The streets of Siburg were alive with their usual early morning bustle. The sun had been rising for thirty minutes, and the market looked as if it were midday. The merchants haggling, children weaving through carts, horses clattering over cobblestone. But all Willow could see was a world of blurred faces and obstacles as he tore through the town, Lamberra’s limp body draped over his back.

  “Move!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the marketplace like a blade.

  People turned at the sound, their idle conversations breaking into startled gasps as he barreled past. A baker dropped a tray of steaming loaves, a merchant cursed as Willow nearly upended his stall, but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was finding a doctor before it was too late. Lamberra’s weight was nothing compared to the sheer exhaustion clawing at his limbs. His muscles burned, his breathing ragged, but he didn’t stop. She had lost too much blood. He could feel its warmth seeping through his shirt where her body pressed against him, sticky and soaking. The scent of iron mixed with the sweat on his skin, a reminder that he was running out of time.

  “Where’s the doctor?” he snarled at the nearest person, a middle-aged woman balancing a basket of herbs.

  She blinked in shock, then pointed up the road. “T-the apothecary—just ahead! Mistress Isabella—”

  Willow didn’t wait for her to finish. He surged forward, pushing through the crowd with single-minded determination. When he reached the modest stone building, he didn’t hesitate. Willow slammed his shoulder against the door, forcing it open with a violent crack.

  Inside, the air was thick with the scent of dried lavender, crushed mint, and medicine. Wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with neatly labeled jars, tinctures, and rolled herbs. Behind the counter, a woman was adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves, preparing for the day.

  “She’s dying!” She barely had time to react before Willow stormed in, his voice ringing through the shop. Isabella turned, her sharp green eyes locking onto the scene in an instant. Lamberra’s lifeless form, the blood soaking through Willow’s uniform, the sheer desperation on his face, and without hesitation, she snapped into action.

  “Lay her down. Now. This table.” Willow obeyed, his hands shaking as he eased Lamberra onto the hard wooden surface.

  Isabella shoved everything off the table, glass vials shattered against the floor, the scent of spilled herbs filling the air, but she didn’t even flinch.

  “Tell me what happened,” she demanded, already reaching for a knife to fully cut Lamberra’s tunic away so she could see everything. Willow’s throat tightened. What was he supposed to say? That they had been ambushed by assassins? That Lamberra had nearly been gutted by a robed cultist? That she had magic she didn’t even understand yet?

  His silence must have been telling because Isabella shot him a knowing look.

  “You don’t have time for secrets, boy,” she snapped. “If I don’t know what I’m dealing with, she’ll die.”

  “…She was attacked by four men on the road,” he admitted. “One of them stabbed her, and dragged his blade almost clean through her shoulder.”

  Isabella’s hands didn’t falter as she peeled the blood-soaked fabric away from Lamberra’s shoulder. Her face, however, betrayed the slightest flicker of recognition.

  “Four men. White robes?” she asked.

  “You know them?” Willow stiffened.

  Isabella didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she pressed her fingers gently against the wound. Lamberra flinched, a faint whimper escaping her lips, but she didn’t wake. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow.

  “Her body’s fighting, but she’s lost too much blood,” Isabella murmured. Then, after a pause, “She’s lucky she’s a magic user.”

  He instinctively reached for his sword, fingers curling around the hilt. “What do you know about her? How do you know she’s a magic user?”

  Isabella didn’t look up. She simply took a vial from her shelf, uncorked it, and poured a shimmering blue liquid over Lamberra’s wound.

  “Do you think I’m stupid?” she muttered. “I’ve been in this apothecary my entire life. My parents, my grandparents, doctors, all of them. This would have killed anyone hours ago. The only way she’s alive is that she’s doing it herself.”

  Willow exhaled slowly. She’s right. He unclenched his fist, forcing his hand away from his weapon. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m just trying to protect her.”

  Isabella’s expression didn’t soften. “I know,” she said coolly. “But right now, she needs to wake up. Or she’ll never heal on her own.”

  The apothecary smelled of dried lavender and crushed mint, but beneath it lingered the sharp, undeniable scent of blood. The blue liquid Isabella had poured over Lamberra’s wound shimmered faintly as it seeped into her torn flesh, slowing the bleeding but doing little to mend the deeper damage. Willow hovered close, his hands twitching at his sides. Isabella worked quickly, fingers steady as she assessed the damage. Then, without looking up, she spoke. “She needs a healer.”

