Hours earlier—
Before the guards' panic.
Before the empty bed.
Inside the healer's small wooden house, the air had been thick with heat and urgency.
The old healer stood over the bed, sleeves rolled high, gray hair clinging to her damp temples. A basin of steaming water sat beside her. Bundles of crushed herbs burned slowly in a clay bowl, smoke curling upward like thin prayers.
Her hands glowed steadily now.
Not flickering.
Focused.
Precise.
She pressed one palm over the woman's abdomen, the other hovering just above, green mana weaving in controlled threads. Her lips moved under her breath—not loud enough to be a chant, not soft enough to be silence.
A prayer.
Not grand.
Not ceremonial.
Just a healer asking for steady hands.
"Stay with me," she muttered firmly. "Don't you dare slip away now."
The woman screamed again, back arching violently as another contraction tore through her body. Her fingers clawed into the sheets, knuckles white.
