Chapter 29B — The Healer's Choice
The fog inside Nellie's trial didn't feel like Aiden's.
His had been heavy and storm-tasting, buzzing with lightning and teeth.
Hers was… quiet.
Too quiet.
Soft gray mist pooled low to the ground, clinging to her boots and calves like cool water. The air smelled faintly of crushed herbs and clean linen—the way an infirmary did after a long night.
Nellie turned in a slow circle.
No walls.
No doors.
No obvious path.
Just a dim, endless gray that looked like the world forgot how to finish itself.
"H-hello?" her voice squeaked.
It sounded too loud.
It sounded too small.
No answer.
Her fingers tightened around the worn strap of her healer's satchel. It was still here—thank all old trees—resting against her hip, full of poultices and salves and neatly folded bandages that smelled like home.
"Okay," she whispered to herself. "You got this. You survived the Hollow. You didn't die when the Aberration screamed. You can… walk through some fog."
She took a step.
Nothing happened.
She took another.
The mist parted under her boots… and then curled back into place behind her, erasing her tracks as if she'd never been there.
"Rude," she muttered.
A soft chime rang in the back of her mind.
Not a voice.
Not words.
Just the familiar, clinical presence of her unseen helper:
[TRIAL FIELD: VEIL OF HANDS]
[PRIMARY MEASURE: CHOICE UNDER PRESSURE]
[SECONDARY MEASURE: HEALER'S REACH]
Nellie swallowed.
"I don't like that name," she whispered. "Veil of Hands. That sounds very… handsy."
The fog ahead brightened.
Shapes formed.
Not people. Not yet.
Cots.
Dozens of them.
They emerged slowly from the gray like islands in a muted sea—narrow beds lined up in two long rows that receded into the mist until she couldn't see the end. Each one had a figure on it.
Silent.
Still.
Waiting.
Nellie's heart jumped into her throat.
Her legs moved before her brain caught up.
She rushed to the nearest cot, curls bouncing, satchel thumping against her side.
The patient lying there was human. Young. Maybe her age. Their skin was pale, clammy, sweat beading along their brow. Their shirt was torn, exposing a spreading bruise across their ribs that shimmered faintly with sickly green light.
Poison.
Or… something like it.
Nellie grabbed the edge of the cot with both hands, leaning close. "Hey. Hey—can you hear me?"
The figure's eyelids fluttered.
Brown eyes rolled toward her, unfocused but aware.
"Please," they rasped. "It… hurts…"
Her heart clenched.
"I know. I know. I've got you." The words came automatically—years of healer's instinct and training behind them. "Stay with me, okay?"
She reached for her satchel.
A pulse shivered through the mist.
[CASE: TOXIC RESONANCE]
[DELAY UNTIL CRITICAL: 03:00]
[BASE DIFFICULTY: MODERATE]
Three minutes.
She could do that.
Easy.
Nellie yanked open her satchel, fingers flying. Antidote base—there. Crushed marshroot—there. She pulled out a small vial and a folded paper packet, working by feel more than sight.
"Okay, okay, Nellie, think," she muttered. "Resonance poisoning. It ravels the channels, burns from the inside. We buffer first, then draw, then stabilize—"
She glanced up at the bruise.
It had spread.
Just a little. But enough.
"Cheeky thing," she hissed. "You could at least wait for me to set up."
Her helper chimed again.
[HEALING RESPONSE: ADEQUATE]
[NOTE: SINGLE CASE MANAGEMENT — PASS]
"Good," she said through gritted teeth. "Now stop grading me and let me work."
She mixed the contents quickly, the paper packet's powder turning the clear liquid a soft blue. The smell of mint and metal rose into the air. She slid one arm gently under the patient's head. "Small sips. Don't choke. There we go…"
They swallowed painfully once, twice.
The bruise flickered.
Faded a shade.
Not gone.
Not enough.
