The cacophony of battle echoed dully through the canvas walls, steel clashing against steel punctuated by the deeper roar of arcane forces being unleashed. To Aleria, it was little more than a muffled backdrop to the symphony of anguish that surrounded her in the infirmary tent.

Cots lined the floor as far as her eyes could see, row upon row of broken bodies laid out in varying states of ruin. The stench of blood and burnt flesh hung thick in the air, each fitful exhalation seeming to make the miasma cling that much tighter to the back of her throat. Sweat beaded on her brow despite the chill, her green eyes wide and haunted beneath the curtain of her auburn hair.

All around her, the bustle of frantic activity persisted unabated. Medics in their starched white robes flitted between the wounded like pale wraiths, murmuring soothing words and calling upon the powers of their art. Aleria moved among them, her steps sure and measured despite the tremors that threatened to seize her limbs.

One by one, she tended to the soldiers laid out before her. A gaping wound sealed with a tender touch, the ragged edges of torn flesh knitting themselves back together under her deft ministrations. Shattered bones reset and knitting anew within their housings of muscle and sinew. Her healing magic flowed through her like a conduit, raw and potent, yet tempered by tenderness.

To her left, a young elven man - little more than a boy, truly - thrashed upon his cot, his features a rictus of agony. The stump of his leg ended in a ragged, cauterised mass, the scent of charred meat mingling with the metallic tang of spilled blood. Aleria was at his side in an instant, slender fingers coming to rest feather-light against his brow as she dulled the screaming nerve endings that caused his pain and lulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

As the soldier's ravaged form went slack beneath her touch, she felt the familiar doubts claw at her resolve. How many more would she tend to this day? This week? This year? The conflict seemed to stretch on indefinitely, the Allied Kingdoms and the Demon King's forces locked in a grinding stalemate that bled them dry with every hard-won mile of land.

Unbidden, her gaze was drawn to the tent's entrance as a fresh wave of wounded were borne inside on stretchers, their bearers' faces grim and streaked with soot. Aleria watched as one of the soldiers - a broken thing with tattered strips of flesh hanging from the remnants of his torso - was lowered onto a vacant cot. Even from where she stood, she could see the sightless horror frozen forever on his features, his final moments etched into the warped lines of his face.

Aleria stood, leaving the elven boy behind - she could do no more for him at that moment. Instead, she rose to join the other medics in guiding the newly arrived wave of injured to their cots, her lips pressed into a grim line.

Her gaze settled upon a handsome young soldier, half-carried, half-dragged into the tent by one of his fellows. Despite the grime streaking his features and the tattered state of his armour, there was an undeniable resolve to his expression at odds with the pained grimace twisting his mouth. Without hesitation, Aleria crossed the short distance to where they struggled and slipped her slender form beneath the injured man's unoccupied arm, taking some of his weight upon her own shoulders.

For a fleeting moment, the soldier's dark eyes met hers, his pained expression easing somewhat as the barest hint of a roguish smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"You must be the Valkyrie the gods have sent to whisk me away," he murmured, the words slightly slurred.

Aleria couldn't help but return the smile, feeling some of the tension seep from her at the unexpected quip. "Sadly, I seem to have forgot my wings," she replied, her tone taking on a lightly teasing edge despite the grim surroundings.

The weight of the soldier's muscled frame bore down upon Aleria's slender shoulders as she helped guide him towards the nearest vacant cot. Despite the strain, her steps remained sure and measured.

As they reached the rickety bed, the man's comrade carefully disentangled himself from beneath the wounded fighter's other arm. For a fleeting moment, the two soldiers locked eyes, a wealth of unspoken words passing between them in that momentary glance. Then, with a solemn nod, the uninjured man turned on his heel and rushed back out into the melee beyond the tent's canvas walls, leaving Aleria alone with his injured compatriot.

Gently, she eased the wounded soldier down onto the cot, her eyes roving over his form in a quick, practised assessment. The gambeson he wore was scorched black along his left side; the fabric burned away to reveal glimpses of charred, angry flesh beneath. Aleria felt her throat constrict slightly at the sight - the unmistakable marks of demonic fire.

"Purple flames did this to you?" she asked, her tone soft, already certain of how the man would answer.

The man managed a pained nod, his square features twisted into a grimace. Aleria exhaled a slow breath, steeling her resolve as she met his blue eyes.

"I won't lie to you," she said, her voice low yet clear. "Wounds inflicted by demonic flame cannot be healed quickly. Like it or not, you're out of the fight for a few days at least."

The words seemed to hang heavily in the air between them for a long moment. Then, finally, the soldier offered her a wan smile, his eyes crinkling faintly at the corners.

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"I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed by that news," he murmured. "I suppose a few days' reprieve from that madness out there is not a terrible thing, but my friends..."

"Your friends will be better suited to the task without having to constantly defend you," she chided gently, careful not to aggravate the burn as she peeled away the seared fabric. "There's not a chance you could fight in this state."

The soldier hissed in a sharp breath as the last remnants of his ruined clothing fell away, leaving the angry, blackened wound fully exposed to the air. Despite his obvious pain, his gaze remained steady and fixed upon Aleria's face.

"Well, if I'm to be stuck here for a time," he said, strained but laced with a disarming warmth, "do I at least get the honour of knowing my jailer's name?"

