The injured stranger makes a soft sound. His eyes flutter but don’t quite open, his breathing ragged and weak now. He is barely conscious, his body trembling from the pain and blood loss.
“You’re going to be okay,” I tell him, though I’m not sure he can even hear me. “I won’t let you die.”
My hands glow with healing light as I channel my magic into him. The power flows unsteadily, flickering as I struggle to maintain control. The wounds begin to close gradually under my touch, the bleeding slowing, but it’s harder for me than it should be. My magic vacillates, requiring constant effort to keep it steady.
The man’s breaths remain shallow, his eyes still closed, completely unaware of what’s happening. The red mist swirls thicker around us, and I realize he probably can’t even see it in his current state. Whatever this strange haze is, I seem to be the only one affected by it.
I can feel my energy draining away like water through my fingers. My magic fluctuates more violently now, each pulse of healing light requiring enormous effort to sustain.
I push harder, forcing myself beyond my usual limits, determined to save this man even if it costs me everything I have left. My head swims from the strain, sweat beading on my forehead despite the cool night air.
Finally, my magic sputters and dies completely. I collapse forward, my hands still pressed against the stranger’s chest, gasping for breath as exhaustion crashes over me like a wave. I have nothing left to give.
For a terrifying moment, I think I’ve failed. But then, I press my ear to his chest, and I hear a steady, strong heartbeat. His breathing evens out, no longer the labored, desperate gasps from before. The worst of his wounds have closed, but he’ll need proper medical attention soon.
He’ll survive. That’s what matters.
I sit back on my heels, trembling from exhaustion andthe aftereffects of draining my magic so completely. It takes several minutes before I trust myself to stand up without collapsing again.
Slowly, shakily, I struggle to my feet. I can’t leave this man here unconscious and vulnerable, I decide. Whatever attacked him might return.
With great difficulty, I manage to get his arm around my neck and haul him upright. He’s dead weight against me, much heavier than I anticipated—all solid muscle and bone that threaten to drag me back down to the forest floor. I grit my teeth and try to find my footing, my legs already quivering from magical exhaustion.
The first few steps are the worst. I stagger, nearly dropping him twice as I struggle to find a rhythm that works. His feet drag uselessly through the vegetation, catching on roots and fallen branches that I have to navigate around. Every few yards, I’m forced to stop and readjust his weight, my arms burning from the effort of keeping him vertical.
The red mist swirls around us as we move, making it even harder to see where I’m going. I have to feel my way forward with my free hand, using tree trunks as guides while trying not to let branches snag his torn clothing or scrape across his healing wounds.
My breathing comes in harsh gasps, sweat mixing with the tears I didn’t realize had started falling again. The palace feels impossibly far away, though I can hear the faint sound of music drifting through the trees. Each note seems to mock me—there they are, dancing and laughing, while I’m out here struggling to save a stranger’s life.
I push forward, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Left foot, drag him forward, right foot, adjust his body, repeat.
We’re halfway back when my legs give out entirely. I sink to my knees, his weight pulling me down, and for a moment, I simply kneel there in the dirt, sobbing with exhaustion and frustration.
“I can’t,” I whisper to no one. “I can’t do this.”
But even as I say it, I know I have to. I can’t abandon him here. He needs proper medical attention. He needs to be somewhere safe where whatever or whoever attacked him can’t find him again.
With a determination I didn’t know I possessed, I struggle back tomy feet, yanking his unconscious form up with me. We’re almost there. Just a little further.
The music grows louder as we make our way through the woods, back toward the safety of the palace grounds. The lights of the celebration finally come into view through the trees, warm and welcoming after the nightmare of the forest. But my relief is short-lived; my body is growing heavier with each step, my muscles screaming in protest. The injured man’s dead weight seems to have doubled, and I can barely keep us both upright.
“Help!” I call out hoarsely as we reach the edge of the festivities. My voice cracks and barely carries over the music and laughter. “Please, someone help!”
But the party continues around us, oblivious to our struggle. The guests are too caught up in their dancing and drinking to notice a mud-stained, exhausted healer stumbling out of the woods with an unconscious stranger.
“Help us!” I try again, desperation making my voice shriller. A few people glance in our direction, but their faces show only confusion, not understanding.
The man’s weight becomes unbearable, and my legs begin to give out completely once more. I stagger forward, trying to reach the nearest group of people, but my vision starts to blur at the edges again.
I can hear voices now—people finally noticing something is wrong. Shouts of alarm, the scrape of chairs being pushed back, footsteps running toward us. But it’s too late.
My knees buckle. The world tilts sideways as I lose my grip on the injured man, and he crashes to the ground. My vision obscures, darkness creeping in from all sides like the red mist in the forest.
Through the haze, I think I hear someone shouting my name. The voice is familiar, desperate, frightened in a way that cuts through my fading consciousness.
“Selene!”
I try to focus, to see who’s calling out to me, and for just a few seconds, the darkness recedes enough for me tomake out a face. Green eyes wide with panic, dark hair falling across a forehead creased with worry and fear.
