Kurt Ozhorn’s Return
HE reappeared that very afternoon when Bianca’s warmth still lingered in the salon.
Martha had come first, bringing news of his arrival. Sophie sat quietly, waiting. Then the door swung open.
There he was.
Anger welled up at the sight of him, sharp and sudden like it had been waiting just beneath the surface this whole time.
Why are you so late? was one thing she wanted to say.
You couldn’t have written me even once? was another.
But she said none of it. She swallowed every word, every ache, and instead offered the one bland, inoffensive line she’d decided on ahead of time.
“Mr. Ozhorn, it’s good to see you again.”
She’d meant to smile when she said it. That part didn’t happen. The tears were already slipping down her face.
“Some hot water, please. And could you remove my bandages?” Sophie had said when Martha arrived with the news.
Martha’s back straightened, then in her perfect, most head maid-esque voice, simply said: “As you wish, my lady.”
Now, barefaced and standing before Kurt, Sophie personally poured him a cup of tea.
“I’m glad to see you alive and well,” she said.
It was her first time seeing him in his white service uniform. Frayed at the seams, streaked with grime, it was a far cry from his usual ironed and starched appearance—but she had to admit, it suited him just the same.
“If you don’t mind, I can help wipe you down,” she said, offering a towel. “You came straight from the battlefield, didn’t you?”
Kurt said nothing. Just stared at her, silently.
Sophie was staring right back, all the while wondering, Has he always looked like this?
A short, no-nonsense cut framing a well-shaped forehead. Strict brows, obsidian eyes that seemed to gleam with thought. A prominent nose—just the right height. Lips neither too full nor too thin. Even ears that looked disciplined. Then there was the Adam’s apple, sticking out quietly from a neck that looked built to carry weight.
At last, he spoke.
“I’ll do it myself. May I borrow your towel?”
“Then, at least let me do your back.”
“No. I don’t know if I’ll be able to restrain myself if you touch me right now.”
He said it just like that.
“Very funny, now let me—”
“You should treat me like the man I am, Ms. Sophie.”
There was something rough in the way he said it—low, breathless. Then, without another word, he took the towel from her hand.
As he moved past, she caught the scent of him. Dirt, sweat…the scent of a man.
Kurt shrugged off the upper half of his uniform and let it fall to the floor. He began wiping himself down in silence, the dim lamplight casting his body in soft relief.
He was more built than Sophie had expected—not slender and bookish like she’d assumed, but toned. Muscular, even.
But then he turned, and her breath caught.
“What happened to your back?”
“An errant boulder struck me,” he coolly said as if commenting on the weather. “The scar you see is nothing compared to the original wound. I was nearly split in half. Fortunately, there were other healers nearby.”
“…”
“I had no idea healing was such a painful ordeal,” he added. “If I can help it, I’d rather not go through it again.”
“It was a dangerous mission, then?”
“The dragon was larger and more intelligent than we thought. We managed to trap it in a cave, but that only turned it into a lair. From there, the battle became a long, brutal siege. Our strongest went in first, only to be torn apart and spit out like ribbons. Even the liveliest adventurers started to shake after that. There’s nothing us healers can do for wounds that severe, after all.”
“But you defeated it?”
“In the end, we did.”
“It sounds like it was a hellish ordeal.”
“That’s a fair way to put it.”
Silence.
Then Kurt turned to face her fully. “Ms. Sophie.”
“Yes?”
“Would you mind?”
He affixed her with his strict, obsidian gaze. Though exhaustion dripped from his eyes, he didn’t waver.
“I would like to be healed by your hands.”
“All right,” Sophie said quietly. “I suppose you’ve earned that much.”
At that, Kurt broke into a weary smile. “I think I’ve earned a little more than that from you.”
“I have no idea what you might be implying. Now, if you could face your back to me.”
Kurt settled into a chair and turned his back to her. As Sophie moved into position, her eyes were drawn to the long gash stretching down the length of his back.
As she raised her hands over the scar, she felt a sudden urge to move a little closer. To touch it. To trace its edge gently with her fingers.
But she held back.
Her awful, bark-like, pus-ridden skin was exposed. Touching him would only sully the skin he’d just finished cleaning.
So instead, she kept her hands hovering at the right distance and began to chant.
“Pain, pain, go away.”
She wondered what had gone through his mind when that boulder came tearing toward him.
In that instant, when death must have felt so near, and his life was flashing before his eyes, had she been in it? Had he seen her face in that kaleidoscopic collage, even for a moment?
“To the mountains you go, to the mountains you stay.”
Those must have been days of pain. Of heartbreak, discouragement. Fighting with all your strength to save someone, only to watch them die—that had to be the hardest thing for a healer to bear.
But he had made it past those days. Today, he’d come back—alive. His first stop after that harrowing ordeal had been Sophie’s salon. Not even bathing or changing, just…straight here.
That alone had been enough to bring Sophie to tears.
If she could ease even a little of that burden—soften the bitter traces left by blood and fire—then it was the least she could do.
Smooth, clear, rippling white skin revealed itself as the light faded. Sophie let out a quiet sigh of relief.