  “You are a healer,” Willow exhaled sharply.

  “No,” Isabella snapped, shooting him a sharp glare. “I’m a doctor. I can clean wounds, stitch them shut, and keep infections at bay. But I can’t knit together shredded muscle. I can’t fuse broken bones, and I sure as hell can’t stop whatever damage is happening inside her.” She reached for another vial, this one a deep green color. “She needs a magic healer.”

  Willow already knew that, he just hated hearing it.

  “Belli Mira,” he said finally, his voice rough. “My sister. She’s a healing user. If anyone can fix this, it’s her. One of the best in generations.”

  Isabella didn’t look up. She simply pulled a roll of clean linen from the shelf and muttered, “How fast can she get here?”

  “If we send for her now, tonight. If she has a horse.” Willow’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “We need a messenger. Someone fast.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Isabella strode toward the back of the shop and shoved open a door. “Lorne!”

  A moment later, a tall, lanky man appeared, wiping dirt from his hands. His brown hair was a mess of curls, and he smelled of smoke, likely from tending the apothecary’s stove. “What?” he muttered.

  “Drop everything. Ride to Ashvale. Now. Take my fastest horse. Find Belli Mira and tell her to get here immediately. Tell her there’s a girl dying with her brother, and it can’t wait.”

  Lorne’s gaze flicked to Willow, then to the unconscious girl sprawled across the wooden table. His mouth opened slightly, then closed. He nodded once. “On it.” Without another word, he spun on his heel and bolted from the room.

  Isabella exhaled slowly, pressing her fingers to her temples before turning back to the table, and finally, she really looked at Lamberra. A sharp gasp escaped her lips. Without thinking, she reached out, fingers gently combing through Lamberra’s blood-matted hair.

  “Lamberra…” The name barely left her throat, laced with alarm. Panic took over as she hurriedly stripped away the rest of Lamberra’s tattered clothing, assessing the full extent of the damage. Too many wounds. Too much blood. Her voice trembled as she whispered, “What happened to you, sweet girl?”

  Her head snapped up, her sharp green eyes locking onto Willow. “What are you to her?”

  “I’m probably one of her closest friends. We grew up in the slums together,” was the only thing Willow mustered out.

  Isabella narrowed her eyes, then jerked her chin toward the wall. “Turn around. You’re not going to see her naked.

  Willow did as he was told. “Can you tell me what you see, how bad is she?”

  “Fine.” Isabella said sharply.

  She carefully cut off all of Lamberra’s clothing so she could see her damaged body. The knife wound on her right shoulder was the most concerning. It was deep, jagged, already darkening at the edges. The muscle had been torn apart, and despite Willow’s makeshift cauterization, blood still oozed sluggishly from the worst of it.

  Purple bruises bloomed across her ribs, deep and ominous, evidence of at least two, maybe three, cracked ribs. Isabella pressed along the worst of the bruising, watching Lamberra’s unconscious body flinch at the contact. Her face was burned, red and raw down the side. Not severe enough to scar permanently, but without magic, it would heal ugly. The pattern suggested it had come from a spell.

  “Are you a fire user?” Isabella inquired.

  “I am,” he somberly admitted.

  “So you burned her too?” Willow could tell the question was rhetorical, all he did was hang his head in silence.

  Her legs and forearms were covered in scrapes, deep and messy, as if she had tumbled hard over rocks and roots. Then Isabella found the worst of it. A dark purple bruise the size of a palm bloomed along Lamberra’s lower stomach, just above her hip. A slow internal bleed. Isabella cursed under her breath.

  Willow, now sensing the sudden silence, “What?”

  Isabella didn’t answer immediately. She pressed two fingers against the bruising on Lamberra’s hip, testing the depth, then pulled her hand back.

  “There’s a wound,” she said quietly, “she’s bleeding deep in the inside, there’s nothing I can do with that.”

  Willow’s throat tightened. “That’s why she was coughing up blood then.”

  “She’s holding on,” Isabella continued, rolling her shoulders back. “For now. But if that gets worse, even your miracle sister won’t be able to help her.” Isabella retrieved a thick blanket from her bedroom and laid it over her. “I will do anything I can, okay?”

