Grant me Your Grace Chapter 103 - Side Story

 

Hissin gazed down at the pitifully young creature with clear displeasure etched across his features. 

 

At last, he let out a low, resigned sigh and grudgingly gave his permission.

 

“Thank you, Hissin.”

 

Dahlia’s voice trembled with genuine delight as she immediately began making preparations. 

 

Watching her, Hissin spoke in a deliberately gruff, almost sulky tone that he only used when something deeply unsettled him.

 

“Later, I suppose you’ll order me to wipe out every last official from the Moron Kingdom as well.”

 

It was his usual habit—raising his speech to a stiff, formal register whenever a situation grated on him. 

 

Dahlia glanced at him and let a small, tender laugh escape her lips.

 

“I won’t do anything reckless anymore. This is within the bounds of what I can handle.”

 

“Even so… consider the man whose heart would shatter at the sight of even a single tiny thorn piercing your hand.”

 

His voice had dropped, raw and heavy with unspoken fear. 

 

The words hung between them like a quiet confession.

 

“I’m sorry. And… thank you, Hissin.”

 

Rising onto her toes, Dahlia pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek—her lips warm, deliberate, carrying the weight of everything she could not yet say aloud. Then she knelt once more before the serval cub.

 

“His!”

 

Startled by the touch of an unfamiliar human, the young serval bared its tiny fangs and hissed fiercely, every instinct screaming danger. 

 

But the pain from its wound quickly overwhelmed its defiance; its small body sagged back to the ground, trembling.

 

“It’s all right. I’ll make it better soon—just hold on a little longer, sweet one.”

 

Dahlia murmured soothing words as her gentle fingers traced the cub’s body with exquisite care. 

 

Mercifully, aside from the ugly gash on its hind leg, there were no other serious injuries.

 

Please, Goddess Nuit… let me bear this poor creature’s pain completely in its place.

 

Silently offering her prayer to the goddess, Dahlia accepted the dagger Hissin held out to her. Without hesitation, she drew the blade deeply across her palm. 

 

Crimson welled instantly—vivid, rich, and pulsing with life.

 

Drip. Drip—

 

The blood fell onto the torn wound, spreading over ragged flesh like liquid sunlight. 

 

Wherever it touched, the jagged edges began to knit together with uncanny speed, the raw meat drawing closed as though time itself were reversing.

 

All the while, Hissin’s strong hands encircled Dahlia’s leg in an iron grip, preventing even a single drop of her precious blood from spilling uselessly onto the ground. 

 

His eyes never left her face—searching, fierce, terrified of missing the slightest sign that the magic was taking too much from her.

 

At last, the wound sealed completely. 

 

The cub, which had been writhing weakly, suddenly sprang upright. 

 

Its golden pupils narrowed to slits as those wide, luminous eyes fixed first on Dahlia… then on the man whose arms still cradled her leg so protectively.

 

“Anywhere else hurt?”

 

“No… thankfully. It seems only the leg was injured.”

 

Her voice came out soft, almost breathless. She lifted her gaze to meet Hissin’s—and in that shared look passed a current far deeper than words: relief, lingering fear, gratitude… and something fiercer, something that had been steadily growing between them, unspoken yet impossible to ignore any longer.

 

Having finally eased Hissin’s worry, Dahlia turned her gaze back to the young serval—her eyes now shimmering with a quiet, almost reverent tension.

 

The cub had not fled. 

 

All this ti,me it had simply remained, staring up at her with wide, unblinking golden eyes.

 

Contrary to Hissin’s fears, there was no trace of aggression in that gaze. 

 

If anything, the little creature seemed to understand exactly what had happened—that this human woman had taken its pain into her own body. 

 

Its eyes kept drifting, soft and curious, to the faint red stain still lingering on her leg.

 

“Hissin… just a moment.”

 

Dahlia gently covered the large hands still wrapped protectively around her calf. 

 

Understanding immediately, Hissin released her and stepped back two deliberate paces.

 

The serval, which had been rigid with caution, hesitated—then slowly, trustingly, padded forward.

 

It lowered its small head… and with exquisite care began to lick the remaining crimson traces from her skin.

 

“…A beast that knows gratitude,” 

 

Hissin murmured, the words accompanied by a short, astonished huff of laughter.

 

Dahlia turned a radiant smile toward him, the kind of smile that made something deep inside his chest twist painfully. Then, very slowly, she reached out and stroked the cub’s head.

 

The serval did not flinch.

 

Instead, it leaned into her touch, a tiny, rumbling purr vibrating through its throat—a sound so soft it felt like a secret shared only between them.

 

“You’re all better now, little one. Go back to the family that’s waiting for you.”

 

With tender words and an equally tender push against its back, Dahlia urged the cub away.

 

But instead of leaving, the serval gave a playful leap, batted at her fingers, then—bold as anything—scrambled up her arm and perched on her shoulder as though it had always belonged there.

 

In Palan, they say these creatures are harder to tame than wild dogs… and yet, in mere moments, this one had already chosen her.

 

“What do I do, Hissin…?”

 

The cub was rubbing its cheek against hers now, utterly shameless, utterly attached. 

 

Dahlia looked up at him, eyes wide with helpless affection and just a touch of guilt.

 

How could anyone possibly ask her to send it away now?

 

Hissin exhaled through his nose, the sound long-suffering yet unmistakably fond. Once again, he found himself surrendering ground he had sworn never to yield.

 

“…Only until it can hunt on its own.”

 

“Thank you, Hissin.”

 

Joy bloomed across her face like sunrise. She gathered the cub—barely larger than her two hands—tightly against her chest. 

 

Hissin knelt once more, his thumb brushing slowly, deliberately over the last faint red mark on her leg until even that trace of her sacrifice disappeared beneath his touch.

 

Then he rose, offering his hand.

 

She took it.

 

He drew her up slowly, close enough that their breaths mingled for one suspended heartbeat—until the tiny serval, still cradled between them, let out an indignant little chirp at being squished.

 

But the price of saving the small life was not yet fully paid.

 

“…Hissin.”

 

Her voice had changed—suddenly hushed, almost awed.

 

“What is it? Does something else hurt?”

 

“No, it’s not that…” 

 

She lifted her eyes, wide and shimmering. 

 

“Look over there.”

 

Hissin, who had been frantically scanning Dahlia for any new sign of pain, followed the direction of her trembling finger.

 

His gaze locked onto the spot—and froze.

 

A single small blade of grass, impossibly green and alive, had lifted its head from the cracked, barren earth.

 

“That’s… impossible. Just moments ago there was nothing there…”

 

Dahlia dropped to her knees, leaning close until her breath stirred the tiny leaves. 

 

All around them, the ground remained dead—scoured by relentless sunlight and the moon’s cruel frost—yet here, exactly where her blood had fallen, life had answered.

 

The soil beneath that fragile green shoot was soft, dark, and damp, as rich and welcoming as any fertile field in the heart of an oasis.

 

Her blood had awakened the dead land.

 

Just as it had once awakened Baran.

 

Was it because I was touching Hissin the whole time… that I didn’t feel the drain? Then… could it be…?

 

Her eyes darkened with dawning realization, hope and fear twisting together—when Hissin suddenly crouched directly in front of her, blocking out everything else.

 

“Stop. Whatever thought just crossed your mind—stop it right there.”

 

His voice was low, rough, and almost pleading. He caught her gaze and refused to let it go.

 

“You cannot bring this entire vast wasteland back to life. Not alone. Not even with me standing right beside you.”

 

“I’ve done it before,” she whispered. 

 

“And healing land… it’s far more bearable than healing people. The pain is different—duller, slower. I can endure it.”

 

“Endure?” 

 

His jaw tightened. 

 

“The moment you take suffering into yourself—any suffering—nothing about that ever becomes bearable to me.”

 

“But you’ll be here.”

 

Dahlia slid her hands around his, threading their fingers together until their palms pressed flush—pulse against pulse.

 

“And if this land comes alive again… the people of Moron won’t have to hide forever in the dark beneath the earth. If we can just find a way to shield them from the worst of the sun, they could walk under the open sky. Look up at the stars without fear. Live.”

 

Hissin lifted his eyes to the endless black vault above them, glittering coldly.

 

“How do you plan to block out a sky like that?”

 

The Palan continent burned beneath a sun more merciless than any other land knew. 

 

No simple canopy, no tent, no curtain of heat-resistant hides could withstand it for long. Even the fur of the heat-hardened cave rats could buy only an hour or two of mercy.

 

To truly block the sun was impossible.

 

“Then… what if I do it little by little?” 

 

Dahlia’s voice softened, but the determination in it only grew brighter. 

 

“Only as much as my blood can give without breaking me. Just enough to let patches of green breathe again. Just enough to give them hope.”

