TW: Blood, lots of it
The stone was cold.
Why had he been sleeping on stone, why was he not in this tree in the clearing?
He opened his eyes. He saw the tall stone walls that extended beyond his vision. He saw vines creeping up them. He saw long hallways that led to nothingness. He realized he'd fallen asleep in the Maze. How had a creature not come by to finish him off? Where were the others?
Why was he in the Maze, how did he get here?
Another thing he noticed was all of the red. It splattered on the wall he was leaning against, it pooled around him on the floor, staining his pale skin and light brown hair with a deep shade of ruby. It was dripping off him, originating from the sword that had been wedged into his ribs.
His first thought was 'who the fuck stabbed me' closely followed by 'I should probably get it out'
Then began the incredibly painful process of removing a sword without damaging your internal organs. He tried to stop the shake in his hands, taking it out carefully through the exact path it came in. Blood splattered across his clothing, it dripped back down onto the puddle that already sat on the floor.
The edge of the blade came out and he tossed the sword aside. The blood still blossomed from the wound, the puddle grew, his shirt was soaked in red.
Now for the second, and objectively harder task, make it back to the Clearing without dying, or ideally find a runner to bring him back. Anyone would do, other then Ori, he really wasnt in a state to be picky, he'll complain when he isnt bleeding out.
He attempted to stand, but to no avail, which probably should have been expected. His legs refused to move and simply sat still on the stone floor, his foot appeared to bend the wrong way. He realized it was probably broken, he also realized he probably wasnt going anywhere for a while.
So he sat there. Leaning against the vines and praying on the fact that anyone was looking for him, that Magic was in the middle of her run around the maze she did every day.
He was praying on the fact that someone remembered him. Everyone seemed to drift apart during the winter. Everyone was doing their own thing. Everyone was alone.
...
The ground shook
The ground rumbled and grew more violent by the second. Something was happening, something was changing.
The maze was changing.
The wall he leaned against shook as well. He scooted away as to not fall backwards into whatever hall would open. As it slowly moved back into the other wall, he looked in, so see what path had just opened.
Fences, there was a watchtower.
There was Owen sitting there, he hadnt noticed him yet. He was looking away.
Now Oeca's arms were certainly still in functioning position, his vocal cords objectively, not as much.
He grabbed a large rock that had fallen into his red pool, and and he threw it at hard as he could. It made a loud, echoey noise that has caused Owen to turn his attention back to the Maze. The two made eye contact for a moment before the man on the other side of the fence pulled out an axe, chopping a bit down so he could fit through. He sprinted through the hall to meet Oeca.
"How are you- nevermind, questions can come later. I'll get Soup, stay here."
"Not like I've got a choice" Oeca said dully. Owen ran back through the hole he'd carved out.
He didn't return for five minutes, but Oeca didn't have a way to tell the time. It could have been years for all he knew. But when Owen came back, he was trailed by a girl in light pink hair, holding all sorts of potions in her hand.
She grimaced approaching him. Looking down at the puddle of blood and very obvious stab wound "Oh, that's not good" she muttered
"Ive already figured that part out"
"I might have to take you back to my house, there's more stuff there"
"Uh, sure, whatever makes me not die is cool."
Owen lifted up Oeca from the blood puddle. his clothes also being stained with the red liquid. He would have objected to this any other day, but he was too woozy to care that much. That isn't to say he slipped in the occasional complaint.
He was lowered down onto some kind of bed. He could tell he was in Soup's house, judging by all the potions and medical gear strewn about.
Soup handed him a potion, he looked up at her confusedly.
"You're gonna need to drink that" she explained "at least if you don't want to experience the level of pain stabbing brings you, again."
Oeca uncharacteristically drank the potion without hesitation. He immediately felt his eyes droop. He supposed this was some kind of sleeping potion, or Soup just gave him poison and he drank it with no questions asked. He shut his eyes, either situation would probably suck the same. He's either stuck back in the Clearing or dead.
That's a pleasant last thought.
...
His eyes opened again. Alerting him to the fact that he was not dead, he was still in the same room as before. Owen was gone, Soup was still there.
He could no longer see the red. There was white on the bandages where it once was. It had been washed away. It was gone, hopefully.
"Ah, was wondering when you'd be up. You doing alright"
"'M fine" he muttered
"Good, sent Owen off a bit ago. He isn't great at treating injuries. Your leg was ago broken so I made an attempt at some crutches for now." She pointed them out on the wall next to him. They were made with a mixture of stone and wood and whatever else kept them together.
"I don't need those"
"If you want a normally working foot you do, actually."
Oeca rolled his eyes. "You're welcome to leave at any time" Soup said. Heading up a ladder that he assumed lead to another floor in the house "There's a staircase to your right if you wanna get out!"
Oeca waited till she was gone to stand without the crutches, or try to. His foot twisted in pain and he fell to the floor, he bit back a wince and stood with one foot against the bed for support. He grabbed the crutches, it was far easier to walk that way.
He'd never admit it, but he was glad someone cared enough to help him. Even if it was just pity