  Willow stayed silent, his fingers flexing and clenching against his thighs. Isabella noted it in passing. Not the action itself, but the way his hands shook. Willow’s uniform was stiff with dried blood, a lot of it Lamberra’s, but not all of it.

  “Your turn,” she sighed sharply.

  “I’m fine,” Willow grunted, already attempting to move away.

  “Oh, shut up and sit down.” Isabella grabbed his arm and yanked him forward.

  She jerked his shirt up, expecting resistance, but there was none. Willow, for all his bravado, simply exhaled and let it happen. The moment she saw the gaping stab wound beneath his ribs, she wanted to strangle him.

  “This happened when?” She demanded.

  “During the fight.” His voice was low, detached.

  “And you didn’t think to mention it?” She glared up at him.

  “Lamberra was bleeding out. It didn’t seem important.” Willow scoffed.

  Isabella scowled but didn’t argue. She poured a harsh-smelling liquid over the wound, and Willow flinched for the first time.

  “Good,” she muttered. “I hope that hurts.”

  He huffed a short, humorless laugh. “It does.”

  His right shoulder was also a mess. A clean slice running from collarbone to shoulder blade, deep enough to be serious but not fatal. Isabella prodded at it before shaking her head. Then there were the burns, Lining his forearm, his upper arm. Probably from his own magic. Isabella traced the edges of the worst one, her mouth tightening. He hadn’t even noticed.

  “Idiot,” she muttered, already reaching for a salve.

  Willow chuckled under his breath, tipping his head back against the wall. “You’re not the first to say that.”

  “Oh, trust me,” Isabella said dryly. “You won’t survive the week without someone else repeating it.”

  She worked quickly, stitching the stab wound shut, wrapping his shoulder, and applying salve to the burns. Willow let it happen, saying nothing except the occasional low grunt when she pressed too hard. After an hour, she was finally done. She sat back, wiping her hands on a cloth, and studied him.

  Willow was still watching Lamberra, watching her chest very softly go up and down. Isabella let the silence stretch for a few breaths before standing. “You should rest. Both of you are in bad shape, and there’s nothing else to do until your sister gets here.”

  Willow didn’t move. Isabella let out an audible huff, but for the first time smiled at him. “You really care about her, huh.”

  “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her,” he muttered. Willow didn’t move from the table. His body was slumped, his head low, his red hair sticking to his sweat-drenched forehead, but his eyes never left Lamberra. Watching, waiting, praying to the Gods he doesn’t believe in, that her chest would keep rising and falling, even if it was slow.

  Isabella sighed from behind him, arms crossed. “Go upstairs.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Willow,” she said again, her voice firmer. “She’s stable. She won’t get better if you sit here staring at her, brooding. Upstairs, now.”

  Still, he didn’t move.

  “She’s not going to die while you sleep,” Isabella said, softer this time. “But if you don’t rest, how will you be there for her when she wakes up?”

  With visible reluctance, he finally stood, his body swaying slightly from exhaustion. Isabella guided him toward the narrow staircase. “There’s a cot near the bed,” she told him. “It’s not much, but it’s better than standing here.”

  He trudged up the stairs without another word. When he reached the small loft, he stood in front of the cot, staring at the old brick wall. He was tired. Gods, he was tired. But sleep? That was impossible. His mind raced with everything that had happened—the attack, the fight, Lamberra bleeding out in his arms. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could hear was Lamberra’s screams. Downstairs, he wondered what was happening. Willow kept whispering to himself that she was safe. She was safe. She was-

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  A sharp pressure jabbed into his neck. With a swift motion, Isabella reached forward and pressed two fingers against a spot just beneath his ear. It was so fast, so practiced, that Willow had no time to react before a sharp, nerve-tingling pressure shot through him. His vision blurred instantly, the strength in his limbs evaporating. His knees buckled, and he staggered back, looking to grab something for balance.

  “What the—” Willow bellowed out.

  Isabella caught his arm and, with a strength that surprised him, guided him toward the cot against the wall. “Pressure point,” she said, entirely unbothered. “I told you, you need sleep.”

  “You—” His protest came out sluggish, his eyelids drooping despite his best efforts.

  “I know a stubborn soldier when I see one,” Isabella muttered, lowering him onto the cot. “So I gave you no choice.”

