Healer Maeve was a stark contrast to Lyra. Where Lyra was ancient and moved with the slow, deliberate pace of a growing root, Maeve was a whirlwind of brisk energy. Her hair was a fiery red, tied back with a leather cord, and her hands, though gentle, were constantly in motion, grinding herbs, checking salves, and adjusting bandages with an efficiency that was both impressive and slightly intimidating.
She had unwrapped my wrist with a practiced hand, her brow furrowed in concentration as she examined the angry, weeping wound. The brand was no longer sizzling, but it was a hideous sight, the rune for "severance" a deep, ugly sigil carved into my flesh.
"The boy has his father's cruelty, it seems," she muttered, more to herself than to me, her voice a low hum of disapproval. "To use a severance brand… barbaric."
She cleansed the wound with a cool, tingling liquid that smelled of mint and wintergreen, and I hissed as it made contact with the raw skin.
"Apologies, dear," she said without looking up. "This will sting, but it will prevent infection. Now, the real problem is not the burn itself. A clean burn, even a deep one, will heal. It is the magic woven into the brand that concerns me."
I looked at her, my heart beginning to pound with a familiar dread. "Magic?"
"Of course," she said, applying a thick, green poultice that immediately soothed the burning pain. "A severance brand is not just hot iron. It's a curse. A ritual. Its purpose is to inflict a pain that goes deeper than the skin, a pain that attacks the soul and weakens the spirit. It's designed to break the will of the victim." She began to wrap my wrist in fresh, clean linen. "But this… this feels different. The energy signature is wrong. It's colder. More… insidious."
She finished her work and stood up, her sharp eyes scanning me from head to toe. "How have you been feeling, child? Since the… incident."
"Tired," I admitted. "Weak."
"More than you should be from a broken bond and a simple wound," she stated, her expression growing darker. "It's as I suspected."
"What is it?" I asked, a knot of fear tightening in my stomach.
Maeve didn't answer me directly. She patted my shoulder gently. "Rest now. The poultice needs time to work. I must speak with the Alpha."
She left before I could ask any more questions, leaving me alone in the quiet room with a new and terrifying anxiety. The brand on my wrist suddenly felt heavier, like a shackle, and the wound beneath seemed to throb with a cold, malevolent energy.
Lucian found me on the balcony an hour later. The sun was beginning to set, painting the snow-capped peaks in hues of orange and pink. He stood beside me at the railing, not speaking for a long moment, simply sharing the silence.
"Maeve came to see me," he finally said, his voice a low, controlled rumble that did little to hide the fury beneath.
I turned to look at him. His handsome face was a mask of cold rage, his sapphire eyes like chips of ice. It was the same fury I had seen when he first noticed the brand, but now it was magnified, honed to a razor's edge.
"What did she tell you?" I whispered.
"She told me that the brand on your wrist is more than just a mark of shame," he said, his gaze fixed on the distant mountains. "It is a parasitic curse. It's not just weakening your spirit; it's actively draining your life force, feeding on it, day by day, hour by hour."
The air left my lungs in a rush. I felt suddenly dizzy, my hand flying to the railing for support. Draining my life force. The words sounded like something from a dark fairy tale.
"It's a slow poison," he continued, his voice tight with anger. "Designed to make you fade away. To make you grow weaker, more compliant, until you are nothing more than a ghost, a shell of your former self. It is a slave's brand." His hands clenched into fists on the railing. "This is the fate Damien Blackwood condemned you to."
My other hand went to my stomach, a wave of pure, unadulterated terror washing over me. "The baby," I gasped. "What will it do to the baby?"
Lucian's face softened as he looked at me, his rage momentarily replaced by a deep, profound empathy. "That is the one small mercy the Goddess has granted us. Maeve says the life force of the child within you is incredibly strong. It is fighting the curse, creating a barrier. It is protecting you, Elara. Your child is keeping you alive."
I broke down, my legs giving out as a sob of both terror and relief tore through me. I would have collapsed if not for Lucian's strong arms catching me. He held me, not in a lover's embrace, but in the steady, protective hold of a guardian, letting me weep against his chest.
After a moment, he spoke, his voice a solemn vow that echoed in the quiet evening air. "I did not know the full extent of his depravity. But I know it now."
He gently pushed me back so he could look me in the eyes, his hands holding my shoulders. His gaze was fierce, filled with an unshakeable resolve.
"I swear to you on my honor as Alpha of the Stormwind Pack," he said, his voice ringing with conviction. "I will not let this curse consume you. I will find a way to break it. I will search every corner of this land, consult every ancient text, and hunt down every dark sorcerer if I have to. I will not rest until this mark of his cruelty is erased from your skin and its poison is cleansed from your soul."
He meant it. Every single word. In his eyes, I saw not pity, but a promise. A vow of protection so absolute, so powerful, it felt like a shield had been erected around my shattered world.
For the first time since I had fled my home, I felt a flicker of something I thought I had lost forever. It wasn't hope, not yet. It was something smaller, more fragile. It was the feeling that maybe, just maybe, I was no longer completely alone.