CHAPTER 8 - The Infirmary of Shadows
879 Words
Lyra had barely taken two steps when the court doors were thrown open.
“Your Majesty!” Garron’s voice boomed through the hall, breathless and strained.
Kael stiffened immediately, his wolf snarling beneath his skin.
Garron’s eyes flicked toward Lyra for half a second—shock, confusion, perhaps even unease—but he forced himself to face the king.
“Forgive the interruption, but there has been an incident.”
Kael’s jaw tightened. “Speak.”
“The Northern Watchtower… it has been attacked. By the Shadow Lieutenant.”
The room froze.
Kael moved first, a storm snapping to life. “How many dead?”
“Five warriors,” Garron said quietly. “The survivors have been taken to the infirmary. Gamma Thorian and Delta Miric are among the injured. Of them all, Thorian is gravely injured.”
Kael froze.
“What?” The word left him like a growl. “Thorian?”
Garron nodded once. “He is alive, but fading fast. The healers believe he took the brunt of the Lieutenant’s strike.”
Lyra’s heart lurched. “A Shadow Lieutenant’s strike wound… it will fester quickly.”
Kael shot her a sharp look—half question, half realization.
Then he moved, and Garron followed immediately.
They rushed together to the infirmary.
The palace infirmary was overflowing. Injured warriors lay on cots, healers scrambling, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood. Wolf spirits flickered anxiously around their hosts, unable to settle.
Thorian Blackmane lay among the injured, barely recognizable beneath the black veins crawling across his skin. His breaths were shallow, each one a struggle. His wolf’s presence was so weak it was almost gone.
Liora Blackmane knelt at his bedside, eyes red, hands trembling.
“Thorian… please… stay with me…”
Beside her was Beta Celene, balancing her own fear with gentle strength as she whispered encouragement. Delta Miric’s wife, Anara, sat beside her injured husband, offering him support.
Celene noticed Lyra first.
Her expression softened. “You must be the healer Eloween spoke of.”
Lyra nodded.
Liora did not look up. Her voice cracked. “Please… please save my mate.”
Lyra approached slowly, assessing the extent of the corruption.
It was worse than she feared.
Kael stepped to the side but stayed close, his presence looming like a storm waiting for a direction to break.
Garron stood guard at the entrance, tension in every line of his body.
Lyra placed her hands just above Thorian’s chest and inhaled.
The shadow rot shifted under his skin like black worms.
Celene whispered, horror-stricken, “What kind of magic is this?”
Lyra answered softly, “Magic meant to unmake him.”
Liora sobbed.
Kael’s voice dropped into a deep rumble. “Lyra. Can you save him?”
The question was not hopeful—
it was a demand.
A command wrapped in fear.
Lyra met his gaze. “I will try.”
She pressed her palms over Thorian’s heart.
Silver light burst into the room.
It was brighter than before—stronger, sharper—because the corruption in Thorian was older, deeper, clinging with a malice that resisted her.
The shadows inside him screamed.
The healers gasped.
The warriors backed away.
Even Kael stepped forward as if to intervene.
Lyra shook her head. “Do not. If you break the connection, the corruption will finish what it started.”
The light intensified, the smell of burnt magic filling the air.
Thorian’s body arched—
then collapsed.
The black veins began to peel away under Lyra’s power, dissolving into smoke. Her face twisted in pain as she fought the darkness trying to push back.
Celene whispered a prayer.
Liora sobbed harder. “Please, Goddess, save him…”
Finally—
The corruption burst in a flash of silver.
Thorian inhaled sharply—his first full breath in hours.
The black veins vanished.
His skin warmed.
His wolf stirred.
Lyra sagged, falling to her knees. Celene caught her quickly.
“It is all right,” Celene murmured. “You did it.”
Kael exhaled slowly—
a sound that might have been relief, or disbelief.
Garron stared openly, his jaw clenched.
Liora brushed trembling fingers across Thorian’s cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely, not even looking at Lyra. “Thank you…”
Lyra managed a faint smile.
Kael extended a hand to her.
She hesitated—
Then accepted.
His grip was strong, steadying her effortlessly.
When she was steady again, Celene stepped forward.
“You have done enough for tonight. Come—I will show you to your chambers.”
Lyra nodded, exhausted. She cast one last glance at Thorian, then followed Celene from the infirmary.
As they walked through the dim palace hallways, Celene spoke softly:
“Eloween requested your presence here for a reason. Whether Kael sees it yet or not… the kingdom needed you tonight.”
Lyra did not answer, too drained—and too burdened by what she knew:
The Shadows never attacked only once.
Their first strike was a warning.
Their second would be war.
Celene opened the door to a quiet, moonlit guest chamber.
“Rest,” she said gently. “You will need your strength.”
Lyra stepped inside.
And far away, the Shadow’s Lieutenant smiled in the dark.
- Writer
