That night, the camp was unusually quiet. The moon hung low, silver and heavy, as I walked beside Batista toward Elias's healing tent. The grass whispered under our boots, the air thick with the smell of herbs and ash. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled—a long, mournful sound that faded into silence.
Seraphina had asked them to move Eric there, to the healer's tent, saying she and Elias would need to work together if they had any chance of saving him. I didn't argue. At that point, I would've agreed to anything that could bring Eric back.
When we stepped inside, the warm scent of burning sage hit me first. Candles flickered along the walls, their flames pale blue. Eric lay on a mat in the center, covered in linen. He looked… better. The burns were now faded to faint scars, silver lines tracing his arms. But he was still, eyes closed, chest rising only slightly.
"Thank the Goddess," I breathed, my chest loosening a little.
