We scrambled towards the fallen figure. Isaac knelt beside him, his brow furrowed as he gently nudged the form with his calloused hand. The cloaked figure remained motionless, unnaturally still. A cold dread seeped into my bones, a chilling counterpoint to the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth.

"Caleb!" I cried again, this time with a tremor of fear lacing my voice. I reached out a trembling hand, hovering hesitantly over the figure's back. Should I touch him? Was he even…?

Panic clawed at my throat, threatening to overwhelm me. But Isaac, ever the steady presence, placed a calming hand on my shoulder.

"Let me," he said softly, his voice barely a murmur. With practiced efficiency, he moved the cloak aside, revealing a sliver of Caleb's face. His eyes were tightly shut, his skin pale and clammy to the touch.

A choked sob escaped my lips. This couldn't be happening. Not Caleb. Not after everything. Isaac, his expression grim, pressed two fingers against Caleb's neck, his touch lingering for an agonizingly long moment.

Finally, he released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "He's alive," he said, his voice gruff but filled with a hint of relief. "Barely. But alive."

A wave of hysterical laughter bubbled up in my chest, morphing into tears that streamed down my face. Relief, so sudden and intense, left me weak. Caleb was alive. He was here. Somehow, he had found his way back to us.

But a part of me, a selfish, primal part, couldn't help but whimper a silent complaint. I had longed to see Caleb again, yes. But not like this. Not broken and pale, unconscious on the floor of Isaac's chamber. I wanted to see him strong, with that mischievous glint in his eyes. This wasn't the reunion I had dreamt of, huddled over his unconscious form in the flickering firelight. This was a nightmare, a cruel twist of fate that threatened to shatter the fragile hope that had begun to bloom within me.

"But how?" I stammered, wiping at my tears with the back of my hand. "What happened?" A million questions swirled in my head, each one demanding an answer.

Isaac rose to his feet, his gaze flickering towards the doorway. A steely glint hardened his usually gentle eyes. "We'll find out," he said curtly. "But for now, we need to get him settled and see to his wounds."

He gestured towards the examination table that dominated his small chamber. "Help me lift him."

My legs wobbled slightly, but I straightened my back, forcing down the wave of dizziness that threatened to consume me. This was Caleb. I had to be strong for him. Together, we grasped beneath Caleb's limp form, his body surprisingly heavy for its lean frame. With a grunt of effort, we hoisted him onto the examination table, his unconscious form slumping back against the hard surface. Dread gnawed at me, a cold counterpoint to the frantic thrumming of my heart. We maneuvered him with a grim efficiency born of necessity, laying him gently on the examination table.

Isaac wasted no time, his movements swift and practiced as he unfastened Caleb's cloak, revealing worn leather armor stained with dark splotches. His brow furrowed in concern as he peeled the leather back, exposing a deep gash across Caleb's shoulder, already turning an angry red.

My hands trembled as I grasped Caleb's arm, the familiar warmth of his skin replaced by a chilling coldness. Tears welled up in my eyes again, blurring my vision. "Caleb," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion. "Wake up. Please wake up."

He remained motionless, his breathing shallow and uneven. Panic threatened to surge through me, but Isaac's presence, a steady rock in the storm of emotions, kept me grounded.

"We'll get him through this," he said, his voice low and reassuring. "But for now, focus. Help me clean the wound."

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to focus. This wasn't the time for tears. Caleb needed me, and I wouldn't let him down.

Suddenly, Isaac straightened, his brow furrowed in thought. He darted towards a nearby cupboard, his movements urgent. "Alright," he said, rummaging through the shelves. "We'll need bandages, salves… and…" He trailed off, muttering to himself.

"And what?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Isaac glanced at me, his expression grim. "We need to get a better look at the wound. His shirt… we need to cut it away." He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the unconscious form on the table. "Can you do that, Kira?"

My stomach clenched, a primal aversion to harming Caleb warring with the need to help him. But the urgency in Isaac's voice left no room for argument. Steeling myself, I nodded curtly. "Yes," I rasped. "Of course."

Isaac let out a relieved breath, returning to the cupboard and emerging with a roll of clean bandages and a jar of ointment. Placing them on the table, he gestured towards a pair of sharp shears hanging from a rack on the wall. "Those should do the trick."