  Willow’s vision swam. His body felt like lead. He fought against it, tried to push himself upright, but Isabella just placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “It’s temporary. Just a night’s rest, but during the day instead,” she said, her voice quieter now. “You won’t do her any good like this, Willow. Get some sleep.”

  He wanted to argue. Wanted to fight, but he had already lost the battle. The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was Lamberra as a child as the darkness overtakes him.

  Isabella exhaled, watching as Willow's body went slack, finally succumbing to exhaustion. A small, almost amused smile played on her lips. At first glance, he was nothing more than another soldier, the kind of military scum born with a blade in his hand and no other skills in life, but that wasn’t true, was it? No, Willow Mira wasn’t a soldier by choice, he was an elf. He had been forced into this life the moment he was born because of the peace treaty. A treaty that demanded all elven men serve in the Stormhaven army, no matter their upbringing, their talents, or their desires.

  “Must be nice,” Isabella muttered as she made her way down the stairs. Not the fighting, nor the wars. She could never envy that. But the way he cared for Lamberra… the way he had looked at her, desperate and unwavering. Isabella had never had anyone like that in her life. Never had someone willing to tear through a marketplace, knock over merchants, and demand her life be saved at all costs. There was Lorne, her younger brother, but he was the living definition of the lights and nobody was home. She scoffed under her breath, shaking the thought away, as she had no time for self pity.

  With a practiced ease, she pulled her dark green sleeves back, tucking a stray piece of pink hair behind her ear. Her wool tunic was a simple, earth toned color that hung loosely over her frame, the thick leather apron tied snugly around her waist. Her fingerless gloves were stiff with use, but she hardly noticed.

  Unlike Mister Finch back in Ashvale, Isabella was not a simple town apothecary. She didn’t just mix herbs and sell cough syrups to desperate mothers. She traveled across the Ravenwood lordship, providing medicines to various apothecaries. Lorne stayed behind to sell to traveling merchants or local delivery individuals, like Lamberra.

  Downstairs, the air was thick with the scent of crushed herbs and burning wood from the low lit stoves. Isabella moved with purpose, eyes flicking over Lamberra’s unconscious form sprawled across the wooden table. Her breathing was shallow but steady.When Isabella pressed two fingers to her wrist, her pulse thumped weakly but rhythmically beneath the skin. Stronger than it should be, a small sigh of relief slipped past her lips. Isabella had done all she could, now, it was just a waiting game.

  Passing by the workstations cluttered with vials, dried plants, and stacks of parchment filled with notes, Isabella made her way to the old surgical bed in the back room. Once, before her family had shifted their focus solely to medicine-making, this apothecary had been the place people came for real medical care. The kind that involved knives, stitches, and a strong stomach. The heavy wooden bed had seen countless patients before it was retired for good, but tonight, it would be Lamberra’s.

  Isabella stripped the old sheets and replaced them with fresh linen, smoothing the fabric down with steady hands. She made sure the blankets were thick enough to keep in the warmth but light enough not to suffocate her patient. Next, she checked the nearby shelves, ensuring that everything Belli might need when she arrived was within reach: clean bandages, salves, a mortar and pestle for quick mixtures.Only then did she return to Lamberra, She was lighter than expected as Isabella carefully lifted her from the table. Nothing but muscle and sharp angles beneath the layers of blood and bandages. Placing her gently onto the prepared bed, Isabella pulled the blankets up around her, tucking them in carefully.

  “There,” she murmured, stepping back, arms crossed over her chest. Everything was ready. Lamberra was still breathing and that was all that mattered now. The only thing anyone could do was wait.

  Isabella returned and swept the last of the shattered glass into a pile, her broom scraping against the wooden floor of her apothecary. The room was quiet now, except for the occasional pop of burning herbs in the corner stove. The scent of lavender and sage lingered in the air. Once the floor was clean, she finally allowed herself to sit. Sleep came in flashes as there were brief moments where exhaustion pulled her under, only for her to jolt awake moments later. Each time, she would check on Lamberra, counting the faint rise and fall of her chest. Shallow, but they were steady.

  The sound of boots crunching against gravel outside snapped her fully awake. Isabella straightened, every muscle tensing. Before she could process anything else, the door slammed open.

