By the narrow window of the infirmary, Justine gazed out at the city as dawn arrived, soft and tentative. The rooftops, usually bustling with early activity from merchants and travelers, seemed strangely still. The city felt muted, as if it were holding its breath.

Behind her, the quiet murmur of the healers filled the room. They moved between beds with the practiced grace of those accustomed to exhaustion, their faces tight with focus.

But no matter how diligently they worked, no matter how many spells they whispered or potions they administered, the results were always the same. The sick stayed sick. The afflicted, with their shallow breaths and drained magic, lay motionless in their beds, caught in some deep, unreachable sleep.

She turned back to the room, taking in the rows of cots. Too many bodies, too many limp figures whose life energy was being leeched away, and no one knew why.

Justine frowned, her hands curling into fists at her sides. We’re losing this battle. And we don't even know what we're fighting.

“Justine,” a voice called softly from behind her. She turned to see one of the younger healers, Hannes, standing beside her with a fresh bundle of herbs clutched in his hands. His eyes were weary, his movements sluggish.

“How’s Sir Alric?” She nodded toward the knight who had been one of Eloise’s first recoveries.

Hannes shook his head, his brow furrowed. “Restless. Same as the others. I thought he’d be stronger by now, but…”

His voice trailed off, leaving the question unspoken. Justine knew what he was thinking—if Eloise truly healed them, why are they still like this?

“I’ll check on him.” Justine moved past him. “Take a break, Hannes. You’ve been here all night.”

Hannes hesitated but nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

Justine approached Sir Alric’s bed, her eyes scanning his face. He was awake, staring at the ceiling with a distant expression. His hands trembled slightly, the only indication that something was wrong. She frowned, watching the erratic flicker of his fingers against the sheets. ‘That’s not right.’

“Alric.” She leaned over him. “How are you feeling today?”

His eyes flicked toward her, unfocused. “Better,” he murmured, though his voice was flat. “Stronger.”

Justine bit the inside of her cheek. Stronger—that was what they all said. The patients Eloise healed all claimed to feel better, but their bodies told a different story. Alric’s magic, once steady and controlled, pulsed wildly beneath the surface, like a storm waiting to break.

“Your hands are shaking.” She reached out to gently take his wrist. The moment her fingers touched his skin, she felt it—a strange surge of magic, sharp and unstable, rippling under her touch. She pulled back, startled.

Alric blinked, as if unaware. “Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“You should rest.” Justine’s heart raced as she stepped back. “I’ll come check on you later.”

Alric nodded absently, his gaze drifting back to the ceiling.

Justine turned away, her mind racing. What is happening to them? She glanced around the infirmary, her eyes lingering on the other “recovered” patients. Each of them showed similar signs—subtle tremors, fluctuating magic, vacant expressions. They were better, yes, but not right.

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“Justine?” Hannes’s voice brought her back, his expression concerned. “Are you alright?”

She forced a smile. “I’m fine,” she lied. “Just thinking.”

Hannes glanced at Sir Alric, then back at her. “You don’t think… you don’t think something’s wrong with them, do you?”

Justine hesitated. She had been telling herself it was nothing, that the aftereffects of the illness would naturally take time to wear off. But now, with each passing day, the signs were growing harder to ignore.

“I don’t know yet,” she said carefully. “But I think we need to watch them more closely.”

Hannes’s face paled, but he nodded. “Do you think we should tell Eloise?”

Justine’s stomach twisted at the mention of the saintess. “Not yet,” she said, too quickly. “Let’s just… keep an eye on things for now.”

Hannes didn’t argue, though she could see the unease in his eyes. He turned back to his work, but Justine stayed rooted in place, her mind heavy with the weight of her thoughts.

‘What if it’s not just recovery? What if it’s something else entirely?’

*****

That evening, the infirmary was quieter, the lights dimmed as the patients slept. Justine stood in the corner, her back pressed against the wall, watching as Eloise moved between the beds with her usual grace. The Saintess of Light, they called her. The one who had come to heal the kingdom when no one else could. And at first, Justine had believed it too.

She remembered the first time she had seen Eloise heal. The way the woman had knelt beside a bedridden soldier, her hands glowing faintly with divine energy. The man had been lost to the illness for weeks, his body frail and cold, but the moment Eloise touched him, his breath had steadied, his eyes fluttering open. It had seemed impossible. A miracle.

Justine had wanted to believe.

“Faith is the greatest healer,” Eloise had said with that soft, knowing smile. “When you trust in the gods, they will guide your hands.”

And Justine had trusted. She had followed Eloise’s lead, watching in awe as the patients began to wake, one by one. But now…

Now, as she watched Eloise lay her hands on another patient, her voice quiet with murmured prayers, something in Justine recoiled. The patient stirred, their breathing steadying, their eyes opening slowly, and the healers nearby gasped in awe.

Another miracle.

But Justine’s eyes were fixed not on the patient, but on Eloise. The way her face remained perfectly serene, her movements too smooth, too precise. There was no strain, no cost. Just the effortless glow of power. ‘This is too perfect.’

As Eloise finished her prayer, the healers gathered around her, murmuring their thanks, their voices thick with gratitude. Justine stayed in the shadows, her heart pounding.

When the others weren’t looking, she slipped toward the door, her breath coming quick and shallow. She had to get out, had to think.

But as she reached the threshold, a soft voice called her name.

“Justine.”

She froze, turning slowly to find Eloise watching her, her eyes calm, unreadable.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Eloise said, her voice like silk. “Is something troubling you?”

For a moment, Justine couldn’t speak. Her throat felt tight, her heart hammering in her chest. She forced a smile, though it felt hollow. “Just tired,” she lied. “It’s been a long day.”

Eloise smiled gently, her head tilting ever so slightly. “We all must carry our burdens.” Her gaze lingered on Justine for a heartbeat too long. “But have faith. The gods are with us.”

Justine swallowed, nodding, though the words felt heavy in her mouth. “Of course.”

Eloise’s smile deepened, her eyes still fixed on her. “Rest, then. We have more work to do tomorrow.”

With a final nod, Justine turned and slipped out the door, the cool night air hitting her like a wave. She stood outside the infirmary for a long moment, breathing deeply, trying to steady the wild beat of her heart.

Something’s wrong. She couldn’t prove it yet, but she could feel it deep in her bones. Eloise wasn’t just healing.

As she looked back at the darkened window, watching Eloise move among the beds, Justine’s mind churned with doubts. Could she speak out? Would anyone listen if she did?

What would happen if she was right?