My fingers trembled as I reached for the shears, the metal cold and unforgiving against my skin. This wasn't a weapon, but it felt like one in my hand. The shirt – a simple white tunic, the one he always wore – seemed to mock me with its normalcy. Cutting it felt like a violation, a marring of the last tangible piece of Caleb I held on to.

Isaac, sensing my hesitation, placed a gentle hand on mine. "It's alright to be scared, Kira," he said softly. "But he needs this. We need to see the full extent of the wound." His words were a balm, a reminder that this wasn't about me, it was about Caleb.

Taking a shaky breath, I willed my trembling fingers to steady. Focus on the good, I thought. Focus on getting him well. With a quick snip, I cut a careful line down the center of the shirt, starting from the hem and working my way up. The fabric yielded easily, the sound a harsh contrast to the hushed tension in the room. Each snip felt like a violation, but I continued, my movements gaining a semblance of control. Finally, I peeled the fabric back, revealing more of the damage beneath.

The gash was far worse than I had imagined. A jagged, angry scar sliced across Caleb's shoulder, easily an inch wide and several inches long. The edges were raw and inflamed, already turning an angry red. Blood welled up from the depths of the wound, staining the flesh around it a dark crimson. A sheen of sweat beaded on Caleb's brow, and his breathing hitched in a shallow, uneven rhythm.

My stomach lurched, a wave of nausea rising in my throat. This wasn't a simple cut, something Isaac could stitch up with a few deft movements. This… this was a gaping wound, a battlefield injury that spoke of a brutal struggle, a fight for survival.

I glanced at Isaac, expecting to see his usual calm composure. But instead, his face was pale and drawn, his brow furrowed in a deep crease of worry. His normally steady hands trembled slightly as he reached for a clean cloth. Even his eyes, usually filled with a quiet determination, held a flicker of fear – a raw, naked fear that chilled me to the bone.

"This is…" he began, his voice hoarse. He trailed off, the words catching in his throat. He cleared his throat, trying again. "This is worse than I thought. Much worse."

The moonlight, once ethereal, now seemed to cast a sickly yellow glow on the infirmary. Isaac, his brow furrowed in deep concentration, searched Caleb's shoulder with a practiced hand. I watched, my own stomach clenching with each wince Caleb made in his sleep.

Suddenly, Isaac stopped, his hand hovering over a particularly angry-looking welt. He squinted, then leaned closer, his breath catching in his throat. With a swift, practiced motion, he plucked a small, jagged object from the wound. It was a broken arrowhead, gleaming wickedly in the moonlight.

A metallic tang hit my nostrils as he brought the arrowhead closer. A purple liquid was dripping from it. His eyes widened in horror. "Kira," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

My heart hammered in my chest. "What is it?" I asked, dread creeping into my voice.

"Wolfsbane," Isaac said grimly, his gaze fixed on the arrowhead. "And a potent strain at that."

Panic surged through me. Wolfsbane, a poison known to cripple a man's nervous system, leaving him paralyzed and vulnerable. I watched as Isaac scrambled to his feet, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. He threw open a weathered wooden chest that served as a meager medical cabinet, his hands frantically searching the shelves.

"Belladonna extract," he muttered under his breath, tossing aside vials and bandages with reckless abandon. "Come on, come on…"

The silence in the chamber was broken only by the frantic rustling and Isaac's muttered curses. Time seemed to stretch, each tick of the unseen clock echoing like a death knell. I rushed to his side, my own hands trembling as I began sorting through the remaining supplies.

"There has to be something," I pleaded, my voice tight with fear.

Isaac slammed a fist against the shelf. "Damn it all! We might not have enough…" His voice trailed off, his eyes scanning the room with a desperate intensity. His hands trembled, his movements jerky, muttering under his breath.

The sight chilled me more than the poison itself. We needed him focused, and his descent into despair wasn't helping.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I pushed past the tremors wracking my own body. Isaac was right to be worried, but fear wouldn't save Caleb. Now, I was the one who had to be clear-headed.

Pushing past him gently, I took charge. "Isaac, step back for a moment," I said, my voice surprisingly firm despite the turmoil within. He looked up, startled, his eyes filled with a desperate plea. I nodded reassuringly.

He hesitated for a moment, then with a heavy sigh, nodded. I watched him move to Caleb's side, his touch gentle as he offered soothing words and a damp cloth for his feverish brow.

