Isla

  I tumbled out of the portal and landed unceremoniously in a field, the tall grass swaying gently in the breeze. My eyes immediately scanned our surroundings, taking in the rolling hills and distant tree lines. There was no sign of civilization, no smoke from chimneys, no roads, not even the faintest hum of human activity. Just nature, vast and untamed. Satisfied that we were safe for the moment, I turned back to the portal just in time to see Tiberius emerge.

  He stumbled forward, his body going limp almost instantly, and collapsed to the ground. My heart skipped a beat, but I forced myself to stay calm. Behind him, through the fading shimmer of the portal, I caught a glimpse of Bendis scrambling to her feet, her eyes locked on me as she made a desperate dash toward the portal. But it was too late. The portal winked out of existence the moment Tiberius hit the ground, leaving her stranded on the other side. Good. One less thing to worry about for now.

  I knelt beside Tiberius. His breathing was shallow, his pulse faint but steady beneath my fingertips. I ran my hands along his ribs, pressing gently to check for any signs of internal bleeding or broken bones. There were no obvious wounds, but that didn’t reassure me. Internal injuries were insidious, and I had no way to treat them. My illusions could do much, especially with this new artifact, but I was no healer.

  I placed a hand on his forehead, noting the clammy sweat and the unnatural pallor of his skin. His temperature was too low, and his lips had taken on a faint bluish tint. My stomach twisted with unease. This wasn’t just exhaustion or a simple wound. Something was wrong, something serious.

  “Tiberius,” I said sharply, shaking his shoulder. “Wake up. Now.”

  But he didn’t stir. His stillness was unnerving, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of panic. I wasn’t used to feeling helpless. That’s why I preferred to work alone. I hated being responsible for others. Yet here I was, kneeling in a field, utterly useless in the face of something as mundane as internal injuries. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

  I sat back on the ground, my mind racing. We were in the middle of nowhere, far from any sign of civilization. Even if I could carry him, I wasn’t sure he’d survive the journey. We needed a healer, and we needed one soon. But where? My guess was that we were somewhere near the capital, in the countryside that had been torn apart by war. Villages were burned to the ground, healers either dead or in hiding. Still, I had to try. I couldn’t just sit here and watch him fade away.

  With a sigh, I began weaving a small illusionary shelter around us. My hands moved with practiced ease, the magic flowing smoothly as I created a barrier that would keep him safe and hidden while I scouted the area. It wasn’t much—just a simple illusion to mask our presence—but it would have to do. As I worked, my mind drifted unbidden to the memory of Amra’s body laid out at Bendis’s feet.

  I never liked Bendis. I wasn’t sure why, exactly. She had always been friendly, helpful, even kind. Maybe that was the problem. She was too helpful, too understanding, always offering advice or support even when it wasn’t asked for. It grated on me. And then there was her closeness to Amra. The two of them were always huddled together, discussing plans for killing Sedeus, their heads bent in conspiratorial whispers. I suppose having a shared interest tended to bring people closer, but it still annoyed me. Now, of course, it didn’t matter. Amra was dead, and so were the twins.

  The twins. My chest tightened at the thought of them. They had sacrificed themselves in the throne room, throwing themselves into harm’s way to protect Amra. It was a noble gesture, but ultimately futile. And now it was just me and Tiberius left. I couldn’t be the only one to survive this. I wouldn’t allow it.

  I finished the illusionary shelter and stood, brushing the dirt from my hands. Tiberius lay still, his breathing shallow but steady. I crouched beside him again, my fingers brushing his forehead. “Hold on,” I muttered, my voice low. “I’ll find a healer. Just… don’t die on me.”

  ─── ????? ───

  The light was still a distant speck on the horizon, but it was impossible to judge distances in the dark. Still, the distance was considerable, so I couldn’t leave him here. Hoping his condition had at least stabilized, I decided to use the cover of darkness to carry him closer to civilization. It was grueling work, even with the bracer’s ability to make my illusions partially tangible. Without it, I would have never been able to move him at all.

  His breathing remained shallow but steady, a small comfort in the otherwise oppressive silence. By the time the first hints of dawn began to lighten the sky, the village was finally within reach, and I allowed myself a moment of respite. The ring still worked perfectly, masking any telltale elven features, and with the sun now well above the horizon, I made my way to the road leading into the village.

  Taking a steadying breath, I stepped onto the main path, my posture relaxed but alert. The villagers turned to look, their expressions a mix of curiosity and wariness. I met their gazes directly, my voice calm but firm as I called out, “I need a healer. My friend is injured, and he doesn’t have much time.”

  The apprehension in their voices was expected, so I pulled a dinari from my pouch and held it up. “This goes to the first person to point me in the direction of a healer.”

