Page 2 of Embers of Ruin

At least, that's what everyone believes.

Despite being the village healer, I have to move like a shadow—always needed, never truly wanted. I heal their children, ease their suffering, and mend their wounds, but gratitude has its limits. People are quick to welcome a miracle until they remember who performed it. But saving lives is worth the cost. Some days, though, I wonder how much longer my spirit can bear paying it.

I pull my hood lower as I pass through the village square, hoping to avoid the familiar stares I’m so used to getting. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work. A woman pulls her child close to her skirts as I pass, making the sign of Ryza, the god of death, over her chest. Her fingers trace the familiar symbol meant to ward off death and misfortune. How ironic that I’m on a mission to prevent exactly that.

My jaw tightens, noting that no one offers Illurine's blessing. No kiss pressed to a palm before touching it to their forehead in thanks for wisdom, nor a hand settled over the heart and patted gently in gratitude for the life still beating within their chest. After nearly a decade, I've learned that meeting their whispers with anger only feeds them.

“There’s the witch,” someone murmurs behind me, bitterness evident in their tone. I ignore the comment, and my stride never falters. I want to retort that this “witch” has healed more of their children than I can count—but I don’t. I keep walking, because people have called me worse over the years. If believing I'm cursed helps them sleep at night, I won't waste my breath convincing them otherwise. Their minds were made up long ago.

A cold gust rushes down the narrow street, tugging at my cloak just hard enough for a silver curl to escape beneath my hood. I catch it quickly, tucking it behind my ear but it’s too late; a man has already noticed, and is whispering to an elderly woman next to him. I sigh and keep walking.

Some say that the curse on Solaris extends to me and my silver hair. Others whisper that I look nothing like my parents, though I inherited traits from both. These people don’t actually care; they simply decide I’m different and treat me like an outcast until Ryza knocks on their doors.

They’re right about me being different—just not for the reasons they think.

Every time I leave my cottage, I know there’s a chance I won’t make it home. I do it anyway because I was taught my gift is a blessing, and helping people who don’t deserve it will earn me a spot in Illurine’s Eternal Garden. But if the king’s Shadow Guard ever find me, I won’t live long enough to regret my actions. Despite that, I keep walking, because some things are worth dying for. Today, one of them is waiting for me at Mara’s cottage.

The farther I venture from the center of the village, the fewer people linger outside. Most sensible folk have retreated indoors, where crackling fires and warm stew offer a brief respite from the cold. I envy them more than I care to admit because death by frostbite is one hell of a way to die. Still, it could be worse… I could be rotting away in a cell at the palace for what I’m about to do.

By the time I reach the narrow path leading toward Mara’s cottage, my fingers have gone numb despite the thick wool gloves tucked in my tunic. Winter has never been kind to Elvora, but this year feels especially cruel. The cold doesn’t simply settle over the dark continent anymore—it chooses to torment us, seeping into stone, wood, and bone until everything feels brittle enough to shatter. Even our spirits.

Mara says people were never meant to live without sunlight. I wouldn’t know. I’ve heard stories of golden mornings spilling over rolling green hills and flowers that bloom when a season called spring has arrived, but they’ve always sounded more like fairy tales than reality. If such places still exist beyond our continent, Solaris, I’ve never seen them, and I don’t think I ever will.

A familiar ache settles quietly in my chest but I don’t let it linger long enough to grow wings. Maybe one day I’ll find the sun. Until then, there are people who still need me here.

I adjust my satchel, looking around to make sure there aren’t guards prowling about. The dried herbs inside rustle softly together with each hurried step, though I know they won’t be enough. Mara wouldn’t have sent for me otherwise. Her urgent message means the child’s condition is enough to warrant something her tonics and crushed herbs can’t cure. It requires something that I possess, magic that is forbidden in Solaris. I've never been fond of following orders, and I don’t think I’ll start following them today. If Mara asks for my help, someone is standing at death’s door, and I’ll do everything in my power to drag them back from it. Even if it goes against the Shadow King's decree.

Movement catches my eye and I turn to see a small boy sitting alone outside one of the cottages, bundled beneath a threadbare blanket with a crudely carved wooden horse clutched in his hands. He coughs uncontrollably into his sleeve and his shoulders tremble beneath the effort. I slow instinctively, noticing the rattle that the cough leaves behind.

His mother notices me before I can take another step. “No, Kieran! Come inside. Now!”

Her words are quiet but firm as she gathers him into her arms and backs toward the door, narrowing her eyes at me as if I personally offended her. I almost scoff at her audacity.

The little boy looks over her shoulder, innocence shining through his small face. “I wasn’t scared of you,” he says, and that warms my heart just enough to make me forget my fingers are nearly numb.

My throat tightens. Heat gathers behind my eyes as the tears I keep buried every day threaten to surface. I hadn't realized how desperately I needed someone to say those words until he did.

“I know,” I answer softly, watching his mother disappear inside.

I quicken my pace as adrenaline courses through my veins. I don't have time to spare for anyone else today, but this child will be next on my list. His mother may have made an enemy of herself, but I'm not cruel enough to take that out on him.

Mara’s cottage waits at the end of the road, tucked beside a cluster of barren trees whose thin branches scrape against the gray sky. Smoke curls weakly from the chimney before the wind carries it away. Warm amber light spills from the front window, soft enough to make the rest of Elvora seem even darker by comparison. It feels inviting, and for a moment, I let myself breathe. Then I hear a sound from inside the cottage. It sounds like a desperate cry that turns my blood cold. I don’t bother knocking.

“Mara?” I call, pushing through the weathered door.

The familiar scent of dried herbs wraps around me the moment I step inside, sharp and earthy beneath the heavier tang of sickness. Shelves line every wall, crowded with folded linens, bundles of roots, and bottles of remedies Mara has brewed over the years.

“Lyra.” Mara emerges from the back room and I’m taken aback by her appearance. Her gray hair is escaping its braid and her lined face is drawn tight with worry. She takes one look at me and hurries forward, gripping my arm with trembling fingers.

“Gods above, child. You came. I was getting worried.”

“Of course I came, I got your mes⁠—”

She cuts me off quickly with her hurried words. “He’s fading quickly.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Nothing stops the burning. I can’t heal this, Lyra.”

My stomach sinks. Mara reaches up and cups my cheek before I can move past her.

“When was the last time you slept?” she asks, eyeing me suspiciously.