21: THE BURDEN OF A HEALER

The first time Lysandra healed someone, she was seven years old.

It was a cold night in Calithea, the kind that settled deep into the bones and made even the castle's thick walls feel like paper against the wind. She had been playing in the royal gardens when she heard the pained whimper of a servant boy. He was curled up behind the marble fountain, clutching his arm where a jagged cut ran from his elbow to his wrist. Blood dripped onto the stone.

"Lysandra, don't—" Mirenna, barely older than her at the time, tried to pull her away, but Lysandra had already knelt beside him.

She didn't think. She only felt.

The warmth that spread from her heart to her fingertips, the way her body trembled because something greater than herself had seized hold of her veins. She placed her small hands over the wound, and the moment her skin met his, a golden glow erupted between them.

The boy gasped. Mirenna let out a startled cry. Lysandra watched as the torn flesh knitted itself back together, the blood vanishing as if it had never been spilled. The pain in his eyes faded, replaced by sheer, bewildered relief.

But the warmth inside her quickly turned to ice.

A deep, bone-crushing exhaustion swallowed her whole. The world tilted, her vision blurred, and a sickly dizziness overtook her. She barely had time to register Mirenna's frantic voice before the darkness claimed her.

Back in that moment, Mirenna had held her hands over the boy's head and wiped out any memory he had of the healing process.

That was the first time Lysandra learned the price of her gift.

And it was the first time her mother, Queen Selene, warned her never to use it again.

Lysandra sat on the edge of the grand balcony, staring at the moon. 

The night air carried the scent of lavender from the royal gardens below, a fragrance that used to comfort her when she was a child. Now, it only reminded her of what she had lost.

"You disobeyed me, Lysandra."

Her mother's voice was quiet, but the weight of disappointment made it feel louder than any shout.

Selene stood behind her, wrapped in a silver and white gown that shimmered like the stars. Her long, raven-black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and in the moonlight, her features looked carved from marble.

Lysandra turned, gripping the edge of the stone railing. "I couldn't let him suffer."

Selene sighed and moved closer. "It is not your place to decide who suffers and who does not."

Lysandra frowned, her small hands clenching into fists on her lap. "But I helped him. Isn't that what a queen should do?"

Selene knelt before her, taking her hands in hers. "Listen to me, Lysandra. Our power is not a gift. It is a curse."

Lysandra's breath caught. "A curse?"

Selene's normally gentle eyes turned sharp with warning. "If the world discovers what you can do, they will never see you as a queen. They will see you as a tool. A weapon."

The words confused her, but even at seven, Lysandra understood the fear in her mother's voice. It was not the fear of discovery, it was the fear of what would follow.

Selene stroked her cheek, her touch was warm yet so trembling. "Calithea has always been a land of war, my love, Many kings and rulers would burn their own cities to the ground if they knew a queen could heal any wound, cure any sickness. They would tear this kingdom apart just to possess you. To own you."

Lysandra shivered. "But I'm not a thing to be owned."

"No," Selene said softly. "But power in the wrong hands turns even queens into prisoners."

Years passed, and Lysandra obeyed. She kept her power hidden, never healing, never using the magic that hummed beneath her skin. But that didn't stop the dreams.

She dreamed of wars long before they happened, of men and women, crying out for mercy as death loomed over them. She saw their wounds, their sicknesses, their broken bodies, and she knew deep in her soul that she could help them.

But she did nothing.

Not even when her own mother began to fade.

When Lysandra was eighteen, Queen Selene fell ill.

It was a sickness no physician could name, no potion could cure. She withered before her daughter's eyes, her once-immortal beauty reduced to pale skin and hollowed cheeks.

Mirenna was the only one who knew the truth. The only one who saw the queen's condition worsen behind the closed doors of the royal chambers.

"You have to do something," Mirenna whispered, gripping Lysandra's hands. "You can heal her!"

Lysandra bit her lip so hard it bled. She couldn't even look at her mother without feeling the crushing weight of guilt.

"She told me never to use my powers."

Mirenna's dark eyes burned with frustration. "She told you not to use them so others wouldn't find out. But you're the only one who can save her!"

Lysandra shook her head, stepping away. "If I do this… if someone finds out…"

Mirenna grabbed her wrist. "No one will find out."

Her voice was desperate, and for the first time, Lysandra saw it, the same fear her mother once carried.

Not of the power itself.

But of what the world would do if it knew.

Still, as she watched her mother grow weaker, her resolve cracked. She couldn't let her die.

She waited until midnight, when the castle was silent. The guards outside her mother's chambers were fast asleep—Mirenna's doing, no doubt.

Lysandra slipped inside.

Her mother lay on the grand bed, her once-strong body reduced to frailty. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her golden eyes barely open.

Lysandra knelt beside her, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I won't let you go," she whispered.

She placed her hands over her mother's chest.

The golden light surged, stronger than ever before. It poured from her fingertips, flooding her mother's body with warmth. Lysandra felt the sickness inside her, the way it clung to her like a living thing. She gritted her teeth and pulled, drawing it out of her mother and into herself.

Selene's eyes flew open.

Her back arched, a gasp escaping her lips as color rushed back into her skin. The hollowness faded, the deathly pallor vanishing. She was whole again.

But Lysandra…

The room spun. A violent cold ripped through her, stealing the air from her lungs. Her limbs went numb, her heartbeat slowed. Darkness crept in, drowning her in its suffocating embrace.

"Lysandra!"

Her mother caught her before she hit the floor.

When she woke, her mother was weeping.

"You foolish, foolish girl," Selene whispered, cradling her close. "You should have let me die."

Lysandra shook her head, weakly gripping her mother's sleeve. "I couldn't."

Selene cupped her face, her golden eyes filled with sorrow. "Then I hope you are ready to bear the weight of what you've done."

It wasn't until the next day that she understood what her mother meant.

Queen Selene had been saved.

But within the week, LYSANDRA'S vitality had been engulfed.

For every wound she healed, she took the pain into herself.

For every sickness she cured, her own body suffered.

Her mother had known this all along.

And the second time she collapsed, Lysandra realized that if she continued using her power, she wouldn't live long enough to be queen.

And she had no choice.

She had to live.

For her mother. For Calithea.

Even if it meant hiding the truth forever.

And so, a while after this, Queen Selene had still passed away and on the day of her mother's funeral, Lysandra swore an oath.

She would never heal again.

Not for the kingdom. Not for her people. Not even for herself.

Because the moment anyone learned the truth…

Her life would no longer be her own.

Until she met Erythian, Alaric…and the most important person in her life.