  That seemed to spring them into action. Two men almost simultaneously pointed in the same direction, and after a brief pause, one of them added, “Old Lady Catinca is the one you need.”

  With directions in hand, it didn’t take long to find her. Unfortunately, she was already surrounded by others in need of medical assistance. The old woman sat on a wooden stool outside a small, weathered cottage, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she tended to a child with a bandaged arm. Her hair was a wild tangle of silver, streaked with remnants of darker strands, and her face was lined with deep wrinkles that spoke of a lifetime of hardship. Her eyes, however, were sharp and alert, flicking up to meet mine as I approached.

  I stepped closer, careful not to disrupt her work, and spoke as politely as I could manage. “Hello, I know you’re busy, but my friend is gravely injured. Maybe you could at least check on him first?” I pulled out a handful of coins, letting them clink together in my palm. “I can pay whatever is required.”

  Her gaze shifted from me to the coins, then back to the child she was treating. She didn’t stop her work, but her voice carried a no-nonsense tone. “Gravely injured, you say? And where is this friend of yours?”

  “Just outside in a cart.” I replied. “I can bring him here, but he’s in no condition to wait long.”

  She nodded curtly, tying off the bandage with a firm tug. “Finish up with this one,” she said to a younger woman standing nearby, then turned back to me. “Bring him. But understand—I’ll decide if he’s worth my time once I see him.”

  I didn’t argue. Her bluntness was refreshing, and her willingness to treat him without talk of dinari made me hopeful she was capable.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  It didn’t take long to get him inside. Tiberius’s skin was pale, almost ghostly, and his breathing was shallow, each inhale a struggle. The faint sheen of sweat on his forehead made my stomach twist.

  Catinca wasted no time. She knelt beside him, her gnarled hands moving with a precision that spoke of decades of experience. I hovered nearby, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, my nails digging into my sleeves. I hated feeling useless, hated the way my stomach churned with every passing second. The healer’s expression grew grimmer as she worked, her lips pressing into a thin line.

  “Internal bleeding,” she said finally, her voice matter-of-fact but laced with concern. “Likely from a ruptured vessel or organ. It’s bad.”

  My breath caught. “Can you fix it?”

  She shot me a sharp look, her eyes narrowing. “I’m a healer, not a miracle worker. I can stabilize him for now, but for a full recovery, he needs more than I can give him here. He needs proper care—someone with the tools and knowledge to repair the damage.”

  I clenched my jaw, forcing down the rising panic. “Do what you can.”

  She placed her hands over his chest, her fingers splayed, and closed her eyes. A faint, golden glow emanated from her palms, spreading slowly over Tiberius’s body. It wasn’t exactly an advanced healing spell, but it was more than I’d expected from a village healer. The glow lingered for a moment before fading, and Catinca let out a slow breath.

  After a short pause, she set to work, pulling herbs, bandages, and a small vial of dark liquid from her satchel. She mixed the herbs into a paste, murmuring under her breath as she applied it to Tiberius’s chest. The vial she uncorked and tipped carefully into his mouth, massaging his throat to ensure he swallowed. I watched in silence, my mind racing. Her hands moved with a confidence that was both reassuring and frustrating—reassuring because she clearly knew what she was doing, frustrating because I couldn’t do anything to help.

  “This will slow the bleeding and ease the pain,” she said as she worked. “He needs a real healer for a full recovery or you can try a prayer, although the gods aren’t really answering these days.”

  I nodded, my throat tight. “Thank you,” I said, though the words felt inadequate.

  “A donation is appreciated but not required,” she said. I didn’t hesitate. Reaching into my pouch, I pulled out a handful of dinari and pressed them into her palm. Her fingers closed around the coins, her expression softening slightly as she nodded in acknowledgment.

  “Thank you,” she said simply, before turning to leave.

  I knelt beside Tiberius, my hand brushing his forehead. His skin was still too cold, but his breathing seemed a little steadier. “Just hang on,” I whispered.

  ─── ????? ───

  All there was to do now was wait and hope Tiberius would get better before word about us reached the capital. Even if Bendis caught wind of our whereabouts, she had more pressing matters to deal with. Changes in leadership were always messy, and I doubted she’d have the time or resources to hunt us down—not yet, at least. Still, every moment we spent here was a risk, but Tiberius wasn’t in any condition to move.

  This place reminded me of the village where I grew up. It wasn't the houses or the people, but rather the secluded atmosphere, far removed from the civil war that once plagued our continent. I suppose we aren't so different after all; we just had our issues in the past. It even started with the assassination of the high king, making it more similar than I cared to admit. It had been long ago, but the scars of that time still lingered.