My stomach churned as I rifled through the meager contents of the cabinet. No sign of the antidote for wolfsbane poisoning, just rows of dusty bandages and half-empty bottles of dubious potions. Panic gnawed at the edges of my composure. But then, a memory trick, a mnemonic device from my herbalism studies, surfaced: "When in doubt, for poisons, opposites shout!"

Wolfsbane, I remembered, had distinctive purple flowers. That meant we needed something… yellow! Something readily available, something Isaac, with his knowledge of herbal remedies, would surely have on hand. A staple in any healer’s inventory, the answer bloomed in my mind.

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"Isaac!" I called out, my voice laced with urgency. "We need something yellow – saffron, turmeric, anything!"

Surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by a flicker of hope. "Smart thinking, Kira," he said, his voice regaining its usual composure. "It might just work. We can try inducing a… a controlled hallucination to counteract the paralysis."

Relief flickered in Isaac's eyes for the briefest moment before his gaze darted to a shelf high above the cabinet. Relief quickly morphed into urgency. He pointed with a tremor in his hand. "Goldenrod! There, on the top shelf, next to the chamomile!"

Without hesitation, I scrambled onto a stool, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Grasping the delicate yellow flowers, I hopped down and rushed to the mortar and pestle on the workbench beside Isaac. With practiced efficiency, I began grinding the goldenrod into a fine powder, my movements fueled by a desperate hope.

"Milk of the poppy," Isaac rasped, his voice regaining a sliver of its usual composure. "We need a drop, just to ease the pain while the goldenrod does its work."

Spinning on my heel, I scanned the remaining vials on the shelf. Spotting a small, milky white vial labeled "Papaver somniferum" – the scientific name for poppies – I snatched it up. With trembling hands, I carefully uncorked the vial and managed to extract a single precious drop of the milky liquid.

Adding the drop to the goldenrod powder, I carefully mixed them together, grinding the mixture further until it formed a thick paste.

But this alone wouldn't be enough. I glanced at the shelf again, my gaze snagging on a small, unassuming vial tucked discreetly behind the others. Moonwort, the label read in Isaac’s neat handwriting. He had specifically collected it the other day, mentioning its potential healing properties.

Carefully, I uncorked the vial, revealing a fine, green powder within. This wasn't something I'd ever used before, but with a silent prayer, I added a pinch of the moonwort powder to the goldenrod and poppy milk mixture. Grinding it all together one last time, I hoped that by combining Isaac's knowledge with a little bit of luck, we might just create an antidote strong enough to counter the wolfsbane's grip.

Water. I needed water to dilute the paste and make it easier to administer. Grabbing a nearby canteen, I splashed a small amount into the mortar, mixing it with the paste until it formed a thin, yellow solution.

Finally, I retrieved a clean vial from the cabinet and carefully poured the concoction inside. Relief washed over me in a tidal wave as I corked it, a fragile hope cradled in my hand. I shook the vial one last time to make sure everything was mixed together. Maybe, just maybe, this makeshift antidote would be enough to hold Caleb over.

Turning back to Isaac, I held out the vial, my voice thick with emotion. "Here. Let's get this into him."

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, but a sliver of relief wormed its way through the panic. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was a chance. We had to take it.

He snatched the vial, a ragged gasp escaping his lips. Relief, raw and powerful, flooded his features. "Thank gods," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

Isaac, his face grim with determination, uncorked the vial. He stood beside Caleb, his movements careful not to disturb the injured man.

"Kira," he said softly, holding the vial up to the moonlight. "Help me prop him up a bit."

Together, we maneuvered Caleb into a semi-sitting position, his head lolling against the furs. The smell of the antidote, sharp and acrid, filled the air.

With a swift tilt of the vial, Isaac poured the antidote down Caleb's throat. He held Caleb's head upright for a moment, willing the liquid past his lips, then gently laid him back down.

A tense silence filled the chamber. Minutes crawled by, each one an eternity. We waited for a sign, a twitch of a finger, anything to suggest the antidote was working. But Caleb remained motionless, his face pale and drawn. A cold dread began to creep into my stomach.

"Isaac?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Isaac met my gaze, his own reflecting the growing fear. He gently pressed two fingers to Caleb's wrist, searching for a pulse. After a moment, a faint sigh escaped his lips and he looked at me, his eyes dark with panic.

Desperation clawed at me. Caleb lay vulnerable, the effects of the wolfsbane a ticking time bomb. My mind raced, searching for a solution in the meager supplies around us.