Nellie moved again—salve now. Resonance draw. She uncapped a small tin and spread the cooling paste over her fingers, then pressed them gently to the skin around the bruise in spreading circles. Her own channels ached, the poison echo tugging at her bones like static.
She took it anyway.
"If you're hungry," she growled at the invisible sickness, "you can have a little, but you're not eating them."
The patient's breathing staggered—
Then steadied.
Color returned to their cheeks, faint but present. The sickly bruise receded like spilled ink pulled back into a pen.
Nellie sagged.
The chime returned.
[CASE STABILIZED]
[TIME ELAPSED: 01:07]
[RESIDUAL FEEDBACK: MINOR]
Her head spun a little. Her channels throbbed.
But adrenaline and stubbornness kept her upright.
"Okay," she said softly. "You're not dying on my watch."
She tucked a blanket around the patient before forcing herself to step back. "Rest."
Fog curled in around the cot.
Nellie flinched, ready to fight it—
But the mist didn't swallow the figure.
It simply veiled them, soft and gentle, as if tucking them in.
The trial's way of telling her: this one is done.
Nellie wiped sweat from her upper lip with the back of her wrist.
"One down," she whispered.
And then she turned.
And saw all the others.
Every cot in sight held a body now. Some groaning softly. Some breathing shallowly. Some still, too still.
Blue-tinged lips here.
Bloody bandage there.
A twisted shoulder.
A glazed stare.
Her stomach dropped.
"Oh no."
The chime was almost sympathetic.
[TRIAL PARAMETERS ADJUSTED]
[NEW OBJECTIVE: HEAL WHAT YOU CAN]
[CONSTRAINT: YOU CANNOT SAVE EVERYONE]
She stared at the glowing text only she could see.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, don't you dare."
Fog drifted past her knees like an indifferent tide.
"This isn't fair," she said, louder. "You can't—you can't just line people up and tell me to choose—"
No answer.
Just the soft wheeze of shallow breaths and the rustle of sheets as bodies shifted in pain.
The trial didn't care what she thought was fair.
Her satchel felt heavier against her side.
Her hands shook.
She made herself move.
Second cot.
A girl with burns up one arm, skin blistered and cracked, smelling of scorched channels and cooked flesh. Nellie clamped down on her nausea and went to work—cool salve, heat-draw poultice, whispered apologies every time the girl twitched.
[DELAY UNTIL CRITICAL: 06:00]
[CASE STABILIZED: 02:34]
Third cot.
A boy with a crushed leg, bone shards glittering faintly through torn skin like pale glass. His eyes were screwed shut, teeth sunk into his lower lip so hard blood had dried at the corner of his mouth.
Nellie's breath hitched.
This one… she couldn't fix entirely. Not with what she had. Not now.
But she could set the bone. She could stop the bleeding. She could keep him from slipping under.
"I am so sorry," she whispered as she slid her fingers along the bone line, feeling for the cleanest way to move the pieces. "This is going to hurt. You can scream at me later, okay?"
He did.
And she kept her hands steady anyway.
[DELAY UNTIL CRITICAL: 00:42]
[CASE STABILIZED: 00:39]
"You cut that close," she muttered to herself.
Fourth cot.
Fifth.
Sixth.
Time blurred into pain and breath and chimes.
Her channels burned.
Her hands were slick with sweat and other people's blood. Her satchel's contents dwindled—poultices used, tinctures emptied, bandages wrapped until her fingers stiffened.
But every time she thought of stopping, she saw Myra's grin. Aiden's ridiculous, soft eyes when he thought no one was watching. The pup's sparks.
And Runa's quiet voice:
People like her get crushed in places like this.
So I'll crush whoever tries.
No one here was going to crush her.
And no one here was getting crushed on her watch.
She reached a cot where the figure lying there was already still, eyes glassy, chest unmoving.
Nellie froze.
Her heart punched against her ribs.
"Hey," she whispered, moving closer. "Hey, wake up. Please?"
No breath.
No pulse.
The chime was merciless.
