Chapter 12

12 Chapter 12 A Small Flame Against

Fear

Faye’s POVO

“Heal him,” Hardy commanded, his voice cutting through the dim air as he pointed toward the motionless figure lying nearby.

The man’s military uniform immediately marked him as one of Hardy’s officers. “Make it quick,” he added with authority.

I nodded briefly and approached the injured lieutenant, intentionally positioning myself so my back faced the doctor standing several steps behind me. This was the same physician who had examined me earlier, undoubtedly following Hardy’s instructions. I wondered silently whether he understood the true nature of my abilities.

“Poison…” I whispered, dropping to my knees beside the lieutenant’s still body. The flickering lantern cast dancing shadows across his pale face. Droplets from

my wet hood fell softly onto the wooden floor, though I paid them no attention. My entire focus centered on the wound below his collarbone, where dark blood stained the white skin where the toxic blade had

found its mark.

I pushed aside the torn fabric to reveal the entry point, noting how precisely the assassins had aimed their strike. Tearing a piece from my cloak, I shaped it into a small basin and dipped it into the water bucket I had brought. The frigid water steamed slightly as I poured it across the gash, washing away the dried blood and exposing the damaged tissue underneath.

“Must stay clean,” I murmured, pressing the cloth firmly over the wound until no trace of contamination remained. Then I placed my palm directly against his chest. Gentle heat flowed from my hand, spreading beneath his skin’s surface, mending torn flesh and sealing the cut so rapidly my hand seemed to blur above his resting form. When I removed my palm, no mark remained, only the steady rhythm of his

breathing.

“He will awaken shortly,” I informed the physician

while pulling back my hood, allowing the lantern’s brightness to reveal my features. “We need to move him before he becomes conscious.” The doctor met my gaze, a flicker of admiration crossing his expression, and together we lifted the lieutenant by supporting his

arms.

As consciousness returned, he blinked several times against the soft light and offered a weak acknowledgment toward Hardy.

“Allen healed you,” Hardy announced the instant the man’s eyes opened. Allen, yes, that was the elderly physician’s name. I did not question why Hardy wanted them to believe the doctor had performed the healing. It was not that I lacked concern. My gift no longer belonged to me. Not truly. Like everything else, I had surrendered it through that binding agreement.

The lieutenant gazed at the old physician and nodded before steadying himself. His eyes then discovered me standing behind Hardy.

“No inquiries, Parker. Not at this moment.” Hardy gestured toward the hallway. “Bring the next injured person p>

Parker, that was the lieutenant’s name. I quietly committed their names to memory. Though Hardy had not spoken it aloud, I understood that moving forward, I would be collaborating with them, particularly once we traveled north.

“Yes, my lord,” Parker responded, rotating his shoulders as if casting off the exhaustion of nearly dying. He turned to examine me, his eyes dark as

gathering storm clouds, but provided only a brief nod before vanishing into the shadows to retrieve the next casualty. The candle flickered, and in its wavering light I observed Hardy’s unreadable expression as he watched me rise, cloak pulled tight.

“How did you acquire such skill in examining injuries?” he inquired.

“I worked in the medical ward,” I replied, keeping my head lowered. “Gathering materials, helping the pack physicians. It was the sole place I felt… valuable p>

“My lord she-” Allen began suddenly.

“Not now, Allen,” Hardy interrupted. “But as you already understand, she is not one of them p>

Allen studied me before nodding. Soon after, Parker returned carrying the next wounded soldier.

“Hurry,” Allen urged as he assisted Parker. “This one is dying p>

I stepped forward before Parker could object, my fingers already moving aside the blood-soaked fabric to reveal torn flesh marked with swollen veins. This poison had penetrated much deeper than the previous case, a darkened stain spreading like spilled ink across

bone.

“This is more severe,” I said quietly enough that only Parker and Allen could hear. “They have coated the weapon with wyrmroot poison, strong enough to kill a dragon.” I looked at Parker, whose mouth had fallen open, and gave him a reassuring glance.

“Get me water and clean this,” I directed, indicating the wound as if it were simply a stain on my clothing. “Be quick.” Without hesitation, Parker soaked part of his shirt in the bucket by the door and returned to carefully rinse the cut, his hands shaking.

As the foul smell of poison washed away with the

soapy water, I placed my palm against the lieutenant’s chest again, sensing death’s cold touch racing through his blood before my warmth drove it away.

Around us, Allen drew such a sharp breath that I startled, yet neither man attempted to stop me. Within moments, the skin tightened, the discoloration disappeared, and the wound closed perfectly as if it had never existed.

I stepped back, watching the lieutenant’s chest rise in smooth, easy breaths, and pressed my finger to his throat to feel the pulse that beat like a frightened bird’s wings.

Hardy’s voice broke the silence. “Before he fully awakens, take him outside. No questions until afterward. Then bring the next one p>

Parker stood straight, his eyes still filled with amazement, then moved to lift the lieutenant’s shoulders and, with unexpected care, carried him in his arms. I moved aside as Parker walked past Allen toward the corridor, the lantern light trailing their movement like a quiet observer. Fresh chapters posted on.net

He stopped at the doorway, holding my gaze for a moment that felt weightier than words, then bowed his head and disappeared. Allen sighed, shaking his

head, but remained silent.

I watched Parker’s lantern fade into darkness and felt an unusual flutter in my chest, something resembling relief, perhaps even satisfaction. They had not pulled away in terror, had not whispered accusations or retreated from the miracle I had created.

Instead, they trusted me to preserve another life. That simple acceptance warmed me completely.

It felt like a small flame against the cold fear I had carried since signing that cursed contract.

I stepped forward, brushing dust from the tent’s entrance, and let the stillness surround me. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to hope that perhaps, in Hardy’s realm of violence and warfare, there existed space for someone like me. Someone who restored life rather than taking it.

Then a voice broke my contemplation. “My lord, Alpha Rowan Stormhaven requests an audience p>

Morh Lucia

Lucia Morh is a passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.