Hope had become a rare and fragile thing in the days following Prince Lucius’s collapse. The capital, once alive with the energy of the marketplace, the laughter of children playing in the streets, had grown unnervingly quiet. Fear hovered over the city like a storm cloud, thick and unmoving, as rumors of the illness spread faster than any healer’s remedy could.
Ellie stayed in the palace, watching over the prince alongside the royal healers, though each day brought the same bleak report: no change. No improvement. The crown prince lay still as stone, his breathing shallow, his body as cold and lifeless as the others who had succumbed.
She spent hours in the royal chambers, staring at Lucius’s pale face, wondering if there was something she was missing—some clue, some magical thread she had yet to pull. But no matter how deeply she searched her memory, no matter how many ancient texts she consulted, the answers eluded her.
And then, on the seventh day, word spread like wildfire through the capital.
“A saintess!” people whispered, their voices trembling with something between awe and disbelief. “A woman sent by the gods! She has performed a miracle!”
Ellie had heard enough false hopes to be skeptical, but the city was buzzing with the news. She stood at the window of her chambers, watching the crowds gather below. They moved like a wave toward the square, where the so-called saintess was said to be performing her wonders.
Her brow furrowed as she stared at the growing throng. Desperate hope was a powerful thing—and a dangerous one.
The knock on her door came shortly after, soft but urgent. It was the royal steward, his face alight with the same fervor that gripped the rest of the city. “Special Advisor,” he said, his voice trembling. “You must come at once. She’s healed a knight—Sir Alric of the Red Blade, one of the king’s own guards! He’s awake, as if by a miracle.”
Ellie’s mouth tightened. Back in Velsorin, she had seen many forms of magic, many supposed “miracles.” She had also seen far too many deceptions, promises of healing that were nothing but tricks to prey on the vulnerable. And yet…
“I’ll come,” she said, her voice steady, though her mind churned with doubt. “Take me to her.”
By the time she arrived, the square was already filled and the air thick with anticipation. People pushed forward, craning their necks to get a glimpse of the woman who had come to the capital with promises of salvation.
The murmurs of the crowd were alive with hope, weaving through the thick air as though the city itself was beginning to breathe again.
Ellie pushed her way through the throng, her gaze fixed on the figure at the center of the square. Eloise. The so-called saintess.
She was younger than Ellie had expected, barely past twenty, with long dark hair that fell in loose waves around her shoulders. Her eyes, a deep, piercing blue, gleamed with an otherworldly intensity. She stood tall, her white robes shimmering faintly in the midday sun, and the crowd seemed to part before her as though she carried the weight of divinity itself.
At her feet, Sir Alric knelt, his armor dented and dusty from battle, his face drawn and pale—but awake. His eyes fluttered as he looked up at the woman, his lips moving soundlessly, as if in prayer. His hands trembled as he clutched the hem of her robe, his expression one of disbelief and reverence.
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Ellie’s pulse quickened. She couldn’t deny what she was seeing—this knight, who had been lost in the same deep, impenetrable coma that had claimed so many others, was now awake. Alive.
A ripple of awe swept through the crowd, and then it surged, a collective gasp of amazement and hope. Cries of "The gods have sent her!" and "A miracle!" rang out, echoing through the square.
Eloise raised her hand, and the voices hushed, a reverence falling over the crowd like a blanket. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft yet commanding, the kind that seemed to resonate deep in the bones.
“I was called by the divine.” Her eyes sweep over the people, resting briefly on Ellie as if she had already sensed her presence. “In a vision, I was shown the suffering of this kingdom. The gods have granted me the power to heal, to save those afflicted by this terrible sickness.”
Her words fell over the crowd like balm to a wound. Ellie could feel the palpable relief in the air, the sense of salvation they so desperately needed. But underneath, in the pit of her stomach, Ellie’s skepticism simmered.
She stepped forward, her gaze meeting Eloise’s for the first time. The woman’s eyes lingered on her, something sharp and knowing passing between them. Ellie could sense the weight of the crowd’s expectations pressing in from all sides, like the walls of a cage closing in.
“Eloise,” Ellie said, her voice carefully measured, “you claim the gods have given you the power to heal. But how is it that you can succeed where our mages and healers have failed? What is it you know that we do not?”
There was a faint murmur from the crowd, but Eloise did not flinch. If anything, her expression softened, a gentle smile playing at the corners of her lips.
“The power of the gods does not answer to the rules of men, or to magic as you understand it.” Eloise smiled. “It is not bound by the limits of arcane knowledge, nor the practices of healing arts. It is pure. It is given freely to those who walk the path of faith.”
Ellie’s jaw tightened. Faith. The word twisted uncomfortably in her mind. Too often had she seen faith used as a tool of manipulation, a weapon wielded by the cunning to control the weak. And yet… Sir Alric was standing before her, alive and well.
“But how does it work?” Ellie pressed, refusing to let the conversation drift into the vague promises of divine intervention. “What is this illness? What is it doing to them? If the gods showed you a vision, surely you must know something more.”
Eloise’s smile didn’t waver, but there was something unreadable in her gaze now, a quiet resolve that was almost unsettling. “The illness is a darkness, spreading through the magic of this land. It feeds on the life force of those who carry strong magic within them. But the gods have given me the light to counter it. That is all you need to know.”
Ellie opened her mouth to respond, but the crowd surged forward, their collective joy bubbling over. “The Saintess has come to save us!” someone cried. “She will heal us all!”
Eloise raised her hands once more, and the crowd stilled, their eyes fixed on her as if she held the very threads of their lives in her grasp.
“More miracles will come,” Eloise said softly, but her voice carried across the square, clear and certain. “There is hope for this kingdom. There is light in the darkness.”
Ellie stood there, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on her chest. She couldn’t deny what she had seen with her own eyes—the knight had awakened. The people believed. But as she watched Eloise bask in the adoration of the crowd, Ellie felt the knot of doubt tightening in her gut.
Was it truly a miracle? Or was there something else at play, something she couldn’t yet see?
The crowd began to disperse, their faces alight with hope, and Ellie found herself standing alone in the shadow of the square. She watched as Eloise moved through the throng, her smile soft and serene, her every gesture exuding grace and power.
Ellie knew she couldn’t argue with results. But as the Saintess’s figure disappeared into the distance, something in Ellie whispered that the answers they sought couldn’t be as simple as they seemed.