He was almost grateful for being given a reason to leave Lord Orlein’s study. Arwen and Lonan’s discussion had started to grow louder, and he hardly had the patience to listen to them.

The woman’s heels clicked on the marble floors as she followed Aodan, who led them back to the room assigned to Midhir. As they arrived, the Orlein butler stepped out of the way. “Are there any supplies you need, Healer Marr?”

The woman pursed her lips. “I’ll let you know if there are. I need to examine him first.” Her sharp gaze never left Midhir as she gestured towards the door, prompting him to step inside.

“Please have a seat and remove your shirt.” She gestured towards the chair by the large window overlooking the city.

With a sigh, Midhir did as he was told. “I’m not wounded,” he explained as he unbuttoned his shirt, and put it aside. “At least not seriously – there are a few cuts and bruises, but that’s all.”

“Be that as it may, I still want to make sure. It’s quite common for a soldier not to notice a wound long after the battle is over – and that is almost always deadly.” She reached into the inner pocket of her long tailed coat and pulled out the oddest crystal staff Midhir had ever seen.

It consisted of a gold-embossed wooden stick that was no longer than his forearm, and a pea-sized gem carefully attached to its tip. It looked like a child’s wand more than a functional crystal tool.

“Is that a crystal staff?” Curiosity got the better of him as he couldn’t resist asking. He’d never seen such a small staff that could still function.

“Yes, it was made specifically to suit my needs. Look up please,” She leaned in closer, pushing his hair away from his bleeding eye. “I see no wound here,” she muttered with a scowl. The gem embedded into her staff let out a vibrant shine, dyeing the room golden.

Midhir felt the warmth of her resonance on his face. He could feel her spiritual power prod and poke at his face, searching for something to heal. “There isn’t a wound,” he confirmed.

She then turned her attention to his upper body. The golden light brushed against the scratches and bruises, healing them.

He gritted his teeth as the accelerated healing sent waves of pain throughout his body. It only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to remind him why he hated accepting healing resonances.

“Healer Marr, was it?” He asked once she was finished healing. “Thank you for your aid, but-“

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“Sorcha Marr,” she cut him off. “I understand that you don’t have any physical wounds. I read the reports Lord Orlein shared with me,” she sat on the bed, looking at him intently. “I understand that when your hand was pierced, you were unwillingly made part of an ancient ritual to awaken one of the Great Ones.”

Midhir tightened his jaw. How much did she know? Was it safe for that report to be share with many people? Doubts formed in his mind.

“I specialise in Veil-related injuries and ailments,” healer Sorcha said, raising her jaw with pride. “While a ritual to awaken one of the Old Gods is a bit more… complex than that, I believe I can at least try to understand what happened to you.” She stared at him intently. “Please explain everything that happened.”

He didn’t think she could help him. It felt like no one could. It felt almost felt like was living on borrowed time. But he knew it was exhaustion that gave him such a grim outlook – and that it was far from the truth. Perhaps this woman couldn’t help him, but there was no harm in trying. So, he leaned back, used a handkerchief to wipe the flowing blood, and started explaining.

It was quite a while after sunset when someone knocked on Lord Orlein’s door. A raven, perched atop a branch overlooking the large, open window of Lord Orlein’s office ruffled its feathers and perked up to look inside.

“Sorcha,” Lord Orlein’s voice sounded exhausted. The stack of papers before him seemed to grow taller, and the man looked like he hadn’t slept in days. No doubt Arwen and that older man’s discussion that bordered on bickering didn’t help with that.

“You’ve brought me quite the case, my lord.” The woman said with a faint smile. Her long, black hair flowed behind her back as she shook her head. “I wasn’t able to pinpoint the issue.”

Lord Orlein seemed surprised at her words. “Is that so?” He muttered, dropping the sheet of paper in his hand and leaning back in his chair. “Do you at least have a broader idea?”

The woman seemed hesitant. “Yes,” she finally said after a few moments of silence. “Whatever ritual he was unwillingly made part of has done something. When I inspected his eye, it seemed like it was a…” her voice faded before she shook her head. “I want to call it like a tear in the veil, but that’s not right either.” She folded her arms. “It’s like his eye doesn’t belong here.”

“I don’t understand,” Lord Orlein stated a few moments later. “What do you mean?”

The woman shrugged. “I need to do some research. There is nothing more I can tell you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“He is not fine,” the sharp tone in his voice startled her. For a split second, she didn’t quite understand what it meant.

“Nothing I did should have harmed him,” she replied as she collected the bouquet of flowers she dropped. “What’s wrong with him?”

The voice was silent for a few moments before the words echoed in her mind. “I don’t know. Apparently his eye doesn’t belong here.”

Her lips parted. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” the voice repeated. “Maybe you should pay him a visit. He was apparently forced to take part in some ritual.”

Circe scowled. Where in Eldoria were they still conducting rituals? None of this made any sense. With a sigh, she put the bouquet in a vase and dusted off her dress. “… I’ll think about it.”

Her gaze turned north. She couldn’t leave for long. Not when the bell was about to toll for Calador.