  Belli stormed inside, a force of nature wrapped in disheveled elegance. Strands of her long red hair had slipped free from their usual braid, falling over her shoulder in unruly waves. Her travel cloak was missing and her violet eyes burned with an intensity that immediately put Isabella on edge.

  “Where is she?” Belli’s voice was sharp, each word edged with fury.

  “I assume you’re Belli? Where’s Lorne? The man sent to get you.” Isabella arched her brow, but stood from her chair.

  Belli barely acknowledged her, her gaze sweeping the room frantically searching for Lamberra. “I left him. I probably killed my horse to get here. Again, where is she!?” she demanded again, her voice rising.

  A creak from the staircase drew both of their attention. Willow appeared, his movements stiff with pain. Despite the bruises and blood staining his uniform, he forced himself to stand tall.

  “Belli,” he muttered, exhaustion weighing down his voice. Belli’s sharp gaze flicked to him, and for the briefest moment, relief softened her expression. Then, just as quickly, it was gone. Her attention snapped back to Isabella, and she stepped forward, her presence suddenly suffocating.

  “I am not going to ask again,” Belli said, her voice in a growl. “Where is Lamberra?”

  Then, Belli’s eyes darted to Willow, her jaw clenching. “You idiot.” Willow signed, expecting that being the first of many yellings.

  “S-she’s in the back,” Isabella said quickly, swallowing any instinct to challenge the elf’s authority. She turned, leading the way.

  The moment they stepped inside the small back room, silence fell. Lamberra lay still beneath the blankets, her breathing soft but uneven. The dim candlelight cast harsh shadows over her injuries, making every wound appear even worse than before. Isabella took a step forward, clearing her throat. “She has burn marks across her body, cracked ribs, a deep stab wound across her shoulder, and—”

  “Let me see.” Belli’s voice was quiet, but the weight behind it was absolute. She strode forward and ripped the blanket away. Her loud gasp could’ve been heard by everyone in town as she examined her childhood friend. The deep, angry gash ran from just below Lamberra’s collarbone, cutting through muscle before stopping near the top of her shoulder. The skin around it was swollen, the stitches holding it together tight and fresh. Bruises marred her ribs, dark and spreading, their angry purples and blacks stark against her pale skin. The burns on her face were still raw, a jagged wound across her cheek and jaw where the fireball had licked her. But worst of all was the deep, sickly bruise near her hip, a sign of the internal bleeding that had yet to stop.

  Belli’s hands trembled as she exhaled, hovering over Lamberra as if afraid to touch her. But she did, her fingers gently brushing against Lamberra’s cheek, tracing the edges of the burns with heartbreaking delicacy. Her other hand cupped the girl’s face, her thumb stroking against her temple. She swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in her throat. Her hands curled into fists against the sheets. “I should have been here sooner.”

  “You got here as fast as you could,” Willow said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

  Belli shook her head, anger flashing in her violet eyes before she buried it deep. “I’m fixing this,” she muttered. Then, her voice sharpened like a blade. “You. Apothecary girl. Bring me everything you have.”

  “Everything’s already in the cabinets above the bed,” Isabella bristled slightly but remained calm.

  Belli’s gaze flicked toward the shelves, and for the first time, something like approval softened the sharp lines of her face. Without another word, she reached for the supplies, her movements quick, efficient, practiced.

  “Everyone leave,” Belli ordered. “I need time.”

  “How much time?” Willow’s voice cautious with concern.

  Belli had already positioned herself over Lamberra, her hands hovering inches above her battered body. The air between her fingers shimmered faintly, mana pulsing in soft waves, reacting to the sheer force of her will. “Time,” she repeated. Then, almost too softly to hear, “She’ll be fine, Willow.”

  Willow hesitated, his hands twitching as if he wanted to argue, to stay. But Isabella placed a firm hand on his shoulder, guiding him out of the room. For once, he didn’t resist. The apothecary settled into a thick, tense silence. Willow sat stiffly in the main room, his fingers drumming anxiously against his knee. Isabella moved with forced casualness, preparing fresh bandages she knew wouldn’t be needed unless Belli failed. The minutes dragged, stretching into something unbearable.

  Then, after several hours, the front door burst open. Lorne strode inside, his expression grim. His dark green eyes flickered between Isabella and Willow before settling on the latter. “I informed the knights of Siburg about the attack,” he said. “They’re investigating it now.”