 

She lifted their joined hands between them, her thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over his knuckles—the same gentle motion she had used moments earlier to soothe a frightened cub.

 

Hissin stared down at their entwined fingers as though the answer to every question in the universe might be written there.

 

His throat worked.

 

“…You would bleed for strangers again. For miles of dead earth. For people who’ve never even spoken your name.”

 

“I would bleed for a future where no one has to choose between sunlight and safety,” she said quietly. 

 

“And I would do it with you beside me… if you’d let me.”

 

For a long mom,ent he said nothing.

 

Then he exhaled—a sound that carried surrender, fear, devotion, and something dangerously close to worship.

 

Slowly—agonizingly slowly—he leaned forward until his forehead rested against hers.

 

“If you so much as sway,” he murmured against her skin, voice raw,

 

“I will carry you away from this place myself. I will chain you to my side if I must. Do you understand?”

 

Dahlia closed her eyes, breathing him in.

 

“I understand.”

 

Her lips curved—just the smallest, softest smile.

 

“But you’ll stay.”

 

It wasn’t a question.

 

Hissin let out a quiet, broken laugh against her temple.

 

“I never stood a chance of leaving.”

 

“You haven’t truly felt the daylight in Moron yet.” 

 

Hissin said, his voice low and edged with something close to desperation. 

 

“Even if you poured your blood into the earth all through the night and coaxed green from stone… by morning the sun would rise and scorch it all to ash again. Every fragile blade would wither screaming under that merciless heat.”

 

“But—”

 

“You promised me.” 

 

He cut her off, gentle but unyielding. 

 

“You swore no more reckless acts.”

 

The memory flashed behind his eyes—the moment those faint red spots had bloomed across her leg while she healed nothing more than a single frightened cub. 

 

His heart had plummeted then, seized by a terror so sharp it stole his breath. If the sight of that tiny stain had nearly undone him…

 

How could he stand by and watch her bleed herself dry across an endless, useless expanse of wasteland?

 

“No one—not me, not a single soul in Moron—would ever welcome land bought with your suffering.”

 

He drew her into his arms then, folding her against his chest as though he could physically shield her from her own compassion. 

 

His embrace was fierce, almost bruising, every line of his body radiating the quiet violence of a man who had already lost too much and refused to lose her too.

 

“Even if it means rotting underground for the rest of our lives… I cannot bear to see you in pain again. Not for this. Not for anything.”

 

Dahlia went still in his hold.

 

The words he spoke next came softer, cracked open, raw.

 

“Please… consider my heart, just a little.”

 

His plea hung between them, fragile and enormous.

 

She thought of the numbers she had already calculated in secret—two hundred thousand Moron lives depending on at least three hundred thousand square feet of viable surface. 

 

A single small vial of her blood could revive perhaps fifty square feet at most.

 

Six thousand vials.

 

Six thousand deep cuts.

 

And even then, the sun must not rise until every last inch had taken root—an impossibility under any sky.

 

The tiny serval curled against her chest let out a small, anxious sound—as though it sensed the shift in her heartbeat.

 

Dahlia closed her eyes. Then, slowly, she nodded against his shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

 

“I was chasing an impossible dream again… too caught up in what could be to see what it would cost.”

 

Hissin exhaled, the sound ragged with relief. His arms tightened for one last heartbeat before he eased back just enough to look at her.

 

“Your heart alone is more than enough. The people here—they would thank you for it even if they never knew your name. And I…” 

 

His thumb brushed the corner of her eye, catching the dampness she hadn’t realized was there. 

 

“I thank you every moment I’m still breathing beside you.”

 

She swallowed the ache of disappointment, let it settle heavy and quiet in her chest.

 

Together they rose. 

 

Hissin’s hand found hers and held fast, fingers laced so tightly it felt like a vow renewed.

 

Overnight, the air had grown colder, crueler. The single brave blade of grass—born of her blood, cradled by hope—had already begun to curl and brown at the edges. 

 

Before their eyes it wilted completely, returning to dust.

 

Dahlia paused only long enough to lay that small, fleeting dream down where it had briefly lived.

 

Then she turned with Hissin, letting him guide her back toward the deep tunnels of Mohron—back to the dark that at least would not burn, back to the only safety he could still offer her.

 

His arm remained around her waist the entire descent, steady and warm, as though he feared the very earth itself might try to steal her away if he let go even for a second.

 

And she—silently, fiercely—let herself lean into him, trusting that this closeness, this stubborn, living heartbeat pressed to hers, was worth every impossible thing they could never have.