Chapter 4: Oh No, She’s Crazy

The crash woke me up—

Not the usual tapping— a real crash, the kind that shook the cabin’s foundation and sent dust raining from the holes in the ceiling— I rolled out of the chair where I’d been sleeping and stumbled to the window—

The boulder was gone—

Not moved— gone— reduced to powder and chunks scattered across the clearing like someone had detonated it from the inside— and standing in the middle of the destruction, stick still raised overhead, was Elara—

“Oh no.”

She lowered the stick slowly— her arms shaking from exhaustion— the wood had splintered in places but somehow held together— blood covered her hands completely, dried brown mixed with fresh red— her dress hung in tatters, more holes than fabric— sweat and dirt turned her skin gray—

But her face—

She smiled— wide and genuine and completely unhinged— her red eyes caught the morning light and seemed to glow from within—

“I did it.”

Her voice came out hoarse, wrecked from days of counting— she looked at the stick, then at the destroyed boulder, then at my cabin—

“Master— I did it—”

I was already out the door— crossing the clearing at a speed that probably looked desperate because it was— she saw me coming and her smile grew wider—

“Did you see? I broke the—”

“Your hands.”

I grabbed her wrists— she didn’t resist— her palms were destroyed, blisters on top of blisters, some popped and weeping, others filled with blood— the skin had worn away completely in places, showing raw muscle underneath—

“How long—”

“Seven days— six hours— forty-three minutes.”

She said it like she was proud— like permanent hand damage was an achievement worth celebrating—

“You haven’t slept.”

“Sleeping would waste time— I had to finish before you changed your mind about teaching me.”

I stared at her— really stared— her eyes had dark circles so deep they looked like bruises— her cheeks were hollow, sunken from not eating— she swayed slightly, held upright by adrenaline and something that looked uncomfortably like madness—

“Sit down before you fall down.”

“But the boulder— I broke it— that means you’ll teach me now, right? You promised—”

“I didn’t promise anything— sit—”

Her legs gave out— I caught her again, second time in a week— this was becoming a pattern I didn’t appreciate— I lowered her to the ground, propping her against a tree stump—

“Don’t move.”

I ran back to the cabin— grabbed the medical supplies I’d barely touched since moving here— bandages, healing salve, clean water— everything I’d need to fix what she’d done to herself—

When I got back, she was staring at her hands— turning them over slowly, examining the damage with detached curiosity—

“They don’t hurt anymore— I think I broke something inside—”

“Yeah— your brain— hold still.”

I poured water over her palms— she hissed but didn’t pull away— the water ran red, washing away dried blood and revealing the full extent of the damage— this wasn’t something bandages could fix—

I held my hands over hers— green light bloomed again, warmer this time— I poured more magic into the healing than I’d used on the wolf wounds— watched skin regrow, blisters fade, muscle knit back together—

It took ten minutes— ten minutes of sustained healing magic that left me dizzy and her staring at me like I was performing a miracle—

When I finished, her hands looked almost normal— pink and new, like a baby’s skin— the scars would fade in a few days—

“Thank you, Master.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“But you’re going to teach me now— I completed the test—”

“It wasn’t a test— it was me trying to get rid of you—”

“That’s what a master would say—”

I gave up— arguing was pointless— she’d built an entire mythology around my lazy attempts to avoid responsibility—

“You need food— real food— and sleep— probably a week of sleep—”

“I’m fine— I can start training right now—”

She tried to stand— made it halfway before her legs betrayed her again— I caught her for the third time—

“You’re going inside— you’re eating soup— then you’re sleeping— we can discuss this insanity after you’ve recovered.”

I picked her up— she weighed even less than before, all skin and bones and misplaced determination— carried her inside and deposited her in my chair—

She was asleep before I could start making soup—

I stood there watching her breathe— shallow and rapid, her body trying to recover from a week of self-inflicted torture—

“What am I supposed to do with you?”

She didn’t answer— just slept—

I started making soup anyway—

The bandits showed up three days later—

I was outside fixing the roof— finally— because putting it off forever wasn’t actually an option— Elara sat below, watching me work with those unsettling red eyes—

She’d recovered faster than anyone had a right to— eating constantly, sleeping sixteen hours a day, and somehow looking healthier than when I’d first found her— her hands had healed completely, no scars, like the week of torture had never happened—

“You’re doing it wrong.”

I looked down at her— “I’m sorry, do you know carpentry?”

“No— but that board looks crooked.”

“It’s supposed to be crooked— it matches the rest of the roof.”

She smiled— not the crazy smile from before, something softer— almost normal—

“When are you going to start teaching me?”

“Never— we’ve discussed this—”

“You said we’d discuss it after I recovered— I’m recovered—”

“I said we’d discuss the insanity— not training—”

A branch cracked in the forest— loud and deliberate— someone who wanted to be heard—

Elara’s head snapped toward the sound— her whole body went rigid—

“What—”

“Shh.”

She stood slowly— moved to position herself between me and the tree line— her hand reached for something that wasn’t there, probably muscle memory looking for a weapon—

Five men emerged from the forest— leather armor, mismatched weapons, the universal look of people who made a living taking things from others— the leader had a scar running from his eye to his jaw— different bandits from the ones on the road, but same general vibe—

His eyes found Elara first— recognition sparked—

“Well, well— the little rabbit who got away.”

Elara’s breathing changed— faster, shallower— her fists clenched—

“You’re the ones— from Millbrook—”

The leader grinned— missing teeth, the kind that suggested a life of poor decisions—

“We came back to finish the job— collect some debts— but someone had run away— cost us time tracking you down— time we’re going to collect on— with interest.”

