Title: Embers of the Golden Heart 2: A Stranger's Wound
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Chapter Two — A Stranger's Wound
The storm came with no warning.
By midmorning, the skies above Thalen had blackened like burnt parchment. Wind howled through the fields, tearing at the thatched roofs. Villagers ran to secure their homes, shouting over the thunder.
Aelira was gathering herbs from her garden when she saw the hawk — a royal messenger's bird — streak through the clouds before being struck by lightning. It plummeted into the forest beyond the river.
She hesitated only a moment before running after it.
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The woods were thick and ancient, their branches clawing at the sky. The rain was cold, the air heavy with the smell of earth and pine. When Aelira found the fallen bird, its leg still bore a royal seal marked with the sigil of Ashenfall — a black crown encircled by flame.
She frowned. A royal message here?
Thalen was too small, too poor for the Queen's notice.
That was when she heard it — a groan, low and broken, from deeper in the trees.
Aelira followed the sound and found a man lying face down in the mud, blood pooling beneath him. His cloak was torn, his armor marked with the same sigil as the hawk's seal.
"Gods…" she whispered, kneeling beside him. "Stay with me."
She turned him over and froze. He couldn't be older than thirty — handsome beneath the dirt and blood, his dark hair plastered to his face. A deep gash ran along his ribs, and a strange black vein-like pattern spread from the wound. It pulsed faintly, as if alive.
He opened his eyes — silver, clouded with pain.
"You shouldn't… touch it," he rasped. "It's cursed."
Aelira ignored him. "I've seen worse."
"No," he gasped, grabbing her wrist. "You don't understand—"
But her hand was already glowing gold.
The light poured into the wound, burning away the spreading blackness. The man cried out as the curse fought back, dark smoke rising where the two magics met. The forest filled with an eerie hum — as if something ancient was watching.
Then, silence.
The wound was gone. The black veins faded. The man slumped against her, unconscious but breathing.
Aelira fell back, trembling. Her heart pounded, her vision dimming. She had healed many before, but never something alive like that darkness. It had whispered to her. It had seen her.
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By dusk, Kael found her in her cottage, tending to the stranger's wound with fresh bandages.
"Who is he?" Kael demanded, eyes narrowing.
"I don't know," she admitted. "He's wearing the Queen's crest."
Kael's expression hardened. "Then he's dangerous. If he's one of the Queen's spies, he shouldn't be alive."
"I couldn't leave him to die."
Kael sighed, pacing. "Aelira, your kindness will get you killed one day."
"Then so be it," she said quietly. "Better to die doing what's right than live fearing what's wrong."
Kael looked at her — really looked — and for a fleeting second, something softer crossed his face. "You've always been too good for this world."
Outside, the storm had passed. But the sky remained heavy with strange, golden clouds, swirling above Thalen like a warning.
In the stranger's sleep, his lips moved.
A whisper slipped out — a name, barely audible:
> "Seranyth…"
The Queen of Ashenfall.
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That night, as Aelira watched over her patient, she didn't see the faint shimmer of black smoke leaking from his wound into the air — nor did she hear the voice that slithered through the rafters like a sigh.
> "The heart that heals will soon learn to break."