The forest path was dappled with sunlight filtering through the thick canopy above, casting shifting patterns on the soft earth. Elira led her sturdy mule, Ryn, along the narrow trail, the rhythmic creak of the wooden cart behind them breaking the morning’s stillness. Bundles of freshly gathered herbs lay neatly in the cart, their scents mingling in the crisp air—a mix of lavender, sage, and the sharp tang of wild mint. She adjusted her satchel and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her mind already cataloging what she had collected and what she still needed.

  Elira often ventured far from the village, her days spent searching for the rarest plants that grew deep within the forest. The quiet of the woods was comforting, a sanctuary from the demands of her role as the village healer. Here, among the towering trees and the chatter of birds, she could breathe.

  But the serenity of the morning was abruptly shattered.

  At first, she thought it was a fallen tree branch caught in the river’s current. The water bubbled and frothed around the object, half-submerged and motionless. Elira squinted, her steps slowing. Something about it didn’t seem right. As she drew closer, her heart skipped a beat.

  It wasn’t debris—it was a man.

  “Oh gods,” she whispered, dropping Ryn’s reins. Her pulse quickened as she scrambled down the embankment, her boots slipping slightly on the damp earth. The icy river water bit at her legs as she waded in, the current tugging at her skirt.

  The man’s body was unnaturally still, his limbs heavy as she struggled to pull him to shore. Her hands slipped against his blood-soaked clothing, and her breaths came in gasps as she dragged him inch by inch onto the pebbled bank. Finally, he lay sprawled before her, water pooling around his broad frame.

  Elira froze, her eyes scanning him. His clothes were strange—dark, sleek, and fitted, unlike anything she had ever seen. They clung to his muscular body, the fabric torn in places to reveal deep gashes that oozed blood. But it wasn’t just his wounds that unsettled her. His body was unnaturally heavy, as if he were made of something denser than flesh and bone.

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  “What in the...” she whispered, her voice trembling. She pressed her fingers gently to his neck, searching for a pulse. Relief washed over her as she felt the faint but steady rhythm beneath his skin.

  Yet his wounds told a different story. They were severe—jagged lacerations that should have been fatal. And yet, as she leaned closer, she noticed something... unusual. The edges of the gashes seemed to shimmer faintly, the flesh knitting itself together at an almost imperceptible rate.

  Elira’s brow furrowed. “How are you still alive?”

  Her hands hovered over his chest, indecision gripping her. She had been trained to heal, to stabilize, but this was beyond anything she had encountered. The strange, otherworldly nature of his injuries sent a chill down her spine, but she couldn’t let him die—not here, not like this.

  Taking a deep breath, she pressed her hands over the worst of his wounds. Her fingers glowed faintly as she channeled her limited healing magic into him. The glow flickered, weak but steady, as she worked to close the gashes and stem the bleeding. Sweat beaded on her brow as she muttered an incantation under her breath, her voice tight with effort.

  “This is only temporary,” she whispered, her tone firm despite the strain. “Just hold on a little longer.”

  The faint light faded as her magic reached its limits. His breathing, shallow and uneven, grew steadier, and the bleeding slowed, but the wounds remained far from healed. Exhaustion swept over her, and she sat back on her heels, her hands trembling.

  “I can’t do this alone,” she muttered, glancing back at Ryn, who stood patiently by the riverbank.

  It took every ounce of strength she had, along with the mule’s steady assistance, to hoist the man onto the cart. Even with Ryn’s help, it was a struggle; his weight was nearly impossible, his body unyielding like tempered steel. Elira’s arms burned with the effort, her breaths ragged as she adjusted him into a more stable position.

  “You better be worth all this trouble,” she murmured under her breath, wiping a stray lock of hair from her face. She secured the cart’s load and gave Ryn’s reins a gentle tug, the mule responding with a patient snort.

  As they began the slow journey back to the village, Elira’s mind raced. Who was this man? What had happened to him? And why did the very sight of him send an uneasy ripple through her chest, as if she had stumbled upon something that should have remained hidden?

  The forest seemed quieter now, the usual chatter of birds and rustle of leaves absent. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting.