Wings of Broken Time by Alina Das 43
Wings of Broken Time by Alina Das 43 Summary
Larissa resumed her work on Finley’s injured leg with a mix of teasing firmness and skilled precision. Despite the intense pain, Finley managed to stay conscious this time, though his right leg was left numb, burning, and useless. As he struggled to stand, the harsh reality of his crippling injury hit him hard, shattering his pride and leaving him in despair. He whispered his fear of becoming a cripple, revealing the depth of his vulnerability.
Larissa, unimpressed by his emotional breakdown, dismissed his weakness with mild disdain. Having endured decades of harsh survival and brutal battles, she saw Finley’s fragility as a stark contrast to her own resilience. She had only severed the tendons in his right leg, yet he crumbled like a delicate flower, far less tough than she expected.
The tense moment was interrupted by unexpected applause from behind Larissa. Turning around, she found Haskell, the man who had previously come looking for her. Now in a wheelchair, he revealed that he too had been crippled here, his legs broken while he was fully awake, just like Finley. His calm demeanor and angelic smile masked the painful memories he carried.
Despite the shared suffering, Larissa remained resolute and unyielding. She reassured Haskell that she would heal his legs, a promise that he accepted with quiet faith. In a tender gesture, Haskell gently wiped the blood from Larissa’s hands, creating a brief moment of silent connection between them amidst the surrounding pain and brokenness.
“There, that’s more like it,” Larissa said with a satisfied smirk, picking up the knife once again. “Keep cursing me like that, and you won’t pass out on me this time.” Her tone was teasing but firm as she resumed her work with steady hands.
“Aaargh!” Finley howled, his face draining of color until it was almost ghostly pale.
Yet, this time, he stayed awake.
Larissa glanced up, pleased. “Alright, that should do the trick,” she said, finally setting the knife aside. “I only worked on your right leg. You should be grateful you used your right foot to crush both of my herbs. Had you used both feet, you’d be losing both legs today.”
She tossed the knife carelessly onto the ground, then administered an antidote to him—a concoction that would gradually restore his mobility. Standing tall, she crossed her arms and looked down at him with a hint of pride. “Now, get up and try to walk. Can you still move your right leg?”
Finley blinked, then slowly became aware that movement was possible again. Gritting his teeth against the searing pain, he forced himself upright. But his right leg felt like dead weight, numb and unresponsive, consumed by a burning agony that refused to fade.
A cold dread settled in his chest. His right leg was utterly useless.
How had it come to this? He was supposed to be the one teaching his so-called sister a lesson, avenging Honora’s name. Yet here he was, the one crippled and broken.
No. He could not accept this.
In that crushing moment, the proud Finley’s ego shattered completely. He clutched his head, his body trembling as a broken sob escaped his lips.
“No… I don’t want to be a cripple…” he whispered, voice cracking with despair.
Larissa rolled her eyes in mild disdain at his display. “How dull,” she muttered under her breath.
She had expected more resilience from him. She had only severed the tendons in his right leg, yet he was already falling apart like a fragile doll. He had no idea what she had endured over the past twenty years—the life-or-death battles, the endless struggles to survive. Compared to her, he was nothing more than a delicate flower, raised in a greenhouse, easily shattered.
Larissa was about to turn away when a slow, deliberate round of applause echoed behind her.
“Clap. Clap. Clap.”
Her eyes narrowed sharply as she spun around, searching for the source of the unexpected sound.
“Haskell?” she asked, surprise flickering across her face. “What are you doing here?”
The man approaching her wore a calm, almost angelic smile—the very same man who had come looking for her back in the village.
Haskell allowed Crispin to push his wheelchair forward, his serene expression unwavering. “I came to visit the place that crippled me,” he said softly. “I certainly didn’t expect to witness such an… interesting scene. It was quite spectacular, actually.”
Larissa cocked her head, intrigued. “So you were kidnapped and had your legs broken here too.”
He nodded slowly, his hand resting over his legs. His long lashes lowered, trembling slightly as if lost in distant memories.
“Just like your brother,” he murmured. “They broke my legs while I was fully awake.”
Larissa had never been one for comforting words. Over two decades of fighting for survival had taught her that empty platitudes were useless. The only real protection was strength—making yourself so capable that no one could touch you. That was why, whenever she found something she was good at, she pursued it relentlessly, practicing until she was unmatched.
Her medical expertise was a perfect example. When it came to the ancient healing arts, she wouldn’t claim to be the very best, but she certainly wouldn’t let anyone else say they were better.
“Haskell, don’t worry,” she said firmly. “I promised I’d heal your legs, and I will.”
He looked up, meeting her clear, determined eyes, and smiled softly. “I believe you.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small white handkerchief. Gently waving off Crispin’s offered help, he wheeled himself closer to Larissa.
To her surprise, he carefully used the cloth to wipe the blood from her hands, his touch gentle and deliberate.
For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint rustling of fabric and the distant sounds of the wind outside, as two souls connected quietly amidst the brokenness around them.
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
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