  Willow shifted uncomfortably, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He knew exactly what that meant. Soon, there would be questions and a lot of them. Willow exhaled sharply, running a hand through his tangled red hair. “I assume the knights are going to inform the town mayor, who will then inform Lord Everknight?”

  Lorne shrugged, already making his way toward the stairs. “I got no idea how that works, but they know everything I know.” Without another word, he disappeared up the steps, leaving Willow alone with his thoughts.

  What an embarrassment. The son of one of the greatest military leaders in Stormhaven, reduced to this. Nearly burned half the forest down. Nearly got someone else killed. His jaw clenched at the thought.

  “Are you going to be in trouble?” Isabella asked. Her voice was softer now, lacking the sharpness from earlier.

  Willow let out a humorless chuckle. “Oh, for sure. I probably destroyed miles of forest and nearly let a civilian bleed out. There’s no way I’m walking away from this unscathed.”

  “Like... executed in trouble? You did everything right.” Isabella pressed, her brow furrowing in concern.

  “No,” Willow said, shaking his head. “They’ll need me for the wars to come. But a demotion? A public disgrace? That’s more than likely.” His voice darkened, his fingers curling into fists. “It doesn’t matter if I did everything right. It’s all about perception. All they’ll see is, ‘a reckless elf nearly got a human girl killed and burned down our beautiful forest.’ That’s why I’ll be punished.”

  Isabella studied him for a long moment before standing and moving toward him, her steps slow and deliberate. “Well,” she said, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, “whenever you can retire, why don’t you come work for me? I need a protector like you on my travels.”

  Willow shifted uncomfortably, clearly thrown off by the sudden shift in tone. “Uh... sure. I’ll keep that in mind.” He let out an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. A silence stretched between them, settling into something almost peaceful, as the minutes blurred into hours.

  Then, the door to the back room creaked open and Belli stood in the doorway, her entire body trembling. Willow and Isabella immediately snapped to attention and made their way over to her. Belli looked ghostly pale, her violet eyes dull and unfocused. Her red hair, usually pristine, was a disheveled mess, and her clothes hung loosely, drenched in sweat. Before either of them could react, she staggered forward and vomited onto the floor.

  “Belli? What’s wrong?” Isabella dropped to one knee, placing a steadying hand on Belli’s back.

  “She’s nearly out of mana,” Willow answered, his voice grim but unsurprised. “She hasn’t pushed herself this far since her trainings years ago… she even tapped into her reserves.” There was awe in his voice now but he knew better than anyone how dangerous that was.

  With a deep, shuddering breath, Belli forced herself upright. Her body swayed slightly, but she gritted her teeth and steadied herself. “The good news is… Lamberra is going to be fine.”

  A collective breath seemed to escape the room, a weight lifting that none of them had fully realized was there.

  Belli’s voice was still weak, but firm. “She’ll have no burn scars, but she’s going to be in a lot of pain when she wakes up. And I don’t know when that’ll be. It could be tonight, or two weeks from now. She’ll need healing sessions at least twice a day, for a minimum of two hours, for the foreseeable future.”

  Isabella took Belli’s shaking hand and guided her to a chair, gently pushing her down.

  “I stopped the internal bleeding for now, but any movement could reopen the wound until I finish healing it,” Belli continued, coughing between words. “Her ribs are no longer broken, but still severely bruised. The shoulder… the muscle damage is bad. The scar will be ugly, and there’s a chance she may never swing a sword again.”

  She swallowed hard, her eyes flashing with a determined look. “But I’ll do everything in my power to bring her back to one hundred percent.” Then, silence settled over them.

  “She’s alive,” Isabella finally said, her voice filled with quiet relief. “That’s all that matters.”

  Willow exhaled, his body finally losing its tension.

  “Thank you,” Isabella continued, her voice softer now, lacking the sarcasm and sharpness from earlier. “Go upstairs and rest. Willow and I will get a room across the street. If Lamberra needs anyone, it’s you.” Isabella took a breath, “my brother sleeps in the room next to mine. Just close and lock the door, he shouldn’t bother you.”

  For the first time since arriving, Belli looked at Isabella. A quiet understanding passed between them. Finally, she nodded. Belli didn’t say another word, and went towards Belli’s room.

