Page 55 of The Starlight Savior

Saige had only heard such a thing spoken in the context of broken wards and mist. Ancient magic was the very thing that aided in forging Opela.

But Myles spoke like Saige possessed it. As if they needed her because of it. But what could she do in Tiranos that she couldn’t in Etrane?

“My lady?” said a dark skinned healer beside her with soft eyes.

Saige extended her arm, revealing the cut she hadn’t realized was so bad. One of the warlocks had sliced her deep, revealing peculiar light streaming through her body. But the adrenaline fueling every step had saved her from any pain. Surrounded by comfort and chaos, all she felt was anguish.

The healer took her limb in his hands, slathering the wound with a thick salve. Eucalyptus and peppermint tickled her nose as she winced until the healing properties kicked in and numbness spread.

“Thank you. Your kindness is appreciated,” she murmured, voice thick. The cloth bandage itched as the healer concealed the wound.

Nodding his thanks, he rose to move along to the next, leaving her alone with her thoughts once again.

Her shoulders slumped forward, body collapsing. For years, Athalos was deemed as a sanctuary. Yet with her arrival, was that even true? The Tiranos army infiltrated the capital for her. Snuck sleep tonics in the food. Took servants hostage until one grew impatient enough to no longer wait for their help. Murdered Esme before her eyes for no reason but to hurt Saige.

Body shuddering, Saige saw Esme’s vacant face light up her eyelids. She barely knew the handmaid, but it still hurt nonetheless. It was an innocent life. Someone with hopes and dreams.

Chair screeching across the floor, Saige rose. How could she sit here when the library was filled with the injured? Bodies and minds bruised. Turning towards the maze of winding shelves, she wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Her cloak trailed behind her, sweeping up dust. There were at least a hundred wielders scattered throughout. Resting their backs on shelves, lounging in chairs, warming up by the fire. Some groaned from slices against wrists and throats, remnants of threatening blades. Others appeared broken and collapsed, silent tears dripping down cheeks. Water bound cuffs still adorned some who distorted their limbs at uncomfortable angles, unable to use their magic to free themselves.

Saige spotted the healer who mended her bent over a shaky girl. His voice was soft and quiet as he inspected the handmaid.

“It is not weak to mourn, young one. It was a terrible sight for you to witness.”

The young girl shook her head, body leaning against a large shelf. “Collie said she’s safe in the Otherworld. With Caelum. How can that be true? After what they did to her? Her mind and soul are disconnected now.”

Recognition softened Saige’s gaze. She could still hear the deafening screams as this girl knelt before the nearly beheaded handmaid, slaughtered for no reason. Myles had barely warned them before raising his blade and striking anyone who stood in his way.

She wished she had been fast enough. To prevent all this pain that followed after. But Saige wasn’t. She never had been.

If this is how she felt, she couldn’t imagine the punishing guilt pulsing throughout the library.

Before she gave it much thought, Saige knelt.

“Lady Nerestel,” the healer stuttered, lowering his head, “do you need more assistance?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” Her hands clenched her skirts, knuckles turning white. “I-I actually would like to be the one to help.”

“Help?” The healer cocked his head. “I do not understand.” Rising from the ground, he pushed her back towards the direction she came in. “There are plenty of healers around right now. Lady Nerestel, you must rest.”

Saige swatted his hands away quickly before giving him an apologetic smile. “Tiranos came for me sir,” she said, leveling her voice, “and I don’t quite understand why. But these people”—she raised a hand, gesturing across the library—“took the brunt of their forces. They lost loved ones. My handmaid—” She shook her head, unable to utter the words aloud. “I refuse to simply sit back and watch their pain. The least I can do is help in any way. Please.”

The healer stared at her, rendered speechless.

Crouching low, Saige turned towards the young handmaid. “What is your name?”

“I-Ilia, my lady.” The handmaid bowed her head, diverting her eyes. She had the same look of confusion as Esme when she requested her name.

“Ilia,” Saige said, forcing her kindest smile. Moving from her crouched position, she sat beside the girl. She was barely older than fifteen. Two dark braids hung down her neck, face dusted with freckles. Blood was crusted above her eyebrow from a glistening cut, already healing from salve. “You were quite brave back there. I noticed you in the front.”

Turning away, Ilia’s cheeks grew pink. “I-I was not.” Her voice was as shaky as her hands. “I did nothing while my s-sister was—” The words were swallowed by a cry as her face collapsed into her knees.

Saige blinked rapidly as she witnessed the body wrenching sobs possessing the young girl. What gave her the right to help when she couldn’t help herself? Knew nothing of comforting or nurturing?

Yet to sit back and watch the sorrow unfold felt wrong.

Reaching her hand out, she placed it against the handmaid’s bony knee. Ilia looked up, eyes red rimmed and nose raw. Around them, people were beginning to stare, including the healer.

“What could you have done in that moment besides keep yourself safe?” Saige murmured.