Estelle sat at her desk, the familiar scent of parchment and ink surrounding her as she sifted through the paperwork. It was a typical day in the shelter, and while the hum of activity outside continued as usual, she had chosen to stay indoors, managing the logistics that kept their small community running. Alaric was out on a mission, as he often was, leaving her to oversee the shelter in his absence.
The soft rustling of paper was the only sound in the room, broken occasionally by the distant echoes of conversation or the footsteps of those moving about their daily routines. Estelle’s mind was focused on the upcoming supply routes, ensuring that their needs would be met and that the scheduled communication with other shelters would go smoothly. It was tedious work, but it was necessary—every detail mattered when it came to survival.
But her concentration was shattered when the door to her office suddenly swung open with a loud creak. Startled, Estelle looked up to see a young man standing in the doorway, his expression anxious and his breathing slightly labored as if he had run to get to her.
“There’s a person—seriously hurt—who just came to the shelter,” he managed to get out, his words hurried and tinged with urgency. “But I can’t find Lydia anywhere.”
Estelle’s heart skipped a beat at the news. Lydia had only just gone out for an errand, insisting that she needed a breather from the confines of the infirmary. Estelle couldn’t blame her—Lydia often complained about being tired, and Estelle had encouraged her to take breaks when she could. The memory of Lydia’s grumbling brought a small smile to her lips, but it quickly faded as she refocused on the situation at hand.
“Alright,” Estelle said, standing up from her desk with a determined expression. “Bring the injured person to the infirmary. I’ll take a look at them.”
The young man nodded, his relief evident, and quickly turned to carry out her instructions. Estelle wasted no time, gathering a few essential supplies from a nearby cabinet before heading to the infirmary herself. As she moved through the shelter’s corridors, her mind raced with possibilities—who could this injured person be, and what had happened to them? Lydia would be better suited to handle this, but Estelle knew she had to step in, at least until her friend returned.
The shelter had seen its fair share of wounded over the years, but there was always a sense of dread that accompanied each new arrival. In this world, injuries often came with stories of battles, betrayals, or escapes from the regime’s relentless pursuit. Estelle braced herself for what she might find, hoping she could provide some relief until Lydia could take over.
As she entered the infirmary, Estelle quickly began preparing supplies, gathering bandages, salves, and anything else that might be needed to treat serious injuries. Her hands moved with practiced ease, but her thoughts were distracted, filled with a growing sense of unease. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.
The young man soon arrived, carrying the injured person over his shoulder. He carefully laid the figure on one of the cots, his brow furrowed with concern. "I’ve got other things to take care of," he said, hesitating as if unsure whether to leave. Estelle gave him a reassuring smile.
"Thank you for bringing him here. I’ll take it from here," she said, her tone calm and composed despite the anxiety gnawing at her. The young man nodded, giving one last glance at the injured person before he turned and left the infirmary. Once he was gone, the infirmary fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the shallow breaths of the man lying on the cot.
She took a moment to assess the situation. The man’s injuries were indeed severe—blood soaked through his clothing, and his breathing was labored. Estelle knew she didn’t have much time. Lydia’s absence weighed heavily on her, but she pushed the thought aside. She had healed injuries like these before, and while it was always draining, she could at least stabilize him until Lydia came back.
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Taking a deep breath, Estelle moved closer to the cot, placing her hands gently over the most severe wound. She closed her eyes, focusing on the flow of her Essence as it surged through her fingertips, a warm, soothing energy that began to knit the torn flesh back together. She could feel the familiar tug of exhaustion as her energy drained, but she pushed through it, knowing that she had to keep going.
But as she concentrated on healing the man, something strange began to happen. The more she healed, the more his appearance seemed to shift. At first, she thought it was just a trick of the light, a result of her fatigue. But then, as the last of the wounds closed under her touch, the illusion shattered completely.
Estelle’s eyes snapped open in shock as she watched the man’s appearance change right before her. The injuries vanished, and his face altered slightly, revealing a man who looked almost the same, yet distinctly different. Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, the man’s eyes opened, and in one swift movement, he grabbed her arm and yanked her close, pressing a cold blade to her throat.
“What—” Estelle gasped, her heart racing as she struggled to process the sudden turn of events.
The man’s voice was low and dangerous, his breath warm against her ear as he spoke. “I don’t know what you did, but it looks like you’re someone important around here. That makes you my ticket out of this mess.” His grip tightened, the knife pressing more firmly against her skin.
Estelle’s mind raced as she tried to think of a way out of this. Panic threatened to take over, but she forced herself to stay calm, to think. She glanced around, trying to spot anything that might help her, when her eyes landed on a small device in the man’s hand. It was blinking steadily, and she realized with a jolt that he had just activated it.
“You’ve just signaled them, haven’t you?” Estelle whispered, a cold dread settling in her stomach.
The man chuckled darkly, his grip on her unyielding. “Smart girl. Yes, I’ve called for backup. And now, all I have to do is wait. If you cooperate, maybe I’ll let you live.” He paused, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper. “But if you try anything, I won’t hesitate to slit your throat right here and now.”
Estelle’s pulse quickened as she felt the weight of the knife against her skin. She knew she had to buy some time, to think of a way to turn the situation to her advantage. The safety of everyone in the shelter depended on it.
Estelle’s heart pounded in her chest, a cacophony of fear and urgency as the reality of the situation hit her. The thought of the shelter being under attack sent a chill down her spine. Her mind raced, calculating possibilities and outcomes, while her hand instinctively reached for the necklace that Alaric had given her. The cool metal of the pendant brushed against her skin, a stark reminder of the promise she had made to him.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps—Lydia, entering the infirmary with concern etched across her face. Estelle felt a surge of panic. She couldn’t afford to hesitate any longer. The shelter, their home, was in danger, and she had to act quickly.
Without wasting another second, Estelle shouted at Lydia, her voice filled with desperation. “Lydia, you have to evacuate the shelter! Find Alaric and get everyone out—now!”
Lydia’s eyes widened in shock at the sudden urgency in Estelle’s voice. But before she could respond, Estelle’s fingers closed around the pendant. She didn’t have time to explain or to reassure Lydia. All she could do was trust that Lydia would understand the gravity of the situation.
As Estelle activated the necklace, a rush of shadowy Essence enveloped her, pulling her and the man into its depths. The world around her twisted and distorted as the teleportation took hold, yanking them away from the shelter. She had expected the man to be transported along with her, and as the shadows consumed them, she felt the weight of his presence beside her.
But then, pain erupted in her head as the man lashed out, his fist connecting with her temple. Stars exploded in her vision as she stumbled, the ground beneath her shifting and unstable. The man, now filled with anger and confusion, cursed under his breath, his voice a low growl. “Where the hell am I? This is going to slow us down,” he muttered, his words barely registering in her fading consciousness.
Estelle’s mind whirled, the pain clouding her thoughts. She had done what she needed to do, but now all she could do was hope—hope that Alaric wouldn’t come after her, that he wouldn’t put himself in danger. The last thing she wanted was for him to get hurt because of her. As the world around her dimmed and her consciousness slipped away, Estelle clung to that hope, her final thought before everything went black.