"Aleria," she said simply, not meeting the soldier's eyes as she prodded gently at the blistered flesh with deft fingertips. "Now hold still. This is going to hurt."

"Hurt? I thought you were healing it." The man asked, a hint of wariness creeping into his deep voice. "Are you sure you've dealt with burns from demon flame before?"

"Well, Sir...?"

"Edmund," the soldier supplied, his expression flickering briefly.

"Well, Sir Edmund," Aleria said, unable to entirely keep the wry note from her tone, "we are fighting The Demon King's armies, are we not? What do you think?"

She allowed the rhetorical question to linger for a heartbeat, waiting for the foolishness of his inquiry to sink in.

"The skin has been mostly burned away and killed by the flame," she explained, her voice taking on a clinical edge. "As such, you can't feel the full extent of the damage - not yet at least."

Aleria paused, giving Edmund a moment to absorb her words before pressing on.

"When I begin healing this wound, I'll be re-awakening those deadened muscles and damaged tissue," she said. "And trust me when I say that you'll wish I'd left well enough alone."

She held Edmund's gaze, making sure he understood. The soldier's expression had taken on a guarded edge, the roguish glint that had earlier danced behind his eyes now banked by a look of grim understanding.

"I see," was all he said, his deep voice little more than a hoarse rasp.

Aleria held Edmund's stare for a moment longer, silently appraising him. Then, satisfied by what she saw, straightened.

"Very well, then. Brace yourself, Sir Edmund. This is going to be... unpleasant."

Without further preamble, Aleria raised her hands, allowing the tingle of her mana to blossom in her palms. The air around her fingertips shimmered with a faint emerald glow as power began to coalesce.

Then, with a gentle exhalation, she brought her hands down, allowing the verdant energy to flow forth and envelop the ruined flesh of Edmund's wound.

Searing agony lanced through Edmund's nerves like white-hot needles as Aleria's magic took hold. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as a low groan was torn from his lips despite his best efforts to stifle it. Sweat beaded upon his brow, the lines of his chiselled features etched deep with suffering.

Aleria worked with methodical care, from the outside in, the soft emerald radiance playing across her delicate features as she guided the magic over Edmund's ravaged flesh. slowly, the blackened ash began to slough away, revealing the angry pink tissue beneath.

Despite the intensity of his pain, Edmund refused to remain entirely cowed. His blue eyes, glazed with agony, found Aleria's face as another ragged groan parted his lips.

"Hells, woman..." he ground out through gritted teeth. "I'd thought I might have to owe you a mug after this, but I'm starting to think it may be the other way around."

The words carried the barest hint of charm, though the effect was somewhat marred by the tremor that ran through his muscled frame.

For her part, Aleria felt the corners of her lips quirk upwards in a small, smile as she continued her work. She knew the game Edmund played, his bravado and flirtations all a mask to hide his vulnerability in this state.

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that, Sir Edmund," she countered lightly, her tone taking on a playful edge despite the solemnity of her task. "I rather like the idea of having you at my mercy."

"You'd best be careful what you wish for, m'lady," he quipped, eager to allow his mind to latch onto anything other than the pain. "I may just find myself getting comfortable there."

She let Edmund's jibe hang for several excruciating minutes, Aleria attuning her full focus to the delicate work. She could practically see the curse that lingered from the demon flame battling against her own spell. The polar essences warring for supremacy in the man’s flesh.

Slowly, carefully, Aleria began to withdraw her magic, the soft emerald glow fading from her fingertips as she allowed the healing energies to dissipate. Edmund's muscled frame went slack against the cot, his chest heaving with each ragged exhalation as the worst of the pain slowly ebbed.

Aleria studied her handiwork with a critical eye, her brow furrowing slightly as she took in the wound's mottled appearance. Though the blackened, necrotic flesh had been sloughed away, the exposed tissue beneath remained an angry, inflamed red, weeping clear fluid in places. It was far from a pretty sight, but at least the danger of further decay had been averted - for now.

"That's about all I can do for the time being, I'm afraid," she stated matter of factly. "Were I to push any harder, the corruption lingering in the wound would simply undo all my work."

Edmund managed a weak nod of understanding, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

"So, you're... leaving me like this?" he rasped, his voice little more than a hoarse croak. A ghost of a smile played about his lips as he gestured vaguely towards the inflamed wound with a hand. "A man could take that as a lack of interest on your part."

Aleria arched an eyebrow at that, unable to entirely stifle the amused snort that escaped her. Even in the depths of his suffering, it seemed Edmund's charm refused to be entirely extinguished. She found the tenacity of his spirit unexpectedly... endearing.

"Hardly a lack of interest," she countered dryly, allowing a hint of gentle rebuke to bleed into her tone. "More a matter of patience, Sir Edmund. We must allow the tainted mana time to weaken its grip before I can properly purge it from your system."

She held the soldier's gaze for a long moment, silently appraising the resolve that burned behind his eyes despite his obvious pain and fatigue.

"For now, you need to rest and regain your strength," she said, her voice softening somewhat. "I'll return soon, and with that drink I owe you. Though I fear we are only allowed water here."

Edmund regarded her wordlessly for a beat, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he inclined his head in a shallow nod of acceptance.

"As you say, my lady," he murmured, the barest hint of teasing warmth underpinning his words. "Though I must admit, I'm looking forward to more of your... tender mercies."