Talon paced the dimly lit room, his eyes flicking anxiously to the still form of Aerin on the healer's cot. Her breaths were shallow, her chest barely rising beneath the bandages that swathed her injured ribs. The healer in Bramhall, a stoic woman with deft hands, had assured him she would recover, but the sight of her unconscious and vulnerable gnawed at his insides.

The healer’s room was a sanctuary of warmth and tranquility amidst the bustling cold town of Bramhall. Situated on the edge of a verdant grove, the cottage was modest in size but exuded a comforting aura. The exterior was covered with withered wooden slabs that in some parts were so rotten the cold air creeped inside. But inside, the air was thick with the soothing scents of herbs and incense, a fragrant blend designed to calm and heal. The main room served both as a living space and a healing area. Wooden shelves lined the walls, each crammed with jars and bundles of dried herbs, colorings, and potions. The furniture was simple but sturdy, crafted from dark oak, and the floor was covered in a patchwork of woven rugs, their intricate patterns adding a touch of homeliness. A large fireplace dominated one wall, the flames within casting a gentle, flickering light that danced across the room. Beside it stood a cauldron, perpetually simmering with a concoction that filled the space with its earthy aroma. The healer, named Eleara, was an older woman with silver-streaked hair pulled back into a loose bun. Her eyes were a warm, comforting brown, and her movements were brisk yet gentle, reflecting years of practiced skill.

She had been the only one to open her door to Aerin and Talon. He had carried her through the whole training camp and no one was there. Because of the attack outside everyone had been in hiding. Eleara was the only one who dared to open her door to them and let them inside.

Eleara had employed a blend of traditional herbal remedies and potent healing magic to tend to Aerin’s injuries. She was known for her mastery of healing, a marking over her fireplace said “Mastery gift of lost souls”, a branch of magic that specialized in accelerating the body’s natural healing processes. As she worked, her hands glowed with a soft, golden light, the energy flowing from her fingertips and seeping into Aerin’s wounds.

The magic itself was a delicate weave of spells, designed to mend broken bones and knit torn tissues back together. Eleara had chanted softly under her breath, her words forming an ancient recitation that resonated with the very essence of life. This spell, combined with her precise application of ointments and salves, created a combined effect that enhanced the healing properties of both the magic and the herbs.

Eleara also placed enchanted crystals around Aerin, their soft luminescence contributing to the overall atmosphere of calm and healing. These crystals, imbued with singing bowls and gongs, emitted frequencies that soothed the mind and spirit, aiding in Aerin’s recovery by reducing pain and promoting restful sleep.

As Aerin lay unconscious, Eleara had remained by her side, her hands never ceasing their work until she was certain that the worst of the damage was repaired. Her deep knowledge of both magical and natural healing made her a revered figure in Bramhall, and many sought her out not just for her skills but for the serene confidence she radiated.

“I can sense her power,” she said at last. Talon looked at her, he saw what she had done to the hooded man that attacked her. Her magic radiated through her skin with such force and precision. He had sensed her power before while sparring but not like this. She wasn’t an ordinary woman, Mara had told him.

The dimly lit cottage smelled of herbs and smoke, the warmth of the hearth doing little to chase away the tension in the air. Aerin lay still on the cot, her breathing shallow but steady. Serin was resting beside her, his own wounds tended to, though his condition was grave.

Eleara was kneeling beside Aerin, running her fingers over the strange glow in Aerin’s skin, “This… isn’t normal.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Talon was pacing near the door, his nerves almost turning his stomach inside out, “What does that mean? She’ll recover, won’t she?”

Eleara frowned, “Her wounds should have killed her, but she’s healing herself. Slowly, but it’s there.”

Talon crossed his arms, eyes flickered to Aerin’s unconscious form, “It’s the magic. It’s always been… unpredictable with her, I’ve heard at least… I have never seen it before.”

Eleara nodded, “Unpredictable might be an understatement. But I’ve never seen something like this. She’s not just surviving—she’s… changing.”

She shook her head, “This is a far older magic, I haven't sensed one like this in a very long time.” Eleara held Aerin’s hand. “Do you know where she is from?”

Talon shook his head in response. She had only told her that her parents died and Mara had told him that she had traveled for most of her life. “I don’t know,” he said quietly.

As they both sat beside Aerin and watched her as she breathed slowly and more steadily the door creaked open, and Talon turned sharply, hand instinctively reaching for one of his daggers, only to find himself face-to-face with a formidable figure.

A large man stepped into the room, his presence filling the space with an air of authority and silent power. Talon, tall and broad-shouldered himself, felt a rare moment of intimidation as those dark eyes met him.

"You must be Talon," The man said, his voice a low rumble that carried the weight of command. "I've heard of your skill with a sword." He glanced at Aerin, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. "How is she?"

"She’ll recover," Talon replied, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Thanks to Eleara."

“Who are you?” Talon asked, still a hand on his dagger.

“I am Elden Stormblade,” The large man answered with a dark low and growling voice.

Elden Stormblade, the infamous knight of Bramhall, Talon knew of him, heard of him. During his mission he stumbled upon many stories about a teenage boy slaughtering enemies of Yaveria. This wasn’t a teenage boy.

Talon narrowed his eyes “So you’ve heard of me.”

Elden stepped closer, his gaze lingered on Aerin before he shifted back to Talon “Likewise. I expected someone… taller.”

Talon scoffed with a sharp smile, “Disappointed?”

Elden gave a slow shrug, “Not yet.”

The tension between them crackled in the air. Elden’s eyes briefly darted back to Aerin, an admiration and something deeper playing on his features. He took a step toward her, his hand twitching as though he wanted to touch her but hesitated.

Talon blocked his path, “I wouldn’t get too close if I were you.”

Elden let out a slow breath, locking eyes with him, “And why is that?”

“Because we don’t know what’s happening with her magic. Could be dangerous. Could be fatal. For anyone who gets too close.” Talon’s grip on his dagger turned his knuckles white with frustration.

Elden smiled, but no warmth filled his eyes, “Is that your way of telling me to stay away, or are you just afraid?”

Talon leaned in slightly, his tone cool, “I don’t need to be afraid of someone like you. But you? You should be careful. Aerin’s not like anyone you’ve met.”

Elden’s eyes gazed over to Aerin’s still form, she was so still. If it wasn’t for her slight movements of her chest, she looked dead. “That’s exactly why I’m here.”

Eleara suddenly broke the tension, “Enough. If you two want to measure egos, do it outside. Aerin doesn’t have time for this.”

The two men glanced at each other but didn’t speak. Elden’s gaze returned to Aerin, softer now, lingering on her face.

Elden whispered almost to himself, “She’s… remarkable.”

Talon, now ready to block him from Aerins bed again, “She’s not some prize for you to chase, Stormblade.”

“I’m not here to chase anything. But someone needs to protect her. Even from people like you.” Eldens eyes narrowed towards Talon.

“She doesn’t need your protection.” Talon’s jaw tightened, his lip slight curling back to show his teeth.

Elden scoffed back, “We’ll see.” He continued as he strode towards the hearth, "Bramhall owes much to its warriors and those who stand by them," he said quietly, his gaze never leaving Aerin’s face. "I’ve seen many battles, many wounds. They had tried to attack the training camp just before you showed up. I forced everyone here to safety and you finished the off before I could come to you"

Talon watched him, sensing the layers of experience and pain beneath Elden's stoic exterior. Here was a man forged in the crucible of war, his very skin a canvas of his life’s story.