**Eliana healed the villagers**

 The air inside the healer's hut was thick with pain and desperation. The wounded moaned softly, their bodies feverish from their injuries, and the scent of blood hung in the air like a heavy cloud. Edgar stood by the entrance, his expression weary yet hopeful as he looked at Eliana. 

"You've done so much for us before," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "If there is anything you can do…" 

Eliana didn't need to be asked twice. 

She knelt beside the first patient—a young girl, no older than ten, her face pale and slick with sweat. A deep gash marred her shoulder, the flesh torn and infected. Her tiny body trembled, her breaths coming in weak gasps. 

Eliana placed a gentle hand on the girl's forehead, her touch feather-light. 

Then, she closed her eyes. 

A faint hum built in the air around her, almost imperceptible at first, like the whisper of wind through trees. Then, warmth bloomed from her fingertips, a golden glow that pulsed and spread over the girl's fragile form. 

The villagers gasped, stepping back in awe. 

Eliana felt the power stir within her, ancient and boundless, flowing through her veins like liquid light. It was not just a gift—it was a force of nature, a divine energy that mended what was broken, that breathed life into dying embers. 

She focused on the girl's wound, on the torn flesh and festering infection, and willed it to heal. The golden light intensified, wrapping around the injury like delicate threads of silk. Before their eyes, the wound began to close, the torn skin knitting itself back together, leaving behind nothing but smooth, unblemished flesh. 

The girl's breathing steadied. The feverish flush in her cheeks faded, replaced by the healthy warmth of life. 

A murmur of shock rippled through the hut. 

"She's healed," Amelia whispered, clutching her father's arm. "By the gods, she's completely healed." 

But Eliana wasn't done. 

She turned to the next patient—the older man clutching his side. His tunic was soaked with blood, his ribs broken from the force of the attack. Eliana pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the shattered bones beneath. 

Again, the golden light surged, wrapping around him like the warmth of a rising sun. The man gasped, his back arching as the power worked through him, as his ribs realigned and the torn muscles mended. When the light faded, he took a deep breath—and for the first time since the attack, it did not come with agony. 

Tears welled in his eyes. He grasped Eliana's hands, his voice hoarse with gratitude. "You are a blessing," he choked out. "A miracle." 

One by one, she moved through the room, healing the wounded with a touch, her power flowing freely, limitless in its generosity. The villagers watched in stunned silence as their loved ones were restored before their eyes, as agony turned to relief, as death was pushed away by the sheer force of Eliana's will. 

By the time she reached the last survivor, her body trembled from exertion. A dull ache throbbed at the base of her skull, and her breaths came uneven. She had never healed so many people at once. 

Kieran was at her side in an instant, steadying her before she could collapse. His silver eyes darkened as he took in her pale face, the fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. 

"Enough," he murmured. "You've done more than enough." 

Eliana shook her head. "There's one more." 

A young boy lay in the corner, his leg mangled from the attack. The wound was too deep—his flesh torn to the bone, blood pooling beneath him. His mother knelt beside him, sobbing quietly. 

Eliana pressed her hands over the injury. The golden light flared once more, but this time, it flickered. Weak. Unstable. 

Her vision blurred. Her body swayed. 

"Eliana." Kieran's voice was sharp now, edged with warning. "That's enough." 

But she gritted her teeth, forcing herself to hold on just a little longer. The power burned within her, searing through her veins as she willed the boy's leg to mend, to close, to heal. 

The golden light flared—blinding—before vanishing altogether. 

And then, it was done. 

The boy blinked up at her, wide-eyed, before flexing his newly healed leg. His mother let out a choked sob, gathering him in her arms. 

Relief washed over Eliana, but it came at a cost. 

Her body gave out. 

Darkness swam at the edges of her vision, her strength completely drained. Before she could hit the ground, strong arms caught her—Kieran. 

He lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath her cheek, grounding her even as exhaustion pulled her under. 

"Rest," he murmured, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. "I've got you." 

As consciousness slipped away, the last thing Eliana saw was the faces of the villagers—awed, grateful, devoted. 

She had given them hope. 

But somewhere deep in her bones, she knew healing so many at once had cost her something. 

And she would feel the price soon enough.