Suddenly, Isaac threw his head back and let out a bellow that tore through the chamber. "MARCUS!" he roared, his voice raw with a desperation I had never heard before.

The sound nearly knocked me off my feet. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum solo in the sudden quiet that followed his outburst. Isaac, for all his confidence as a healer, could get a little flustered in truly dangerous situations. I remembered the panicked glint in his eyes as we faced the monstrous cliffs of the Razorback Gorge.

But never, in all the time I had known him, had I seen him lose his composure like this. Isaac, the quiet, stoic healer, was a man shaken to his core. And if Isaac was scared, then the situation truly was dire. A whimper escaped my lips, a tiny sound that echoed in the sudden, suffocating silence of the room.

"Marcus!" he bellowed again, his voice hoarse.

Terror coiled in my gut, a cold serpent squeezing the life out of me. Caleb. Isaac. What was happening?

A tall figure, obscured by the darkness of the night, burst through the doorway. Marcus. His face was etched with a mixture of surprise and urgency. His gaze darted towards Caleb, his eyes widening in shock.

"What happened?" he barked, his voice tight with tension.

Isaac straightened slightly, his hand pressed against his forehead. "He's… he's lost a lot of blood. The wound… Wolfsbane… Marcus…" His voice trailed off, his words failing him.

Marcus stood beside Caleb, his brow furrowed in concentration. He exchanged a flurry of hushed words with Isaac, their voices too low for me to understand. Despite my desperate need to know what they were saying, I remained frozen, a silent observer in this whirlwind of fear and confusion.

"I need your help," Isaac added curtly. "Get word to Elyse. She's the only one…" Finally, Marcus rose to his feet, his movements urgent. The rest of his sentence was lost as he hurried out of the chamber, the door slamming shut behind him with a heavy thud.

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. But I forced them back, blinking rapidly. Now wasn't the time for tears. Caleb needed me, needed both of us. Panic threatened to consume me, but the sight of Isaac, his face etched with a desperate determination, grounded me. He may have been scared, but he wasn't giving up. And neither would I.

Despite his fear, Isaac sprang into action. With a focus that belied his internal turmoil, he began cleaning the wound. His movements were methodical, precise, his touch surprisingly gentle considering the severity of the injury. He spoke in hushed tones, a stream of muttered instructions as he cleansed the wound with a cool, damp cloth.

"Hold still, Caleb," Isaac murmured, his voice tight with concern. "This might sting a bit." He glanced at me, his eyes pleading. "Can you get me the basin of clean water and the bandages?"

I scrambled to obey, my movements clumsy with fear. Numbly, I retrieved the requested items, placing them on the table beside Isaac. He dipped the cloth into the cool water, wringing it out gently before dabbing it against the raw flesh.

A sharp hiss escaped Caleb's lips, his eyes fluttering open for a fleeting moment. They were glazed with pain, unfocused and distant. He mumbled something incoherent, his voice weak and raspy.

"Easy, Caleb," I soothed, leaning closer and taking his hand in mine. "You're safe now. Isaac's taking care of you."

Isaac dipped a clean cloth into a vial, the clear liquid quickly soaking into the fabric. He held it up, the scent sharp and acrid. Hemlock. With a deep breath, he pressed the cloth over Caleb's nose and mouth.

The effect was almost immediate. Caleb's already shallow breaths hitched and then stopped altogether. A terrifying silence filled the room, broken only by the crackling fire in the hearth. My heart hammered against my ribs, my eyes glued to Caleb's chest, desperately searching for any sign of movement.

"Isaac!" I gasped, my voice choked with panic. "He's not breathing!"

Isaac, unfazed, leaned closer, his ear pressed to Caleb's chest. A moment later, he straightened up, a flicker of relief crossing his face.

"He's alright," he said, his voice calm but strained. "It's just very shallow. Keep watch, Kira. Now comes the critical part."

The door creaked open, a harsh intrusion into the tense silence. It was Marcus, his face etched with a grim urgency that mirrored my own fear. Beside him, Elyse. Her mane of white hair pulled back in a no-nonsense braid. Her face, strong and determined with piercing white eyes, held a power that sent shivers down my spine. Even from a distance, I could feel the aura of authority that clung to her like a cloak.

Isaac spoke, his voice tight with worry. "Elyse, this is bad. Much worse than I thought." He gestured towards Caleb, who lay still on the table.

