Daughter of the Lost Clan

ChapterTwo-TheDyingHeir

One eventful morning, the faint rustle of leaves and the scent of grasses felt even more alive than they usually were. Within it, I could notice the sharp tang, the coppery sting of blood.

Curious, I followed cautiously. Every step I took was calculated and measured, toes on the tip as I avoided branches that could give out my location. The trail I followed led to the edge of a jagged ravine, where the scent of blood grew even stronger, almost metallic against my tongue.

There, sprawled across the stones, lay a man. His chest rose and fell with an unstable pattern, each breath ragged, shallow and labored. The wound across his ribs glimmered faintly, veins like silver-black threads twisting unnaturally across the pale skin. Poisoned steel forged for werewolves. My stomach twisted immediately.

I never thought I was one to be indecisive until today. I looked at him as he gasped for breath and squirmed on the floor, struggling to

decide what I should do with him.

He was dying, and yet, his eyes, when they opened, were sharp and unclouded by pain or fever. They were cautious, wary of a new being that appeared before him while he was weak, and yet… there was something else— something raw and human in their depth.

“Kill me,” he rasped.

The words were cold and distant, carrying neither fear nor despair, but an acceptance that made me uneasy.

My father's voice suddenly echoes in my mind, the same calm surrender, the same clarity in the face of death. I sighed for what came next was something I never planned my whole life. Strength surged through me, mingled with fear and determination.

I couldn't just leave him.

Dropping to my knees beside him, I placed my hands carefully against his chest. The poison, dark and obviously malevolent, immediately reacted. It writhed under my touch, striking at me as though it were alive and rejected my very nature, as though it knew I was trying to undo its work. My muscles started burning, and my pulse raced, but I did not falter.

I focused on the warmth I felt inside me, the pulse of moonlight that had carried through my veins since childhood. I took a deep breath and let it glow through my fingers, pressing against the wound, forcing the poison to recoil, to dissipate.

The black veins moved like snakes and slowly, they began to fade. Flesh knitted itself together, torn tissues started repairing beneath my gaze, leaving only faint traces of dried flood.

I leaned back against the rough bark of a nearby tree, chest heaving, palms sweaty and tingling with the residue of power I had unleashed. The man's breathing stabilised, shallow but steady. His eyes fixated on me, wide and never backing down, fawning in the sight of what he had just witnessed.

“You… you healed me,” he murmured, voice low but loud enough to hear him. “How…?”

I shook my head, refusing to return the gaze he gave me. Words would only betray me, reveal the power I had spent years hiding. Though, I had already betrayed my secret, I refused to finalise it with my words.

He struggled to sit up, grunting as he kept one hand on where the injury was. “Who…. Are you?” His tone sharpened and I could feel his suspicion rising around the edges of his gratitude.

He tried to rise again, but his body fought back. I could see the conflict in his expression. Confusion, disbelief, and awe all mingled with wariness. It was almost funny.

I remained silent, rising to my feet and brushing leaves from my dress. I could feel his eyes boring holes in my body but I didn't turn. My mind became a spinning wheel, recalling the altar, the screams, my mother's whispered words: hide your light. Survive.

I had survived. I always had. And I would continue to do so, no matter the cost.

He gasped, struggling for words. “Wait…. Why—why would you save me? You don't even know me.”

There was something raw in his voice, a mixture of impatience, incredulity, and something else I could not name. Perhaps it was recognition. Perhaps it was the first flicker of doubt.

I didn't give an answer. I couldn’t afford to give any. Instead, I let the silence stretch, the wind moving through the trees like a living thing, carrying away my footsteps as I slowly retreated.

He pushed himself up on trembling arms, eyes still fixed on me. “Wait!”

His voice was firmer this time, almost desperate. “Who—what are you? At least give me a name.”

I shook my head subconsciously. My identity was not for him. Everything came as a coincidence that I couldn't avoid, so the best treatment for this was silence.

“Some things are better off buried.” I said to myself, letting the wind carry my words into the trees.

His hands trembled against his sides as he sank back onto the stones, too weak to follow and too stubborn to let go. I could sense the faint doubt he carried, the seeds of questions taking root in his mind. Questions he would carry and not forget. Questions I couldn't risk giving him answers to.

I moved deeper into the forest, letting the surrounding swallow me, careful enough to not leave any trace behind. Behind me, his breaths improved and steadied, his eyes closing briefly in exhaustion to recover his lost strength. It was inevitable. I pray we would never cross paths again as such a future would be a thorn in my skin.

Every step I took felt heavier than the last. I had saved a life but in doing so, I had reminded myself of all that had been lost. My clan. My home. My childhood. And this stranger was the portal connecting me to an image I had managed to somewhat suppress.

I paused at a bend in the path, wind passed and tugged at my hair. I was tempted to look but decided against it. I wanted to know who he was too. What he was doing and how he came to be attacked but I couldn’t ask questions when I couldn’t give answers.

The forest swallowed my figure as I walked away, leaving him lying unconscious, fragile but alive. His mind was probably filled with questions that confused him, his body covered with fatigue. He would remember me, even if he did not understand why. And I would remember him too because this encounter was bound to leave a mark on me as well.

I pressed onward, remembering the words of my mother and my own purpose as well.