Elina’s POV
The world felt like a distant dream, my body heavy, as if weighed down by invisible chains. The pain lingered—faint, but persistent—like a whisper in the back of my mind.
Then warmth seeped in. It was gentle and steady, spreading through my chest like a soft glow. Comforting—like sinking into a warm bath after a long day. I held onto it, letting it pull me from the fog.
My eyes fluttered open.
I was lying on something soft. Maybe a bed made of animal furs—the texture slightly rough beneath my fingertips.
The air carried the sharp, earthy scent of herbs mixed with something sweet. Cinnamon, perhaps. And then I heard it—chanting. Low and rhythmic, a woman’s voice.
I turned my head.
Sigrid.
The older woman who had been healing the injured alongside me. Her gray-streaked hair was tied back, and she was grinding herbs in a stone mortar with slow, deliberate movements, her lips moving in soft incantations. I couldn’t make out the words, but their effect was immediate.