[CASE: EXPIRED]
[INTERVENTION: NOT POSSIBLE]
[NOTE: HEALER CANNOT REVERSE DEATH]
Nellie's throat closed.
She bowed her head, curls falling around her face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I should've—if I'd come faster, if I'd—"
A cold, tiny spark ran along her spine.
Memory of another voice, not from the trial, not from here:
You can't fix everything, Nellie.
You'll break yourself trying.
She clenched her hands.
"I know," she whispered to the empty fog. "But I have to try."
She forced herself to let go.
She moved on.
Cot after cot after cot.
Some she saved.
Some she stabilized.
Some she reached too late.
Every time she did, the chime tracked her:
[CASES ADDRESSED: 07]
[STABILIZED: 05]
[LOST: 02]
[CASES ADDRESSED: 13]
[STABILIZED: 09]
[LOST: 04]
Numbers without mercy.
Her legs ached. Her shoulders burned. Her channels throbbed with a steady ache that bordered on nausea. Shadows crept at the edges of her vision.
She stumbled at the next cot and nearly fell face-first into the patient's chest.
A hand caught her shoulder.
Small.
Warm.
She flinched and looked up, heart leaping—
But the person attached to the hand didn't look like anyone she knew.
They were older. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair streaked with gray. Wearing simple healer's robes. Their eyes were kind and tired.
An illusion. A projection. A piece of the trial.
It still made her throat tighten.
"You're overreaching," the healer said.
Nellie swallowed. "They're dying."
"They will keep dying," the figure replied gently. "No matter how fast your hands move."
"I can't just—stop."
"You can," the not-healer said. "You have to."
Nellie shook her head hard enough to make herself dizzy. "No. I don't. I… I know I can't save everyone, but I won't choose to lose someone if I can reach them. I won't."
The figure studied her for a long time.
Then they stepped aside.
Fog swirled.
The rows of cots shifted.
Rearranged.
Nellie blinked.
Three cots remained in clear view now, the mist thickening to obscure the rest.
Three.
Just three.
All close enough to touch if she stretched.
Her stomach dropped.
"No," she whispered.
The chime returned.
[FINAL SELECTION PHASE: INITIATED]
[LIMIT: ONE PRIMARY INTERVENTION]
[CONSEQUENCE: RESOURCES EXHAUSTED AFTER CHOICE]
"One?" Nellie choked. "No. I—I can do more than that. I—"
Her voice broke—
Because she saw who lay on the cots.
Left.
Middle.
Right.
On the left cot—
Myra.
Bandages wrapped around her chest, soaked through with blood. Her skin pale yellow-brown, lips cracked, eyes open but hazy, unfocused. She tried to smirk when she saw Nellie, but it came out as a grimace.
"Hey," Myra rasped. "Took you long enough. I was starting to think you'd found someone more interesting to patch up."
On the middle cot—
Aiden.
Unmoving.
His chest rose in shallow, irregular breaths. Lightning flickered under his skin in uncontrolled bursts, jumping between ribs and throat, crawling up his neck in jagged lines. His eyes were closed, brow furrowed like he was wrestling something in his sleep.
A faint whispered notification hovered over him:
[RESONANCE COLLAPSE: IMMINENT]
[WITHOUT INTERVENTION: SELF-LOSS 96%]
On the right cot—
Runa.
She lay limp, jaw clenched, eyes shut tight. Her arm was bent at an angle that made Nellie's stomach lurch, bone clearly broken and twisted. Dark bruising crept up from under her ribs, discoloration that screamed internal bleeding.
A heavy hammer rested on the floor beside her cot, the handle within reach of her lax fingers.
Nellie's breath hitched on a sob.
All three looked… wrong.
Not dead.
Not yet.
But near.
"Myra?" Nellie whispered.
Myra coughed, a weak, wet sound. "Nellie. Come on, now. Don't cry. You know I hate it when you cry."
"Shut up," Nellie whispered, tears spilling anyway. "You're bleeding."
