Meira's condition worsened with each passing day. Her radiant skin had grown pale, and the warmth in her once-bright eyes dimmed like a fading ember. Her breathing was shallow, and every cough seemed to sap the life out of her fragile frame. She lay on her bed, frail and motionless, the vibrant aura that once surrounded her now a distant memory.
Medas had summoned every healer within and beyond the borders of Ketamran, but none had succeeded in treating her. They all left with the same grim expression and hopeless diagnosis. "It's beyond natural magic," one healer had whispered. "Something divine or cursed binds her suffering."
Morvane's heart grew heavier each day. Although it had only been a short time since they met Meira, the bond they formed with her was undeniable. Her kind and selfless spirit had touched everyone. Watching her endure this torment felt unjust — like an angel being punished by the heavens themselves.
