The Healer
954 Words
The vision lingered long after it disappeared.
Elara remained motionless, one hand gripping the edge of the wooden table while the other instinctively covered the pendant resting against her chest. Her breathing came in shallow bursts.
She had experienced strange dreams before.
Every Moon Healer spoke of them eventually—fleeting glimpses of places they had never visited or voices they could never quite remember. Master Ilyra always dismissed them with a gentle smile.
"The moon speaks in riddles. Don't spend your life trying to solve every one."
But this had not felt like a dream.
It had felt real.
The smell of wet earth.
The metallic scent of blood.
The wolf's silver eyes.
She could still remember every detail.
A soft knock sounded at the doorway.
"Elara?"
She quickly composed herself.
"I'm here."
Mira stepped inside carrying another basket of herbs.
"There you are." She stopped abruptly. "You look pale."
"I'm alright."
"You don't sound alright."
Elara forced a smile.
"I stood up too quickly."
Mira raised an eyebrow.
"That excuse stopped working when we were twelve."
Despite herself, Elara laughed.
"I'll survive."
"You'd better."
Mira placed the basket on the workbench before lowering her voice.
"The Alpha has been asking questions."
Elara frowned.
"About what?"
"The sanctuary."
"What kind of questions?"
"The old records. The history of the order. How long we've been here."
Elara found that curious.
"Did Master Ilyra answer him?"
"I don't know. They've been talking privately for nearly an hour."
She hesitated.
"And..."
"And?"
"I think she's worried."
That caught Elara's attention.
"Master Ilyra?"
Mira nodded.
"I've never seen her look at anyone the way she looked at him."
"How?"
"As though she'd just remembered something she'd spent years trying to forget."
The receiving chamber had grown noticeably quieter.
Lucien rested both hands upon the carved wooden table while Master Ilyra stood beside one of the stained-glass windows, watching sunlight dance across the floor.
"The curse cannot be removed," she said at last.
Lucien had expected those words.
Hearing them still stung.
"But it can be delayed."
"For how long?"
"I don't know."
He accepted the answer without complaint.
She admired that.
Most rulers demanded certainty.
Lucien simply wanted the truth.
"The corruption has reached deeper than I feared," she continued.
"It feeds on violence."
"So I've been told."
"No."
She turned to face him.
"You've been told what it does."
Her expression became solemn.
"You've never been told why."
Lucien remained silent.
"The Shadow Curse was never intended as punishment."
"It wasn't?"
"It was created during the First Kingdom Wars."
She paused, choosing her words carefully.
"It was meant to create perfect protectors."
Lucien frowned.
"Protectors?"
"Warriors who would never fear pain."
"Who would never tire."
"Who would never surrender."
His expression darkened.
"And what happened?"
"They forgot they were protecting people."
Silence settled between them.
"The curse devoured everything else."
Lucien looked down at the black veins creeping beneath his skin.
"Is that my future?"
Master Ilyra answered honestly.
"It will be."
"...unless something changes."
Outside, the sanctuary continued its peaceful routine.
Patients wandered through flowering gardens while apprentices carried bowls of freshly prepared medicines from one building to another.
For a few precious hours, it seemed impossible that danger could ever reach this place.
Elara crossed the courtyard carrying a tray of healing salves.
Several children sat beneath the apple trees weaving flower crowns.
One little girl looked up.
"Will you help me?"
Elara smiled.
"Of course."
She knelt beside the child.
The crown had almost fallen apart.
Patiently, she showed the girl how to thread each stem without breaking it.
"There."
The little girl beamed.
"You always fix things."
Elara laughed softly.
"I try."
The child tilted her head.
"Who fixes you?"
The question stole her smile.
She hadn't expected it.
Before she could answer, another familiar voice spoke behind her.
"She rarely gives anyone the chance."
Lucien.
Elara looked up.
He stood several steps away, no longer wearing his travelling cloak.
Without it, the scars crossing his forearms became visible.
Old scars.
Some narrow.
Some jagged.
None accidental.
The little girl noticed him and hurried away, leaving the unfinished flower crown behind.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Lucien bent down, picked up the tiny crown, and carefully brushed away a blade of grass caught between the flowers.
"You have a gift with children."
Elara accepted the crown from him.
"They're honest."
"They're fearless."
"They haven't yet learned to hide who they are."
Lucien's expression softened.
"I envy that."
She glanced at him.
"I don't think I've ever heard a warrior admit envy."
"I've never met a healer who looked at warriors without judgement."
Their eyes met.
There was curiosity in his.
Caution in hers.
Neither quite knew what to make of the other.
Finally, Elara asked,
"Does your hand hurt?"
Lucien looked down at the glove covering his right hand.
"Sometimes."
"You shouldn't wear the glove all day."
"It keeps others from asking questions."
"And does it stop you asking them yourself?"
For the first time, Lucien looked genuinely caught off guard.
A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth.
"You ask difficult questions."
"So I've been told."
Their conversation might have continued.
But a raven landed suddenly on the stone fountain nearby.
Its wings beat frantically.
It let out a harsh cry before taking flight again.
Lucien's head snapped upward.
His expression changed instantly.
Years of instinct replaced the brief warmth in his eyes.
"What is it?" Elara asked.
He watched the direction the bird had flown.
"Nothing..."
His voice was quiet.
"...I hope."
Far beyond the sanctuary walls...
Hidden among the trees...
Someone watched.
A silver mask caught a single shaft of sunlight before disappearing back into the shadows.
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