"Yeah," Myra said. "Kind of noticed."
Runa groaned faintly, eyes still closed. "Too… loud…"
Aiden didn't move.
His storm did.
Lightning crawled over his forearms, then flipped inward, stabbing toward his chest. He flinched even unconscious, jaw clenching.
Nellie's helper chimed again.
Cruel.
Cold.
Clear:
[YOU HAVE ENOUGH POWER FOR ONE FULL INTERVENTION]
[PRIMARY TARGET WILL BE SAVED]
[SECONDARY TARGETS: PARTIAL OR NO RECOVERY]
[NO OPTION: "ALL"]
She stared at the glowing words until they blurred.
Then she shook her head.
"No."
The fog around the cots pressed closer.
Time suddenly felt too thin.
"Trial," she whispered. "Whoever you are. Whatever you are. This isn't a test of a healer. This is—this is torture."
The unseen presence didn't argue.
Healers made choices. That was truth.
But Nellie had always done everything she could to push that choice as far away as possible.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, heart pounding so hard her ribs hurt.
If she chose Myra—she could close those wounds. Stop the bleed. Patch the damage before it reached her channels.
If she chose Aiden—she could stabilize the storm, pull his resonance back from the edge of eating his mind.
If she chose Runa—she could stop the bleeding, reset the worst of the break, keep her dwarf from tearing herself in half if she tried to stand.
"If," she choked. "If. If. If."
Her helper chimed again.
[TRIAL CORE: OBSERVING]
[MEASURE: NOT "WHO" YOU SAVE]
[MEASURE: "WHY"]
Nellie squeezed her eyes shut.
Her mind raced.
Myra. The loud, ridiculous, brave human girl who'd taken one look at a tiny, anxious gnome in a caravan line and decided they were friends now, no questions asked.
Aiden. The storm idiot who ran toward monsters and away from common sense, whose first instinct was always to put his body between danger and strangers. Who had died once… and still chose to save people again.
Runa. The dwarf who'd stepped between Nellie and cruelty without being asked. Who'd watched over her in the Academy courtyards with silent, stubborn guard-duty, who pretended not to care but always stood between Nellie and sharp edges.
How was she supposed to choose?
Shadow crept at the edge of her vision.
Her knees wobbled.
If she did nothing… if she froze…
She could lose all three.
Healers who hesitated lost more than those who chose badly.
She knew that.
But she also knew something else.
Her eyes snapped open.
She looked at the hovering text.
"Fine," she whispered, voice shaking. "You want a reason. You want to measure my 'why'?"
She moved.
Not to a cot.
To her satchel.
Hands trembling, she dug through it—salves, bandages, tincture vials rattling. She pulled out everything with shaking fingers and spread them over the floor between the three cots like a desperate gambler throwing down her last coins.
"This is stupid," she muttered, half-laughing, half-sobbing. "This is so, so stupid."
The helper chimed a warning.
[RESOURCES: INSUFFICIENT FOR MULTIPLE FULL INTERVENTIONS]
[RECOMMENDED: PRIORITIZE ONE PATIENT]
"No," she said.
Her voice was stronger this time.
"No. That's not how this works. Not for me."
She snatched one vial, two bandages, a half-tin of salve, fingers moving with a frantic precision she didn't know she had.
She ran to Runa first.
"Internal bleed," she muttered, voice going clinical even as tears streaked her cheeks. "Heavy trauma. You're the one who won't stop moving when you wake up."
She pressed her small hand to Runa's side.
Let the salve burn through.
Let the draw pull some of the worst seep back into safer channels.
Not enough to fully heal.
Enough to keep her from tipping.
Pain jolted up Nellie's arm. She swayed.
[INTERVENTION SPLIT: 33%]
[PROGNOSIS: GUARANTEED SURVIVAL / EXTENDED RECOVERY]
Runa's breathing steadied a fraction.
"Sorry," Nellie whispered. "You're going to yell at me for this later. I hope."
She staggered to Myra.
