Elara drifted on the thin edge of consciousness, slipping in and out of a haze of warmth and exhaustion. She could hear voices around her—soft, hushed, respectful—but they felt distant, like echoes in a dream.
She forced her lashes to lift.
A warm, dimly lit room greeted her. Soft furs beneath her body. A wooden ceiling etched with old Blackridge symbols overhead. The scent of pine, herbs, and fire essence drifted in the air.
Where…?
A small gasp sounded beside her.
"You're awake."
Elara turned her head slowly. A woman with pale copper hair tied in a loose braid stood near her bedside—Blackridge's senior healer, Mirael. Her hands were glowing faintly with healing magic, though the glow flickered the moment she saw Elara's eyes open.
"How long…?" Elara whispered, throat raw.
Mirael set down her bowl of crushed moonroot and stepped closer, gentle but observant.
"You've been unconscious for a full night," she said softly. "But your body is stabilizing faster than I expected. Much faster."
Elara blinked. "Faster?"
Mirael gave a bewildered, almost unsettled smile.
"Yes. Faster than any wolf I've treated—including Alphas."
She placed her hand lightly against Elara's wrist, checking her pulse. Her brows pulled together.
"Your heartbeat is strong. Your blood flow is steady. The wolfsbane was powerful, yet your system is clearing it at a rate I've never seen."
Elara frowned. "Is that… bad?"
"Bad?" Mirael looked almost offended by the thought. "No. It's impossible."
She lifted the bowl of herbs and motioned toward the wound on Elara's shoulder—one she didn't remember getting until Amara had dragged her out of the dungeon.
"That gash," Mirael said, pointing. "It should take days to close even with treatment. And yet…"
Elara looked down.
The wound was already faint. A shade of pink skin. Barely a scar.
Her breath caught.
"How…?"
Mirael shook her head. "That is what I would like to know."
She leaned closer, studying Elara's eyes as if searching for an answer written in her soul.
"The wolfsbane dose they gave you," Mirael whispered, "was enough to keep a full-grown Alpha bedridden for a week. It should have weakened your wolf, slowed your regeneration, muddled your senses. But your spirit… fights back. Stronger than I've ever witnessed."
Elara swallowed hard.
Lyra, her wolf, stirred within her—exhausted, but alive. Barely, but alive.
Mirael continued, voice quieter now.
"There is something in your blood, Elara. Something ancient… awakened. Something I do not have the medical language to explain." She paused, as if fearful of her next thought. "Your healing is beyond normal. Even beyond Alpha lines. Your body responds as though you were… chosen."
Elara stiffened. "Chosen?"
Mirael stepped back slightly, offering a small, composed smile.
"I apologize. That was careless wording. I simply meant that your healing capacity is not ordinary."
But Elara heard the truth behind it.
Not ordinary.
Not explainable.
Not manageable.
Mirael lifted the bowl again. "These last doses of moonroot will purge the wolfsbane fully. After that, your strength should return."
Elara hesitated. "And… Kael?"
Mirael smiled knowingly. "He's been outside your door the entire time."
Heat crawled up Elara's neck.
"He refuses to leave," Mirael added gently. "Even growled at Ryden when he tried to drag him away to rest."
Elara opened her mouth—to ask why, to question everything—when Mirael gasped again, staring at Elara's arm.
"What?" Elara whispered.
The healer lifted her wrist, brushing aside the fur blanket.
The purplish bruise left from her restraints in the Silvercrest dungeon—dark, ugly, deep—had faded completely.
Not even a shadow remained.
"Elara…" Mirael breathed. "That bruise was severe. It was imprinted to the bone. But now…"
Elara stared at her skin, heart pounding.
"It's gone."
Mirael's throat bobbed as she swallowed.
"You should not be healing like this," she murmured. "Not even the most powerful Alpha bloodlines mend this quickly. Whatever your body is doing… it defies everything I know."
Elara pulled her arm closer, suddenly terrified of herself.
"I don't understand," she whispered.
"No," Mirael agreed gently. "But someone does."
Elara looked up sharply.
Mirael's eyes drifted—almost involuntarily—toward the door.
As if Kael Thorn held answers no healer could reveal.
"Elara," Mirael said softly, voice filled with worry, "rest. Gain your strength. When you are ready… speak to him."
The healer bowed respectfully and left the room.
The door shut behind her.
Elara lay in silence, staring at her healed skin, her rapidly returning strength—and the truth building like a storm around her.
Something was happening inside her.
Something that Silvercrest feared.
Something that Blackridge whispered about.
Something Kael already knew.
And she wasn't sure whether to embrace it—
Or run from it.