  The kingdom had been a place of unparalleled beauty and order, its cities woven into the very fabric of the forests, their spires reaching toward the heavens like branches of ancient trees, at least that’s how they liked to describe the golden age. But when the high king fell, his two sons, each as proud and stubborn as the other, had plunged us into a civil war. It wasn’t just a fight for the throne—it was a clash of ideals, of visions for what our kingdom should become. One brother sought to preserve our traditions, to keep the elves isolated and unchanging. The other wanted to embrace the outside world, to forge alliances and adapt to the shifting tides of power. Neither was willing to compromise, and their rivalry tore the kingdom in two.

  I had been young then, barely more than a child, but I remembered the fear, the uncertainty. Families were divided, friendships shattered. The forests that had once been our sanctuary became battlegrounds, their ancient trees reduced to ash and splinters. It took decades for the fighting to end, and even then, the kingdom was never the same. The scars of that war ran deep, and though we eventually rebuilt, the unity we once had was gone. The elves became more insular, more distrustful of outsiders—and of each other. The once-proud kingdom, a beacon of harmony and strength, had turned inward, its people clinging to the remnants of a fractured identity.

  I guess growing up in that environment is what made me so alone. I didn’t trust elves, and I certainly didn’t trust other races. Everyone had ulterior motives, hidden agendas lurking beneath their words and smiles. But unlike many of my kin, I still had a curiosity they either didn’t possess or had buried deep. I was the first to volunteer for missions to other continents, eager to see the world beyond our borders. Maybe I sought to challenge our millennia-old belief in elven superiority, to find places that would prove us wrong. But everywhere I went, I found the same thing: chaos, cruelty, and a lack of the dignity we at least pretended to uphold. The other races were far worse than us. Even at our most dire moments, during the civil war, there had been rules of combat, a sense of honor, however twisted. Out here, there were no such rules. They killed each other like savages, indifferent to the suffering they caused. And they wondered why we thought ourselves superior.

  Ironically, the only thing that ever made me question my views was Tiberius and his stories of his world. At first, I didn’t believe him when he claimed his people were more advanced than us. Elven magic and craftsmanship were unparalleled, or so I had always been taught. But you couldn’t deny his knowledge, the way he crafted spells using concepts so foreign to us. It was impressive, to say the least. He spoke of machines that could fly, of cities that stretched into the clouds, of knowledge that surpassed even our oldest tomes. It was hard to reconcile his world with the squalor and brutality I had seen in this one.

  Tiberius had done much to make me unsure of my future. Without him, I would have returned home convinced that the other races didn’t deserve our help. I had already made myself unpopular by supporting our diplomatic venture to Malachor. Without Amra’s backing, it would have never happened. She was the only ally I had, the only one who shared my belief that we couldn’t remain isolated forever. With her gone, the tenuous alliance we had built would disappear. The elves would retreat further into their forests, content to let the other races tear themselves apart. We would never interfere in their affairs again, not without a clear reason. Sometimes, I found myself wishing the other brother had won the civil war. At least he had believed in engagement, in forging connections with the outside world. But his vision had died with him.

  And now, I feared we had done something far worse by assassinating Sedeus. He had been powerful, yes, but clearly unstable. The kingdom under his rule had won battles, but it was eating itself apart. We had discovered that it would have imploded if left alone. Now, with Bendis taking over, it would become a dangerous player in the long run. She was cunning, ruthless, and far more calculated than Sedeus ever was. Where he had been a raging storm, she was a creeping frost, slow and deliberate, but no less deadly. We had removed one threat only to create another, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we had made a terrible mistake.

  At least before, we had the gods to blame for the stagnation of our world. Their whims, their wars, their endless meddling—it was easy to point to them as the source of all our problems. They were the ones who had shaped the world in their image, who had set the rules and then broken them whenever it suited their purposes. But now? The gods were gone, or at least diminished, and the mess they left behind was ours to clean up. The only question was whether we could find a way to break free from the cycles of violence and betrayal they had set in motion—or if we were destined to keep tearing each other apart, just as they had always intended.

  Now, though, I had a choice. I could walk away, leave Tiberius to his fate and disappear into the shadows, as I had done so many times before. Or I could stay, fight with him, and risk everything to see this through.

  The thought terrified me. I had spent so long avoiding responsibility, avoiding connections. It was easier that way, safer. But as I looked at Tiberius, his face pale and drawn, I realized I couldn’t run this time. He had stood by others when he didn’t have to, risked his life for a cause that wasn’t his own.

  He was different, not just because of his knowledge or his strange, foreign ideas, but because of the way he saw the world. He didn’t carry the weight of centuries of tradition or the bitterness of old grudges. He wasn’t bound by the same cycles of violence and betrayal that had defined us for so long. Instead, he looked forward, always forward, as if the past were nothing more than a stepping stone to something greater.

  It was a perspective I had never encountered before, not among the elves, nor among any of the other races I had met in my travels. Maybe, just maybe, with more people like him in the world, we could finally move past our stagnation.