Since Lyra and her team had begun their journey back to gather more Seekers, our view lifts away from the jungle once more.
Up—through the canopy,
over the mountains,
across rivers and shattered villages…
Until the land turns harsh and the air fills with smoke.
This is Asterfall, a border refugee zone.
Tents. Makeshift shelters. Crying children. Burnt fields.
And in one of the white tents, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, face tired yet steady—
works Isha Vorn.
---
The clinic was chaos.
People were carried in on stretchers, limping, bleeding, coughing. Nurses rushed around with too few supplies and too many wounds.
Isha knelt beside a trembling boy with a deep cut across his arm.
"It's okay," she whispered. "You're safe now."
"It hurts…" the boy sniffed.
"I know. Hold still."
Her palms warmed—soft, faint, like a lantern glowing from inside her skin.
Not dramatic. Not flashy. Just gentle.
The wound slowly tightened.
Bleeding stopped.
Pain ebbed away.
The boy gasped. "It… doesn't hurt anymore!"
Isha smiled gently. "Good. Now rest. And drink plenty of water, alright?"
She stood, exhaling. Her legs felt a little shaky. Restorative Mirra always drained her quickly.
A nurse hurried over, eyes wide.
"That's the third person you healed like that today! How do you do it?!"
Isha rubbed her palms. "Something my father taught me."
"You're not Guild-trained?!"
Isha shook her head. "No. I didn't pass."
The nurse looked surprised, then sighed.
"Guild or not… we're lucky you stayed."
Isha smiled awkwardly and moved to wash her hands in a small basin.
Outside the tent, whispers drifted through the camp:
"Another raid last night…"
"Three houses burned…"
"Guild refuses to send Seekers—they say it's a small issue…"
"How many more will die?"
Isha's jaw tightened.
Her father always said:
"Help whoever you can. Power is responsibility, not privilege."
She lived by that.
---
"Isha!" someone shouted. "A visitor for you!"
"Me?" she blinked.
She stepped outside.
A dusty courier waited, hood pushed back, holding a sealed letter.
"Are you Isha Vorn?" he asked.
"Yes."
"This was sent from Darrinvale. Someone you helped a few weeks ago insisted it reach you."
Isha blinked. "Someone I… healed?"
The courier shrugged. "Young guy. Injured leg. Said you saved him from losing it."
He handed her the envelope and left.
Isha opened the letter.
Inside:
> "Isha,
When I came into that clinic, I thought my leg was gone.
Now I'm walking. Working. Living normally again.
You saved me.
Thank you.
— Someone grateful"
Isha's shoulders softened.
Her eyes warmed.
She folded the letter carefully and tucked it into her pocket.
It mattered.
Her work mattered.
Even if the world didn't notice, people did.
---
"Isha! More injured coming in!"
She rushed back inside.
Three new patients waited:
A burn victim.
A girl barely breathing.
A child whimpering with a swollen leg.
Isha got to work.
"Bring clean cloth!"
"Hold his arm steady!"
"No, don't touch that blister!"
Her hands glowed again—warm, steady, soft.
She healed the child.
Then the burn victim.
Then the girl.
By the end, Isha's vision wavered. She almost collapsed onto a chair.
A nurse grabbed her shoulder. "You need to rest. You're shaking."
Isha smiled faintly. "After the next few patients."
"You'll collapse first!"
Isha shook her head.
"If I stop… they'll suffer longer."
The nurse sighed, defeated. "Fine. But take breaks."
Isha nodded and continued.
Because helping was all she knew.
Because she couldn't turn her back on pain.
Because her healing—small as it was—could change lives.
Outside, the camp flickered with lantern light as night fell.
People cried.
People prayed.
People hoped.
---
End of chapter 53
---