Hundreds of years ago, the twin daughters of the Deity of Life named Khaeren and Mirath were sent to the mortal world as a test before their ascension to heaven. They were meant to live among humans and understand mortal life. At first, they experienced only joy and peace, even going so far as to interfere with human fate despite their mother's warnings.
However, their powers soon drew attention. When the emperor discovered that Khaeren could absorb negativity and turn it into luck, and that Mirath could revive the dead, they were captured and imprisoned in the highest tower of the Elarion Empire.
Used as tools by the royals, they suffered greatly.
Over time, Khaeren grew filled with hatred while Mirath remained kind and forgiving, believing humans were simply pitiful beings. One night, during an attempt to escape, the soldiers caught them again, and Mirath was fatally struck by a spear.
In her grief and rage, Khaeren's voice echoed across the empire as she cursed humanity:
"You humans are cruel and greedy, never content with what you have. You even killed my beloved sister. From this day forth, your land shall suffer my wrath forever!"
As darkness spread over Elarion, Mirath used her remaining strength to release a golden light in an attempt to stop her sister's curse, but it was too late, the dark mist had already covered the empire.
That night, the skies turned red and black, marking the beginning of the eternal curse.
Over the years, Khaeren's curse continued to plague the land. Beasts remained rampant, frequently attacking and killing humans. To fight back, the empire began training elite swordsmen and recruiting healers who are rare individuals gifted with the power to mend wounds and save lives as Mirath's blessing.
And so, a strict rule was established. Every time swordsmen were sent to subjugate beasts, especially in the cursed northern regions, a healer had to accompany them. This practice was first introduced by the Davenmore household, a noble family renowned for producing exceptional swordsmen. Ever since, the Davenmores had led countless beast hunts and remained loyal defenders of the empire and its throne.
For centuries, the temples and the royal palace worked together to protect the empire from the curse. However, beneath this alliance lay corruption and favoritism as only the privileged received true protection and opportunities.
Commoners could apply to become knights, but healers were treated differently.
Soren, a commoner with extraordinary healing abilities and immense mana, was ignored by the temple simply because of his low birth. To the bishops, archbishops, and priests, he was nothing more than a peasant. Without access to proper education, Soren and his friend Elias were looked down upon even further, despite their potential and never had a place they belong but the slums.
Even in the slums, life wasn't any kinder to them. Some people were thankful for Soren and Elias's help, but others resented them out of jealousy or distrust. Still, the two endured it silently, focusing on surviving day by day until news spread that the Davenmore household was searching for a healer.
Although stepping into noble affairs was never wise for commoners, Soren couldn't ignore the chance. Deep down, he longed to be useful and to be needed so, despite the risks, he decided to take the opportunity.
Life in the north was no different as it was harsh and unforgiving.
Despite doing his best to help others, Soren was nearly sexually assaulted by the very people he had saved. On top of that, he constantly endured verbal abuse and humiliation. It wasn't new to him, but it still hurt. Deep down, Soren had hoped that kindness would be returned someday.
Yet, once again, that hope proved to be in vain.
"Your Grace, let me heal your wou—" his hand was slapped away by Alaric when he tried to put his palm on his wound.
After successfully subjugating the first wave of beasts that's called rot fiends and skin golems, the knights finally took a brief rest. Skin golems were easy enough to kill, but the rot fiends proved much harder because unless they were slain in a single strike, their wounds would regenerate and they would attack again, more vicious than before.
Inside the strategy tent, tension was thick.
"Don't you dare touch me! I'll call you if I need healing. Until then, mind your own business and do your job properly."
Alaric's cold glare cut through Soren as the healer struggled to his feet after being shoved to the ground. Around them, Lyric and Sylas watched with mocking amusement, both leaning lazily against the table.
"How funny," Lyric sneered. "Brother, if you won't even let that peasant heal you, how's he supposed to prove he's useful?"
"That's right," Sylas added with a grin. "If he doesn't do his job, what's the point of bringing him along?"
"Both of you, shut up." Alaric's voice snapped like a whip. He then rose from his seat, towering over Soren who barely met his eyes. "You. I brought you here to heal the wounded knights. Did I ever tell you to attend to us?"
"N-no, Your Grace. I apologize… I crossed the line," Soren murmured, bowing deeply making the twins snickered behind Alaric's back, clearly enjoying his humiliation.
"That's right. Know your place, commoner," Alaric said coldly. "If not for your healing ability, I wouldn't even tolerate being near you. You disgust me. Stay where the wounded are, and only come when you're called. Even dogs can understand something that simple."
"I understand, Your Grace…" Soren replied quietly.
With that, Alaric turned and left the tent with the twins following with amused grins and silence filled the space once they were gone. Slowly, Soren lifted his head, his eyes fixed on the tent's exit. He sighed, clutching the edge of his fur-lined coat, the uniform of a healer though it felt more like a costume hiding his shame.
"This is harder than I thought…" he whispered, forcing himself to stand a little straighter despite the sting of their words.
Just when he was about to exit the tent, he bumps into someone else's chest.
"O-oh, sorry. Are you alright?" the man asked.