The healer’s den was steeped in stillness.
It always had a calming quiet, a sacred hush that clung to the woven curtains and stone floors like breath held too long. Tonight, though, that calm felt deceptive. The scent of mint and sage still drifted from the apothecary shelves, but to Aria, it all felt sharper somehow. Like the air knew what was coming.
She stood near the end of the room, quietly restocking gauze, though her eyes flicked often to the cot near the centre, where Sienna White lay, finally still.
Pale beneath the wool blanket. Breathing steadily, at last.
Aria’s fingers moved automatically through the vials and linens, but inside, her chest felt tight.
She had spent days tending to this woman. Changing dressings. Sponging fever from her skin. Mixing potions to draw the inf
