The forest was alive with moonlight. Each branch shimmered pale, silver edges painted across the dark, and the air was thick with the scent of pine and damp moss. Luca moved quietly through the undergrowth, his healer's satchel strapped across his chest. His fingers brushed herbs as he passed them-- yarrow, feverfew,starfern-- tucking some into his bag for the journey ahead. Nights were safer for him. safer because no one looked for a healer in the shadows. No one thought to hunt hi beneath the veil of stars. But this night was not safe. The first sound came sudden, the sharp clash of steel against steel. Voices followed -- desperate, shouting, cut short by a scream. Luca froze, breath caught in his chest. He should have turned back. Trouble was not his shoulder. But the stars tugged him forward, a soft pull in his blood that he had never been able to ignore.
He stepped into a clearing and found chaos. Three men, cloaked in rough leathers, circled a lone figure fought with the strength of someone who had trained his whole life, sword moving like flame-- but he was outnumbered. And when blade struck his side, Luca gasped before the man even cried out.
Without thinking, Luca lifted his hand. His palm glimmered, faint threads of light weaving from the night sky into his veins. The attackers faltered, startled by the glow, and in that instant the wounded man struck — swift, brutal, sending them scattering into the forest.But when it was over, he fell to his knees. Luca rushed forward, dropping beside him. Blood soaked his tunic, dark against pale skin. The stranger's eyes were half-lidded, stormy gray-blue, unfocused."Stay still," Luca murmured, pressing his hands over the wound. His voice was steady, though his heart pounded. "If you move, you'll bleed out faster."The man gave a low laugh, breathless. "So you're… my savior?""Not yet," Luca muttered, light flaring beneath his palms. The wound resisted, stubborn as stone, but slowly the torn flesh began to knit, the bleeding slowing.The man groaned, head tipping back, sweat dripping down his temple. And then he looked at Luca properly — really looked at him.Something in that gaze made Luca's stomach twist. Not fear. Not suspicion. But something dangerously close to trust."What's your name?" the man rasped."Luca," he answered, not realizing why the truth slipped out so easily.The man's lips curved faintly, even as pain dragged his voice low. "Lucus. Prince of Cindralith."Luca's hands stilled. A prince. That explained the sword, the training, the ambush. His chest tightened. He should have left him there. This was not his fight.But the stars above burned brighter, a thousand watchful eyes. And Luca knew—he wasn't walking away.