At dawn, Nicolette stood at the edge of the camp with Kael and two guards. Her hospital shoes were worn, her scrubs dusty—but she felt... ready.
Kael handed her a cloak. "The road to the Sanctum of Souls is dangerous. Bandits, creatures… and those who fear prophecy."
She nodded. "Let's go."
They crossed silver rivers and hills lit by floating stones. Villagers stared, bowing as they passed. Some called her "Light-Bearer." Others wept in silence.
By dusk, a black storm gathered ahead.
Suddenly, a shadow leapt from the trees—fangs, claws, and burning eyes. A Wyrth Beast.
Kael drew his blade. "Stay behind me!"
But Nicolette didn't run. The creature lunged—injured and maddened. She stepped forward, ignoring Kael's shout.
"Wait…"
She saw it: a deep wound pulsing with infection.
"It's in pain," she said. "It's not evil—it's dying."
She raised her stethoscope. It shimmered. The beast froze.
Her hands touched its fur… and the glow spread.
The Wyrth Beast growled softly—then limped away into the forest.
Kael stared in awe. "You didn't just heal it. You calmed its soul."
Nicolette's hand trembled.
What was she becoming?