Veyla's voice softened as she spoke, her gaze turning distant, as though she was reliving the memory.
"I was scared at first," she said.
"My brother's fever wouldn't break, and I didn't know if the healing spells we practiced here were enough. My mother was worried sick, and my father… he kept pacing outside the room all night."
Her hands moved unconsciously, clasping together as if she was still holding a damp cloth to her brother's forehead.
"But it worked. I tried everything I could. I stayed with him, used my spells again and again, and after two days his fever finally broke. He opened his eyes, smiled weakly, and asked for food."
Her lips curved into a faint smile, though her expression carried the unmistakable weight of responsibility.
