The quiet of the riverbank was almost sacred that morning.   The usual hum of insects and gentle whisper of the water were hushed, leaving only the sharp thud-thud of Lila’s hurried steps as she stumbled upon the figure collapsed near the shoreline.

The woman was unlike anything Lila had ever seen: broad, scarred, and draped in heavy, worn-down armor that looked almost too broken to be protective anymore. A massive weapon—nearly as tall as Lila herself—was embedded into the dirt nearby, its jagged edge glinting menacingly under the soft light.

Lila’s heart jumped into her throat.   But the woman was breathing—shallow, strained.

Without thinking, Lila dropped her book, her hands already moving, trembling with careful urgency. She worked methodically: cleaning blood away with river water, pressing soft moss into wounds, humming a soothing song to herself as she tried to ease the woman’s pain.  

She murmured apologies with every touch, flinching every time the woman’s face twisted in unconscious pain. She sang old lullabies passed through her mother’s side of the family, half-forgotten but comforting nonetheless.

As Lila tucked a makeshift bandage against a gash along the woman’s ribs, her fingers brushed something cold tucked into the hunter’s belt—several heavy, cracked monster claws strung like trophies. Her breath caught.

She blinked down at the giant sword.   At the claw marks across her armor.   At the talisman stitched crudely onto her cloak — a hunter’s insignia.   Not just any hunter. A monster hunter.

The kind her people spoke of in hushed, wary tones. The ones who fought massive beasts that could destroy entire villages—and sometimes didn’t differentiate between monsters and creatures like her.

Lila’s hands stilled, hovering just above the woman’s torn tunic.   Her heart pounded, the gills at her neck fluttering in alarm. She bit her lip, debating whether she should run before the woman woke up—before she opened her eyes and realized Lila wasn’t just a kind stranger, but something...other.

But then the hunter gave a weak, pained breath, her body twitching in restless discomfort.

Lila's throat tightened. She couldn't leave her. She couldn't leave anyone who needed help, not when it was so clearly written across every battered line of her body.  

She hesitated, then adjusted the woman’s bandages with new determination, even gentler now—treating her as carefully as she would a wounded bird.  

"You’re not a monster," Lila whispered to the unconscious woman, as if trying to convince herself just as much as the sleeping hunter. "And neither am I."  

So she stayed by her side, humming softly once more, even as a storm of fear and curiosity twisted deep inside her chest.