"Myra," she whispered. "Look at me."
Myra forced her eyes to focus. "Bossy. I approve."
"You are leaking," Nellie said, voice wobbling. "Stop leaking."
She pressed bandages hard against the worst of the wound, fingers glowing faintly as she pushed what healing she could through cloth and skin. Her channels screamed at the strain. Her helper chimed danger in her ear and she ignored it completely.
Blood slowed.
The worst of the tearing knit.
Not perfect.
Enough.
[INTERVENTION SPLIT: 33%]
[PROGNOSIS: GUARANTEED SURVIVAL / FUNCTIONAL IMPAIRMENT]
Myra let out a breath that might have been a laugh. "That's my healer…"
Nellie's vision swam.
Her knees buckled.
She slammed her hand against the floor to keep from going down—
And crawled toward Aiden.
He still hadn't woken.
Lightning crawled wildly under his skin, trying to burst outward, then plunging back in again like a beast trapped in too-small bones.
[RESONANCE COLLAPSE: 87%]
[RECOMMENDED: FULL INTERVENTION OR ABANDONMENT]
Nellie gritted her teeth.
"I can't do full," she whispered. "I… don't have it."
Her channels felt raw.
Empty.
Hollow.
But his storm wasn't just a thing in him—it was tied to the world. To the Warden. To whatever mark Elowen saw coiled inside his ribs.
So she changed tactics.
She didn't try to heal the lightning.
She tried to talk to it.
She pressed her hand over his heart.
The shock made her jolt—
—but she held on.
Storm roared against her palm.
She squeezed her eyes shut and spoke without words—pushing intention through her touch, through the thin, frayed bond she had with Aiden as not just a companion, but someone who had chosen him, again and again, in fear and in faith.
Not him.
Me.
The storm balked.
Hesitated.
Like a wild animal skidding at the edge of a cliff.
Nellie let herself remember every time Aiden had stepped forward when he should've stayed back. Every time he'd smiled at her like she wasn't just background. Every time he'd trusted her hands with his scars.
"Please," she whispered. "He's already died once. Once is enough. Take a little from me, okay? Just enough to let him breathe."
Her helper screamed warnings.
[CHANNEL STRAIN: CRITICAL]
[INTERVENTION: UNSAFE]
[RECO—]
She shoved the notifications aside.
The storm listened.
It split.
Some of it remained in Aiden, coiling tighter, less wild.
Some of it surged into her arm.
It hurt.
It burned.
But she was small, and storms didn't fit easily in small bodies.
So it spilled again—out of her hand, down into the floor, into the mist that made the trial.
The Hollow drank it.
The pain receded to a deep, bone-deep throb.
Aiden's breathing evened by a fraction.
[INTERVENTION SPLIT: 34%]
[PROGNOSIS: UNSTABLE BUT SURVIVING]
[ADDITIONAL RISK: FUTURE RESONANCE EVENTS]
Nellie sagged over him, forehead pressing to his shoulder.
"The things I do for idiots," she whispered hoarsely.
The cots glowed.
All three.
Not with the sterile green of standard trial-magic—but with soft, shared light. Threads of faint gold stretched between them, passing through her chest like visible empathy.
Her helper chimed one last time.
[PARAMETER BREACH: PRIMARY OBJECTIVE IGNORED]
[ALTERNATE METRIC: HEALER'S REFUSAL TO CHOOSE]
[ADJUSTED VERDICT: PASS]
The fog around the cots drew in tight, then burst outward in a rush of cold air.
Nellie collapsed to her knees, arms wrapped around her middle as the world spun.
Somewhere above all this, beyond the gray and the pain, she heard the trial itself exhale.
Almost… amused.
Almost… impressed.
The last thing she saw before the mist swallowed everything was Aiden's chest rising in a steadier rhythm.
And Myra's hand flopping weakly off the cot toward Runa's—
Runa's fingers twitched up to meet it.
Nellie smiled through her tears.
Then the Veil of Hands went dark.
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