The other bandits spread out, surrounding the cabin— professional formation, they’d done this before—

I climbed down from the roof— Elara grabbed my arm—

“Stay behind me.”

“I’m fine—”

“Please— just— stay behind me.”

The fear in her voice was real— she thought these men were dangerous— she’d seen what they did to her village and believed they could do it again—

The leader pointed at me— “Who’s this? Your grandfather?”

“I’m her landlord— you’re trespassing—”

“Trespassing— hear that boys? We’re trespassing—”

They laughed— the kind of laugh that came before violence— I sighed—

“Look, I just want to fix my roof— if you could do your banditry somewhere else—”

“Shut up, old man— hand over the girl and we’ll let you keep your life— might even leave the cabin standing—”

Elara stepped forward— the bandits tensed— hands moving to weapons—

“You hurt my mother— killed my father— destroyed my home—”

Her voice came out flat— empty— like all the emotion had been scooped out and replaced with something cold—

“And you’re going to pay for it.”

The leader laughed harder— “You? You’re going to make us pay? Little girl who couldn’t even hold a kitchen knife right?”

She turned her head slightly— looked at me with those red eyes—

“Master— may I clean up this trash?”

Oh no—

“Elara, you don’t have to—”

“Please— they’re filthy— leaving them alive would be an insult to your mountain.”

The shift in her eyes— the same one from the boulder— madness creeping in around the edges—

The leader pulled his sword— “Master? You teaching this brat parlor tricks?”

Elara moved—

Not walked— moved— one moment standing still, the next directly in front of the leader— the stick I’d given her appeared in her hand— I hadn’t seen her pick it up—

She swung—

The leader’s head exploded—

Not cut— exploded— the stick passed through his skull like it was made of wet paper— blood and brain matter sprayed in an arc— his body stood for a moment before collapsing—

Complete silence—

Then screaming—

The other bandits tried to run— tried to fight— didn’t matter— she was already moving—

The stick whipped through the air— bone shattered— flesh tore— blood painted the clearing red—

One bandit raised his sword— she broke his arm backward— the sword fell— she caught it with her other hand and drove it through his chest— didn’t let go— used it as leverage to kick his ribcage apart—

Another pulled a knife— threw it at her— she tilted her head— the knife missed by an inch— she closed the distance and brought the stick down on his knee— the joint bent the wrong way with a wet crack—

He fell screaming— she stepped on his throat— pressed until the screaming stopped—

The last two bandits made it to the tree line— she threw the stick—

It spun through the air— caught the first one in the spine— he went down— paralyzed but not dead—

She walked over— picked up the stick— looked down at him—

He begged— words I couldn’t hear— she smiled—

Raised the stick—

Brought it down—

Again—

Long after he stopped moving—

The final bandit had frozen— standing ten feet away, watching his companion get pulverized—

Elara turned to him— blood covered her face, her dress, her arms— dripping from her hair— she looked like something that crawled out of a nightmare—

“Did you enjoy hurting my mother?”

He bolted— she let him run— five steps, ten, fifteen—

She blurred— appeared in front of him— he ran face-first into the stick she held at neck height—

The impact flipped him backward— he landed on his back, gasping—

She stood over him— tilted her head—

“This is for my father.”

The stick came down—

When it was over, she walked back to me—

Five bodies lay behind her— barely recognizable as human— more like meat and broken bones scattered across my yard—

She stopped three feet away— still holding the stick— blood dripped from it in steady drops—

Her face was flushed— pink spreading across her cheeks— her eyes wide and bright— that smile, the one from the cover, stretching from ear to ear—

“Master— did you see? I cleaned up the trash—”

Her voice came out breathy— excited— like she’d just shown me a drawing she was proud of—

I stared at her—

At the blood— at the bodies— at her smile—

“You’re— that was—”

“I used everything I learned during the training— focused on the same spot like with the boulder— didn’t waste movement— was I good? Did I do well?”

She looked at me with such pure expectation— such genuine desire for approval—

I have made a terrible mistake—

“That was— excessive—”

“But they deserved it— they hurt people— they were going to hurt more people—”

“You turned them into paste—”

“I was being efficient— Master, are you disappointed?”

Her smile faltered— worry creeping into those red eyes—

“No— I just—”

She brightened immediately— stepped closer— blood squelched under her feet—

“Then you’ll teach me properly now, right? I proved I’m worthy—”

She grabbed my hands— hers were still covered in blood— warm and sticky—

“I’ll be the best student— I promise— I’ll make you proud— I’ll kill anyone who threatens you— clean and efficient— just tell me what to do—”

Her eyes were completely dilated— red swallowing up everything else—

This wasn’t determination anymore— this was obsession—

Worship—

I opened my mouth to respond— to say something that would fix this situation—

Nothing came out—

She waited— smiling— covered in the remains of five men—

“I need to sit down.”

I pulled away and walked back to the cabin— legs moving on autopilot—

She followed— skipping slightly— humming something under her breath—

Behind us, the bodies attracted flies—

I made it inside— collapsed in my chair—

Elara stood in the doorway— backlit by morning sun— blood looked black in the shadows—

“Master?”

“I’ll teach you.”

The words escaped before I could stop them— self-preservation kicking in— refusing her seemed like it would lead to outcomes I didn’t want to consider—

Her smile grew impossibly wider—

“Really?”

“Yes— really— just— go wash off— please—”

She looked down at herself— seemed to notice the blood for the first time—

“Oh— I’m sorry— I made a mess—”

“It’s fine— there’s a stream— go— take your time—”

She bowed— actually bowed— then ran off toward the stream— still humming—

I sat alone in the silence—

Stared at the ceiling—

“What have I done?”

Outside, birds started singing again— life returning to normal—

Five bodies cooling in my yard—