  As Isabella and Willow stepped into the cool night air, the weight of everything crashed down on him at once. The forest. The blood. The battle. Lamberra’s lifeless body in his arms. He took a peak at Isabella who seemed excited about staying at the inn across the street. Willow huffed but couldn’t help himself, as he was being slightly curious about Isabella.

  “I assume the knights are going to inform the town mayor, who will then inform Lord Everknight?” Willow asked.

  “I got no idea how that works, but they know everything I know.” Lorne said, retreating upstairs.

  All Willow could do was groan, what an embarrassment. Especially being the son from one of the greatest military men the kingdom has ever known.

  “Are you going to be in trouble?” Isabella asked.

  “For sure. I probably burned half the forest down and nearly got a civilian killed.”

  “Like, executed in trouble? It wasn’t your fault, you did everything you could possibly do.” Isabella said, her voice filled with concern.

  “No, they’ll need me for the wars to come, but there’s a good chance I’ll be demoted or something of that sort. The unfortunate thing is, it doesn’t matter if I did everything right, it’s how it is perceived by the public. All they’ll say is, ‘a stupid nearly killed a human girl and destroyed our beautiful forest’ and that is why I’ll be punished.” Willow said solemnly.

  Isabella stood up, and walked gracefully toward him. “Whenever you can retire, why don’t you come work for me? I need a protector like you on my travels,” she said in a flirtatious manner with a sly smirk.

  This made Willow shift uncomfortably even more so than before. “Uh, sure. I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied with an awkward chuckle. The room fell into silence once again as more hours passed until Belli finally emerged from the back.

  Belli’s face was completely pale along with her body trembling. Everything about her was a complete mess, hair disheveled, her clothes all out of whack. Then, Belli doubled over vomiting on the floor, causing both Isabella and Willow to run to her. “Belli? What’s wrong?” Isabella said, going to one knee with a soft hand placed on her back.

  “She’s nearly out of mana,” Willow said calmly. “She hasn’t gone this far since her intense trainings a few years back. She even went into her reserves…” Willow said with slight shock in his voice.

  Slowly rising, Belli gets back to her two feet, her entire body shaking. “The good news is, Lamberra is going to be fine.” With Belli announcing that, it seemed like the weight of the world was lifted from the apothecary.

  “She’ll have no burn scars, but she’s going to be in a lot of pain when she does wake up, I’m not sure when that’ll be either. It could be tonight, or two weeks from now. She’s going to need a healing session at least twice a day for around two hours for the foreseeable future.” Belli said with slight stutters in her words. Isabella takes her hand and leads her to a wooden chair.

  “I stopped the internal bleeding for now, but any movement could reopen the wound until I finish healing it. Her ribs were mending back together but still severely bruised, and chest, those muscles are going to take a long time to heal with a ugly scar. She may not be able to swing a sword ever again, but I’ll do everything in my power to bring her back to 100%.” Belli said coughing.

  “She’s going to live. That’s all we could’ve asked for,” Isabella said. “Thank you. Go to my bedroom upstairs and rest, Willow and I can get a room in the inn across the street, if Lamberra needs anyone, it’s going to be you. Belli nodded in agreement and finally gave Isabella a look of respect. Willow was unsure how he felt about sharing a room with Isabella, but she was right.

  As they stepped outside into the cool night air, the weight of everything still pressed against Willow’s shoulders, but for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to breathe. Lamberra was alive and the worst had passed.

  Isabella stretched her arms above her head, rolling out the tension in her shoulders before shooting him a smirk. “So,” she mused, “do I need to hit your pressure point again, or are you going to sleep with me?” Her laughter was light, teasing. “Actually, you need to buy us dinner first.” She winked, the tension from earlier melting away now that the crisis had settled.

  Willow let out a tired chuckle, finally allowing himself to drop his guard just a little. “I could also use a drink,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck again.

  “Oh, absolutely,” Isabella said, already leading the way toward the inn. “Since you’re a big-shot lieutenant, you’re paying.”

  Willow scoffed, shaking his head as he followed her. “I just survived a fight to the death, carried a dying girl for miles, and might lose my rank. Worst of all, I have no clean clothes. I have to buy dinner?”

  “Yep.” Isabella grinned. “Welcome to real hardship.” For the first time since leaving Ashvale, Willow let out a genuine laugh. It was short, tired, and laced with exhaustion, but it was real. For now, that was enough.