "I think I'll visit the library for a while. Reading will pass the time, and perhaps I'll find something useful for our tele-portal research."

Andie nodded absently, his attention already fixed on Ruri's still form. As I departed, I cast one last glance back at them, the otherworlder holding vigil for my cousin, his devotion as evident as his exhaustion. Despite the circumstances, I found myself hoping that when, not if, Ruri awoke, she would recognise the gift she had been given in such loyalty.

With that thought, I slipped quietly from the infirmary, my ears drooping slightly as I made my way toward the sanctuary's library. The ancient Solenari texts spoke of patience as the companion of wisdom, but even my diplomatic training had its limits when it came to waiting for those we cared about to heal.

Andie's Perspective

I resumed my familiar position in the chair between the beds, though Miyako's was now empty. Taking Ruri's hand in mine felt like a ritual, a daily act of faith that someday she would grip back. Her fingers remained cool and unresponsive, her silver-patterned rabbit ears motionless against the pillow.

"Just you and me again," I said softly, my thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand.

Four days of this vigil had left me hollow-eyed and weary, but I couldn't bring myself to leave. Every time I considered taking a longer break, the image of Ruri collapsing after dispelling the shadow meteor would flash through my mind. Six magic missiles striking her body, her blood staining her elegant clothing, her ears going limp as consciousness fled; these memories haunted me relentlessly. Just another wonderful addition to my growing collection of trauma flashbacks. At this rate, I'd need therapy for my therapy.

My eyes drifted to the empty bed where Miyako had been recovering. At least she was improving, thanks to Mochi's extraordinary healing abilities. The memory of her first words upon waking two days ago brought a faint smile to my lips.

"Did we win?" she had asked, her voice barely audible.

"Yes," I'd replied, "but at what cost?"

Her eyes had immediately sought Ruri, understanding without words where my thoughts led. That was my Miyako, perceptive, practical, and unfailingly kind despite her sometimes prickly exterior. I remembered our first meeting in middle school, how she'd caught me feeding stray cats behind the gymnasium. Instead of teasing me like I'd expected, she'd simply produced a bag of cat treats from her backpack and joined me.

"You're such a softie," she'd said matter-of-factly. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

That moment had formed the foundation of a friendship that evolved in ways neither of us could have predicted. Now, years and an entire universe away from that school yard, she had become someone irreplaceable in my life.

My gaze returned to Ruri, and another memory surfaced, our first real conversation in Noel's office, after I'd discovered the Lunespun silk handkerchief from the moonpool ritual.

"You taste like starlight and possibility," she had told me, her eyes gleaming with mischief and something deeper. "Most delicious mortal I've encountered in centuries."

At the time, I'd been too flustered by her forward manner to respond coherently. Only later did I realise that beneath her flirtatious exterior, Ruri possessed a keen intellect and genuine curiosity about Earth and its people. Her questions, though often framed in provocative ways, revealed a mind eager to understand different perspectives.

The contrast between that vibrant, teasing Ruri and the still form before me now made my chest ache with a peculiar mixture of guilt and longing. If I hadn't encouraged the journey to the grave site, if I'd been faster in reaching her during the battle with Shadow-Shinji...

I shook my head, trying to dispel the useless spiral of self-recrimination. Miyuki had spent hours helping me process these feelings, using her new Chronosophist abilities to show me alternative perspectives on the events. Logically, I understood that Ruri had made her own choice to counter the shadow meteor, a choice that had saved countless lives, including my own. Emotionally, however, I couldn't shake the sense that I had failed to protect her. The whole "infinity intelligence and wisdom" thing really fell short when it came to emotional processing, apparently.

My thoughts drifted further back, to childhood memories of Miyuki and Mochi. We'd been neighbours and playmates long before the traumatic event that caused them to withdraw from male contact. I remembered summer festivals, school projects, and quiet afternoons spent reading together in the Kimochi family garden. Their mother, Naomi, would bring us cold sencha and rice crackers, smiling gently as she watched us play.

"Andie-kun takes such good care of my girls," she would tell visitors, causing me to blush furiously while Miyuki rolled her eyes and Mochi giggled behind her hands.

Those innocent days seemed impossibly distant now, separated from the present not just by years but by trauma, growth, and an entire dimensional shift. Yet the bonds formed then had proven resilient enough to withstand even the strain of isekai transportation and magical battles.

A soft pressure against my fingers interrupted my reminiscence. For a moment, I thought I had imagined it, a hope-driven hallucination born of exhaustion and desire. But then it came again, a definite squeeze from Ruri's hand.

I froze, hardly daring to breathe. "Ruri?"

Her eyelids fluttered, silver-patterned rabbit ears twitching slightly, the first movement they'd made in four days. My heart hammered against my ribs as I leaned closer, hope swelling painfully in my chest.

"Ruri, can you hear me?"

Another squeeze, firmer this time. Then, slowly, her eyes opened, those extraordinary violet orbs focusing gradually until they found my face. For one breathless moment, she simply stared at me, as if trying to remember who I was or how she had come to be here.

Then her lips curved into a familiar, mischievous smile.

"Ara ara," she murmured, her voice raspy from disuse, "keep holding it and I'll pounce..."

Relief crashed over me like a tidal wave, momentarily robbing me of speech. When I finally found my voice, it emerged thick with emotion.

"Not possible," I managed, "not while you're lying in that bed."

Her smile widened slightly, a shadow of her usual brilliant expression but unmistakably Ruri. "I never said it'd be now..."

The door opened behind me, and Miyako entered. She froze mid-step when she saw Ruri's open eyes, her own widening in shock and joy.

"Ruri!" she exclaimed, rushing forward with more energy than she should have been capable of in her recovering state. "Noel! Everyone! She's awake!"

She reached the bedside, taking Ruri's free hand in hers. Without thinking, I reached across to take Miyako's other hand, completing a circle that felt somehow significant, a tangible representation of the bonds that had formed between us despite our vastly different origins.

Ruri's gaze travelled from our joined hands to Miyako's face, her expression softening with genuine affection despite her obvious weakness.

"Ara, I can pounce on you, too, Miyako..." she whispered, the teasing words belied by the warmth in her eyes.

Miyako laughed, tears of relief brightening her eyes. "Anytime you want, Ruri. Welcome back."

The door opened again to admit Noel, who paused on the threshold as she took in the scene. For a diplomat usually so careful with her expressions, the naked emotion on her face was startling, relief, joy, and something deeper illuminating her features as she approached the bed.

"Cousin," she said softly, a rare, genuine smile transforming her usually composed countenance. "It's about time."

Ruri's eyes moved between us all, taking in our exhausted but joyful expressions, the joined hands, the evidence of days spent in anxious vigil. Something in her gaze suggested she understood more than we had said, the depth of our concern, the weight of our relief.

"Next time," I said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, "try waking up a little sooner. We missed you."