Night fell differently in Asterfall.
Not with peace.
Not with silence.
But with a thick heaviness—like the sky itself didn't know whether morning would actually come back.
Lanterns flickered along the pathways between tents. Shadows swayed on the ground like exhausted figures trying to stand upright.
And inside the clinic tent, Isha Vorn was still awake.
She sat on a wooden crate, elbows on her knees, trying to massage the ache out of her wrists. Her palms tingled faintly. They always did after too much healing. A reminder that her Mirra wasn't endless.
"You should sleep," a nurse muttered as she passed by.
"I will," Isha said.
She wouldn't.
There were still people awake, crying in pain, begging for help. She couldn't sleep knowing that.
A sudden cough echoed from the far corner. Isha looked up.
A mother sat there, rocking a child whose fever hadn't broken yet.
Isha stood.
Her legs felt heavy, but she walked anyway.
---
"May I?" she asked gently.
The mother nodded quickly, eyes swollen from crying. "Please… he hasn't stopped burning up since morning…"
Isha touched the boy's forehead.
Hot. Burning hot.
Too hot for normal fever.
"How long ago?" she asked.
"Two days," the mother whispered. "Our home was… burned. We ran. He collapsed on the road."
Isha nodded.
She didn't ask more.
Everyone here had a story.
All of them painful.
She placed her hands beside the boy's neck, not touching the wound—only close enough to channel warmth.
Her palms glowed faintly, not bright, but steady.
The fever eased.
The child's breathing slowed.
A soft whimper escaped him, then quiet.
The mother gasped, tears filling her eyes. "He—he's cooler!"
Isha smiled. "He needs rest, but he'll be alright."
The woman grabbed her hands suddenly, pressing them tightly. "Bless you. Whoever you are… bless you."
Isha's throat tightened.
She looked down, embarrassed. "I'm happy he's safe."
She stood and stepped away.
One more life eased.
One more flame kept burning a little longer.
---
Outside the tent, a gust of cold wind hit her.
She walked out to catch some fresh air. The camp stretched across the valley like a field of lights trapped in a sea of darkness. People huddled near fires, holding blankets, holding hands, holding hope.
Isha sat on a rock just outside the clinic, pulling her knees close.
Her hands shook.
Not just from exhaustion.
From frustration.
Why is the world like this…?
She didn't hate the Guild.
She didn't resent not passing the exam.
She just didn't understand why some people suffered endlessly while others looked away.
She reached into her pocket and unfolded the letter she'd gotten earlier.
She read it again.
> You saved me.
I'm walking again.
Thank you.
Simple words.
But they anchored her.
Someone she healed weeks ago remembered her.
Someone was living normally again because of her.
She folded the letter and slipped it back into her pocket.
For the first time that day, she allowed herself to breathe slowly.
---
"Isha?"
She jumped slightly.
It was Arlo, one of the volunteer assistants. He was older—maybe mid-thirties—with sunburned skin and a permanent look of exhaustion.
"You okay?" he asked, setting down a crate near her. "You've been working nonstop."
"I'm fine," she said.
"That's what everyone says right before collapsing on the ground," Arlo replied dryly. "You're not allowed to collapse. We need you."
Isha gave a tired laugh. "I'll try not to."
He sighed and sat beside her. "You know… the others talk about you."
Isha blinked. "Talk?"
"Yeah. 'The girl with glowing hands.' 'The quiet miracle worker.' 'The calm one.' That sort of thing."
Heat rushed to her cheeks. "I'm not a miracle worker."
"You kind of are," he said. "People walk in here half dead and walk out smiling."
Isha looked down at her palms.
She didn't see miracles.
She saw shaking hands and exhaustion.
She saw limitations.
She saw fear that one day, her power wouldn't be enough.
"I'm just… helping how I can," she murmured.
Arlo nodded. "That's more than the Guild's done for this place."
Silence stretched between them.
The wind made the lanterns sway.
After a moment, Arlo stood. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be worse."
"I know," Isha said.
He walked back into the tent.
Isha remained outside a bit longer.
Watching the lights.
Watching the shadows.
Watching people fight to stay alive.
She didn't know if she could truly change anything.
But she knew she couldn't walk away either.
---
When she returned inside, the tent was calmer. Fewer injured arrived at night. Most were asleep, their breaths uneven but steady enough.
Isha checked each patient carefully—the boy with the burn, the girl with the infection, the man whose hand she'd treated earlier. All were stable for now.
Just as she exhaled in relief…
A loud shout rang from outside.
"Isha! Quick!"
She spun toward the entrance.
Arlo burst through the flap, panic in his eyes.
"What happened?" Isha asked, rushing forward.
"A wagon crashed while coming down the slope—two people pinned!"
Isha didn't think—she grabbed her satchel, sprinting after him.
The crash site was at the edge of the camp.
A transport wagon had overturned, wood splintered, wheels broken. Two refugees lay trapped beneath the frame—one man with his leg twisted unnaturally, and a woman bleeding heavily from her shoulder.
Isha froze for half a breath.
Then moved.
"Lift the frame!" she ordered. "Carefully!"
Volunteers scrambled. Arlo and another man shoved their shoulders under the broken wagon and heaved, faces straining.
The woman's wound was bad—deep, jagged, dangerously close to an artery.
Isha pressed her fingers near the injury.
Her palms glowed.
The bleeding slowed—but only barely.
Her vision blurred.
She grit her teeth.
Not enough.
Her Mirra wasn't enough this time.
She took a sharp breath—then lifted her hands and pressed both palms firmly near the tear.
Her entire arm tingled with pain.
Light flickered from her skin—stronger, hotter.
The wound tightened.
The blood flow halted.
The flesh knit enough to stop her from dying.
Isha collapsed to one knee, breathing hard.
"Isha!" Arlo shouted. "Are you okay?!"
"I'm fine… help her first."
They carried the woman away.
Isha forced herself upright, stumbling toward the trapped man. His leg was a mess—broken in multiple places, bone bulging beneath the skin.
Her hands trembled violently.
She shouldn't.
She couldn't.
She was at her limit.
But his eyes were full of panic.
And he whispered, "Please… don't let me lose my leg…"
Isha pressed her palms near the break.
Light glowed weakly.
Barely there.
Barely enough.
But enough.
The swelling reduced.
The bleeding stopped.
The bone stabilized—temporarily.
He would walk again.
But only because she refused to stop.
She fell backward into the dirt, gasping.
Arlo caught her. "You're done for today. Absolutely done."
She didn't argue.
Exhaustion crashed into her like a wave.
But as she looked at the two people being carried safely into the clinic…
She smiled faintly.
Her hands hurt.
Her arms burned.
Her head spun.
But she'd saved two more lives.
That was enough.
---
Back in the clinic, after being forced onto a cot herself, Isha curled up under a thin blanket.
Her body trembled with fatigue.
Her mind throbbed with strain.
Her palms still glowed faintly, refusing to stop.
She pulled out the letter again, looking at the simple handwriting.
"Thank you."
She closed her eyes.
Tomorrow would be worse.
But tonight, she slept knowing she had made a difference.
And outside, beneath the flickering lanterns of Asterfall, the world continued to crumble…
While a quiet healer kept trying to hold pieces of it together.
---
End of Chapter 54
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