Elyse didn't waste time with acknowledgements. Her gaze swept over the room, taking in the scene with practiced efficiency. Her eyes landed on Caleb, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of emotion – perhaps surprise, perhaps concern – crossed her face. But it was quickly replaced by a mask of cool professionalism.

Without a word, she strode towards the table, her movements purposeful and decisive. She brushed past me, the scent of pine and mountain herbs clinging to her cloak. For a moment, our eyes met, and I felt a strange mix of trepidation and desperate hope.

Elyse leaned down, examining Caleb's wound with a detached intensity. I held my breath, my heart pounding against my ribs. Every passing second stretched into an eternity as she assessed the damage.

Finally, she straightened up. Her silence spoke volumes, and a cold dread seeped into my bones. Then, her gaze fell on Isaac. With a curt nod in his direction, she conveyed a clear message: step aside.

Her attention shifted to me. She didn't speak, but a single, sharp gesture with her hand left no room for misinterpretation. Leave. Now.

Disappointment morphed into a surge of defiance. I wanted to stay, to be there for Caleb in his moment of need. "No," I blurted, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands. "I can help. I know the herbs, I can assist…"

But the rest of my protest died in my throat. Elyse raised a hand, palm facing me. A wave of invisible energy pulsed from her, a silent force that slammed into my chest with a surprising impact. The air whooshed out of my lungs, and I was propelled backward, unable to resist the unseen power. I landed hard on the rough wooden floor, the hallway spinning wildly for a moment before my vision cleared.

The door slammed shut with a bang, the heavy wood echoing the finality of my exclusion. I scrambled to my feet, the throbbing in my chest a stark reminder of Elyse's power. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the flickering torchlight into a kaleidoscope of despair. The hallway felt suffocatingly small, the silence broken only by the ragged gasps of my own breath.

Anger simmered beneath the surface, a counterpoint to the crippling fear that threatened to consume me. Who was this woman, to cast me aside like a discarded tool? Didn't I deserve to be by Caleb's side?

But even as the protest bubbled up inside me, a sliver of reason remained. Elyse wouldn't have ejected me so forcefully if she didn't believe there was a chance. Perhaps the urgency of the situation demanded a level of focus I could only disrupt. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I forced myself to accept this harsh reality. My role, for now, was on the outside, waiting.

A tense silence stretched on, punctuated by the occasional creak of the floor or the distant howl of a wolf. Minutes bled into an eternity, each beat of my heart a hammer blow against my already frayed nerves. Just as I was about to succumb to the suffocating weight of worry, a sound broke the stillness.

It was faint at first, a muffled shuffle from within the room. My head snapped towards the door, every muscle taut with anticipation. The shuffling was followed by a low murmur. I strained to hear, desperate to glean any scrap of information about what was happening inside.

Then, something extraordinary occurred. A brilliant white light erupted from beneath the door, pushing a luminous sheen across the rough wooden floorboards. It wasn't harsh or blinding, but it pulsed with an otherworldly intensity, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. My breath hitched in my throat, and I stumbled back a step, fear momentarily eclipsed by awe.

The silence that followed the white light was deafening. A full minute stretched into an eternity, each tick of the unseen clock a hammer blow against my already fractured hope. The only sounds were the ragged gasps of my own breath and the pounding of my heart, a frantic drum solo against my ribs.

Then, a heavy thud echoed from within the chamber. A strangled gasp, muffled by the wooden barrier, followed the thud. A flurry of hushed voices rose from within, followed by the clatter of bowls and the clinking of instruments I couldn't identify. Through the cacophony, I could faintly hear Caleb's moans, low and pained. The sounds, a terrifying symphony of worry, were more than I could bear. Panic flared in my chest, hot and suffocating. Whatever Elyse was doing, it was causing him pain.

My body moved automatically, fueled by a primal urge to reach my friend. Ignoring the lingering echo of Elyse's power, I slammed my shoulder against the door. The wood groaned in protest, but held firm. I slammed again, and again, my frustration growing with each failed attempt.

"Caleb!" I screamed, my voice hoarse with desperation. "Elyse, what are you doing to him? Let me in!"

The sounds from within ceased, replaced by an unnerving quiet. Then, a slow, deliberate creak announced the unlatching of the door. But instead of a sliver of Elyse's face, I was met with a sight that sent a fresh wave of terror crashing through me.