Chapter 13: Beneath the Starlit Canopy

The dense forest of Glacivarn had fallen into a quiet lull, the aftermath of the battle leaving exhaustion in its wake. The scent of blood still lingered in the air, mixing with the crisp scent of pine and damp earth. The two groups—Nyxpanther Draeven's knights and Havvaris Snowfang's warriors—had temporarily set aside their tension, working together to secure a safe location for camp. The demonic beasts had vanished into the night, but there was no telling when they would return.

"Set up tents and get the wounded settled," Nyxpanther ordered, his voice sharp yet steady. "We'll regroup at dawn."

Melinoe stepped forward, scanning the injured warriors scattered around the makeshift camp. Her heart clenched at the sight of bloodied armor and torn flesh. Some bore deep claw marks, others had burns from the dark energy that clung to the demonic beasts' fangs. This wasn't just a battle of strength; it was survival.

"I need water, bandages, and anything strong enough to disinfect wounds," she said, her tone firm. The knights glanced at her, some hesitant, others skeptical. A human woman giving orders in a world where beastmen ruled? Unheard of.

Havvaris, however, raised a brow in intrigue. "You seem quite capable, little human. Do you have experience treating wounds?"

Melinoe nodded, kneeling beside an injured knight whose arm had been nearly torn apart. "I studied medicine… in my world." She hesitated before adding, "I'm a healer."

Nyxpanther's golden eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he gave a curt nod, silently allowing her to proceed.

One of the knights rushed over, bringing a bottle of strong alcohol and strips of cloth. Melinoe grabbed the bottle, uncorked it, and took a whiff—strong enough to be used as an antiseptic. It would have to do.

"This is going to sting," she warned the knight before pouring the alcohol over his wound. He hissed, body tensing, but she pressed a steady hand on his shoulder. "Breathe through it."

She worked quickly, cleaning wounds, wrapping bandages, and making use of whatever was available. Her movements were precise, honed from years of studying and practice. Despite the lack of modern equipment, she adapted. When a knight groaned in pain, she murmured reassurances, her touch gentle yet firm.

Then, something peculiar happened.

As she pressed a hand against a soldier whose leg had been bitten by a demonic beast, a faint warmth spread from her fingertips. The dark veins creeping up his skin—signs of the corrupting energy—faded ever so slightly. The knight exhaled in relief, color returning to his face.

Melinoe swallowed. Did she just do that?

Havvaris, who had been silently watching, narrowed his ice-blue eyes. "That's not normal."

Nyxpanther stepped closer, gaze sharp. "Explain."

Melinoe hesitated. She wasn't sure herself. But this wasn't the first time she had felt something stir inside her since arriving in this world. The light from the battlefield, the way she instinctively knew what to do—it wasn't coincidence. She shook her head, feigning exhaustion. "I don't know," she admitted. "I just… I just want to help."

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, Nyxpanther exhaled through his nose, his usual unreadable mask slipping just slightly. "Fine. Just don't overextend yourself."

Havvaris, however, continued watching her, a thoughtful look crossing his features.

The night stretched on, filled with murmurs, the flickering glow of campfires, and the distant howls of beasts that lurked in the darkness. The knights rested where they could, trusting the small security perimeter they had set up.

As Melinoe finished tending to the last of the wounded, she sat back, exhaustion weighing heavy on her bones. But even as her body ached, there was a quiet sense of fulfillment.

She wasn't powerless here.

She was needed.

And in a world where strength dictated one's worth, Melinoe was beginning to carve out her place.

Unbeknownst to her, two sets of golden blue eyes and one pair of icy blue ones lingered on her, each filled with curiosity, admiration, and something far more dangerous.

Something possessive.