Gessa's shoulders slumped as the full weight of her failures returned. Her wife was safe, but her town was not. "I have neglected my duties," she said, her voice filled with self-reproach. "I was so lost in my grief. I didnt know what else I can do. The town… it's in a state of chaos. The King… he will hear of this."
Lyra rose slowly, her knees protesting after kneeling so long, the weight of command pressing against her like iron armor. She placed a steady hand on Gessa's shoulder, a gesture both grounding and resolute. "The King is my concern, Gessa. But first, we must tend to Berthold."
Gessa's eyes darted to Selene, taking in the young woman's exhausted but calm presence. She blinked, as if trying to comprehend the sight, before turning back to Lyra.
"She's… a different kind of healer," Lyra said softly, her voice steady yet reverent.
Gessa swallowed, awe and disbelief mingling in her gaze. "She is… extraordinary," she whispered. "A power like that… it could heal so many. The sick, the wounded, the plague victims… We could tell the King, call in Kingdom's healer, let the world know…" Her voice wavered, each word a fragile hope, a desperate imagining of lives spared.
Lyra's hand tightened slightly on her shoulder, voice dropping to a low, firm whisper. "No, Gessa. You won't. No one else knows of this power. Not the King, not his advisors, not even the most trusted healer. Do you understand? This must remain a secret. For Selene's safety. For all our sakes."
The hope in Gessa's eyes flickered, replaced first by confusion, then by a deep, abiding sorrow. She looked to Vivian, her chest rising and falling with steady, peaceful rhythm—a miracle she had thought impossible. Gratitude and fierce protectiveness welled up inside her, burning hotter than any battle she had fought.
"A secret," she said, tasting the word like ash. "A power that could save so many lives… and it must remain hidden." She swallowed hard, meeting Lyra's gaze. "I owe her a debt I can never repay. If this is what you ask, then it is what I will do. I will take this secret to my grave."
Lyra's expression softened. "I know it is a heavy burden to carry, but it is necessary. She's been captured before. One of my soldiers, she was almost handed to the Valerians."
Gessa's eyes widened, knowing the grave cost of such an event.
"I did what I had to do," Lyra said, "This could trigger a wide-scale war, Gessa, and Selene… she would suffer." Gessa put an arm around Lyra. "I understand. You have grown to be so wise, Lyra."
"I have great teachers" Lyra smiled
Gessa chuckled "of course you do." She pat Lyra's hair fondly like she use to when Lyra was little "Im glad you came and at great timing"
Lyra grinned "Now, let's put that aside," Lyra said, her tone shifting to command. "We plan. The town is in disarray. What is the first step? You're shorthanded—your knights were sent out on your orders, correct?"
Gessa drew a deep, shuddering breath. "Yes. I sent them to find healers and rare herbs." Her eyes hardened, resolve replacing some of her grief. "I gave them a two-week deadline to gather what is needed."
"Two weeks?!" Lyra's voice cracked in disbelief, echoing against the stone walls. No wonder the town was disorganized.
"I… I know I wasn't thinking clearly," Gessa admitted, her hands tightening into fists. "I need you to find them, Lyra. Bring them back. Berthold has been left to rot for far too long. It is time we tend to it."
Lyra's eyes swept across the room, noting the exhaustion etched into every line of her companions' faces. "My party… we've just come from the storm. My knights are tired, and some needs treatment.I fear pushing them too far. Some of my knights are already tending to the town—Captain Rita and Elise are on patrol. Ava and Lieutenant Shawn hold the entrances. I will dispatch others tomorrow, after they have rested."
Rory shuffled nervously in the doorway, wide-eyed, his gaze flicking between Lyra and Gessa.
Lyra turned to him, her armor-clad hand resting on his shoulder. "Come here."
The boy scrambled forward, standing stiffly next to her. Gessa tilted her head, curiosity shining through her weariness.
"This is Rory," Lyra said, her voice softening slightly, yet firm with authority. "My ward. I'm teaching him—guiding him, as you have once guided me."
Gessa's eyes lingered on Lyra. She was no longer the seven-year-old girl who had shadowed Gessa and Vivian on the training yard, her wooden stick clutched tightly in tiny hands. Now she was a general, a leader, and a mentor herself. And here, beside her, stood the boy she was shaping into someone more than a soldier—someone who would carry her legacy forward.
"And you," Gessa said softly, as if speaking to the weight of years between past and present, "you've become everything I hoped you would—and more."
Lyra inclined her head, a faint, wry smile tugging at her lips. "I've learned from the best," she said, glancing between Gessa and Vivian. "The mind, the blade, and the heart. That is what builds a town… that is what saves people."
Gessa's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, yet her gaze was haunted by the knowledge of what she had neglected, and what she had yet to repair. "Berthold… it needs guidance," she whispered. "Not just hands, but vision. Strength. Will."
"You will have both," Lyra said firmly. "And I will not let the town—or the people we care for—fall because of grief or inaction. Today, the knights patrol. Tomorrow, we begin rebuilding. Streets, gates, markets, everything. Every citizen deserves to feel security again."
Gessa nodded slowly, the weight of her personal failures tempered by the fire of purpose reigniting within her. "Then we rise together," she said, her voice stronger now, her grip tightening over Vivian's hand.
Vivian, now steady, healthier and stronger as if she was never been sick, smiled faintly at the scene—the girl she had once taught, now a general commanding armies, and the town she loved on the cusp of revival.
Selene stood silent but radiant, the faint silver traces of her power lingering in the air, a reminder of the miracle that had passed through the room. Lyra glanced at her, eyes meeting in unspoken understanding: the world was fragile, but they had the strength to hold it together.
Rory shifted under Lyra's gaze, and she allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible grin. "Tomorrow," she said softly, "you'll see what it means to keep a town safe. But for now… rest. All of you."
The hall seemed to breathe along with them, the soft rustle of the candles and the distant hum of Berthold beyond the doors weaving into a rhythm of recovery and resolve. Here, within these walls, the past, present, and future had converged—blade, mind, and heart—and for the first time in days, the threads of hope were unbroken.