Night had fallen over the valley, cloaking the world in shadows. Elira sat by the fire in her modest cabin, her fingers tracing the etchings of an old, leather-bound journal. It was a relic from a time she no longer dared to remember—filled with notes of healing, incantations, and a life that felt like it belonged to someone else.
Her life as a healer had become solitary, self-imposed. Though villagers still sought her out, she kept her interactions brief, offering remedies without the warmth that once defined her craft. It was easier that way—no bonds meant no pain when they inevitably broke.
The silence was her solace, but tonight it was interrupted by a low knock at the door. The sound startled her, reverberating in the quiet of the night. Few dared to come to her home after dark, not since rumors had spread that she dabbled in forbidden magic.
Elira rose cautiously, grabbing the wooden staff she kept by the hearth, its tip adorned with a faintly glowing crystal. As she opened the door, a gust of cold wind swept in, carrying with it the faint scent of rain. Standing before her was a man, cloaked in dark fabric that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. His hood was pulled low, but not enough to hide the intensity of his silver eyes.
"I'm sorry to intrude," he said, his voice smooth but strained. "I was told the healer lived here."
Elira's grip tightened on her staff. "Who sent you?"
"No one," he replied. "I followed the lights." He gestured to the faint orbs that floated around her cabin, enchanted to guide those in need.
Elira hesitated. The orbs had been dormant for months, reacting only to those in desperate need of healing. Her gaze shifted to the man's figure. Beneath his cloak, his posture was rigid, and his hand clutched his side. Blood seeped between his fingers.
"Come in," she said finally, stepping aside.
The man entered, moving slowly as if each step was a battle. As he lowered his hood, Elira caught a glimpse of sharp features framed by dark, windswept hair. He carried an air of mystery that put her on edge.
"Sit," she commanded, pointing to a wooden stool by the fire. He obeyed, and she moved to gather her tools—herbs, salves, and a basin of water.
As she worked to clean the wound, she couldn't help but notice the scars that laced his torso, each one telling a story she didn't dare to ask about.
"What happened?" she asked, her tone neutral.
"An ambush," he said after a pause. "I was traveling through the forest when they attacked. Bandits, I assume."
Elira's hands stilled for a moment. The forest near her home was dangerous, but bandit attacks were rare. "You're lucky to be alive."
His lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I've been told I'm hard to kill."
She didn't respond, focusing instead on binding his wound with practiced precision. But as she worked, she felt an unusual warmth emanating from his skin, a faint hum of magic that seemed to resonate with her own.
"Who are you?" she asked, unable to hide the suspicion in her voice.
The man met her gaze, his silver eyes glinting in the firelight. "My name is Kael," he said simply. "And you?"
"Elira," she replied, unwilling to offer more.
"Thank you, Elira," he said, his voice softer now. "I owe you my life."
She looked away, uncomfortable with the gratitude in his tone. "Rest here tonight," she said. "You're in no condition to leave."
Kael inclined his head in agreement, but as he settled by the fire, Elira couldn't shake the feeling that his arrival was no coincidence. The orbs had guided him to her, but why? And why did his presence stir something in her—a flicker of warmth she hadn't felt in years?
As the night wore on, questions filled her mind, but she kept them to herself. For now, the only certainty was that Kael was a stranger, and strangers brought trouble.