Elra

The sun cast a warm glow through the large windows of Elmwood General Hospital, illuminating the whitewashed walls and polished floors. The air was filled with the scent of antiseptic, mingling with the comforting aroma of fresh coffee from the staff break room. It was a typical day in the bustling hospital, where lives intertwined and destinies shifted in the blink of an eye.

Elra Noxvel, a dedicated doctor and loving wife, moved with grace through the corridors, her navy scrubs contrasting sharply against the light. She had long since learned to navigate the chaos typical in an emergency room—where every moment mattered and lives hung in the balance. Though she didn't possess any special powers like many of her colleagues, it was her determination and compassion that fueled her efforts.

As she rounded a corner, her colleague, Dr. Nguyen, a healer gifted with substantial enhancement abilities, emerged from the pediatric ward. "Elra!" he called, his voice filled with urgency. "We need your help in Room 204. The child's condition is worsening."

With her heart racing, Elra hurried in the direction of the room. "What are the symptoms?" she asked, her mind already racing through possibilities.

"Severe dehydration and shock," Dr. Nguyen replied, his expression taut with concern.

When they reached the room, the sight that greeted her tightened her heart—a little girl, no older than eight, lay on the bed, pale as a ghost, her small body trembling. The mother stood at her side, fear etched deep in her features, a hand clutching her child tightly.

Elra quickly introduced herself, kneeling to the girl's level. " "Hi there, sweetie. I'm Elra. I'll do my best to make things right—you're safe now." She offered a small, reassuring smile. "Can you tell me your name?"Her eyes were wide, filled with panic, but there was a flicker of hope there too.

She had a warm smile on her face, trying to reassure the little girl.

When Lilly, trembling and completely drained of strength, looked at her, she somehow felt reassured. Elra's first step in calming her seemed to be working.

"Lily," she whispered, barely audible.

"Okay, Lily. Let's see what we can do to make you feel better." Elra's voice was warm and steady, masking the urgency beneath.

She glanced at the IV poles standing in the corner, sterile white against the warm room colors. "We need to get some fluids into her fast. She's malnourished and dehydrated."

Directing a nurse to prepare an IV setup, Elra quickly assessed Lily's condition. With quick, practiced movements, she gently checked Lily's pulse and monitored her breathing. The tiny wrist was alarmingly thin, and Elra felt a pang of urgency pierce her chest.

Lily's mother looked on, her eyes pleading. "Will she be okay? She hasn't eaten in days."

Their condition made it clear—they hadn't eaten in days. Cases like this were all too common around there. Only a few were fortunate enough to enjoy a decent life.

"I'm going to do everything I can," Elra reassured her, offering a supportive smile as she carefully inserted the IV needle into Lily's arm. "We're going to give her fluids and nutrients to help her recover. You're doing great, sweetie."

As the fluid began to flow, Elra immediately ordered electrolytes and vitamins to be mixed into the solution. "We need to stabilize her," she instructed the nurses, watching carefully as Lily's color gradually began to improve, the pallor fading from her cheeks.

Minutes felt like hours in the crowded room. Elra stayed close to Lily, monitoring her vital signs, frequently glancing at the charts to track her improvement. Finally, she noticed Lily's eyelids fluttering, slowly opening to reveal sparkling green eyes.

"Mom?" Lily croaked, her voice hoarse as she sought reassurance.

"Yes, baby. I'm here," her mother replied, tears welling up in her eyes, a wave of relief washing over her.

After about thirty minutes, as Lily's health stabilized, Elra smiled back at the girl. "You're going to be just fine. Just keep resting and let the fluids do their job."

As she prepared to leave the room, the mother grasped Elra's hand. "Thank you! Thank you so much, Doctor! I don't know what we would have done without you."

"You don't need to thank me," Elra replied, feeling pride swell inside her at the impact she had on this family's life. "I'm just doing what I love; it's my job to care for you both."

However, stepping outside, a gnawing sensation crept into her mind. Another patient was rolling through the door—a middle-aged man, appearing to be in his fifties, was haphazardly placed on a stretcher, his body covered in grime.

"His name is Jonathan," one of the paramedics explained breathlessly. "Fallen from a construction site. He hasn't been responsive."

Elra felt an immediate rush of adrenaline. "What's his condition?"

"He's showing severe signs of malnutrition and internal bleeding," the paramedic reported with a grimace. "He's lethargic and has gone pale."

They wheeled Jonathan into the treatment room just as Elra's pulse quickened. She assessed him quickly—his skin was clammy, and dark circles framed his sunken eyes. His limbs were frail, and as she pressed her fingers against his wrist for a pulse, it was weak and thready.

"We need to start IV fluids immediately!" she barked, adrenaline fueling her urgency. As they established the IV, Elra glanced at the monitor; his blood pressure was critically low.

"Let's check his blood sugar!" Elra ordered, moving swiftly to insert a glucose monitor on his finger. The reading confirmed her fears. It was dangerously low. 

"Give him a bolus of Dextrose," she instructed, squeezing the nurse's shoulder as they worked seamlessly in tandem. But as she worked, Jonathan's condition worsened. His breathing became more erratic, and his skin turned ashen. Elra's heart sank as she saw his eyes roll back.

"No! You can't leave us!" she whispered fiercely, pressing down on his chest in a desperate attempt to force life back into him. "Come on, Jonathan. Fight!"

Sweat poured down her brow, stinging her eyes as the beats of her heart echoed in her ears. Time seemed to warp as she continued compressions. "Stay with me! One, two, three, four…"

But despite her relentless efforts, Jonathan slipped away from her grasp. The monitors flatlined, piercing the air with an agonizing beep. The truth hit her like a boulder—she had failed, and the loss settled cruelly within her.

With trembling hands, Elra stumbled back and wiped her brow, the weight of frustration pressing down on her. She had given everything to save him—but he was gone."I… tried," she whispered, her heart aching.

Outside the room, she slumped against the cool corridor wall, struggling to hold back tears.Dr. Nguyen found her there, concern etched into his features. "Elra, are you okay?"

She shook her head, voice breaking as emotion spilled out. "We have the means to help everyone… but can't for everyone. Why is it that those without power are left to drown in their grief, while we give our best only to the chosen few?" 

"Calm down, Elra," he cautioned gently. "You can't save everyone."

"Isn't that why we are doctors? To help all humans? We're all entitled to those basic rights—regardless of status! Why do we have this stark line dividing the Inner from the Outer?" she exclaimed, her voice reflective of her rising frustration.

Dr. Nguyen stepped closer, empathy evident in his posture. "I know it's unfair, but we can't fight the system alone. You and I—we're just two people. All we can do is try. Save who you can, one patient at a time."

As if the universe was responding to her turmoil, another announcement blared through the hospital intercom. "Attention, we have multiple casualties arriving from the reclamation zone. Four soldiers in critical condition. All medical personnel please prepare for emergency triage!"

Elra's heart sank once more, but this time with a different kind of urgency beginning to pulse within her. "Come on!" she shouted, racing back into the treatment area.

As the soldiers were brought through the doors, Elra felt her breath hitch. The sight was harrowing—bloodied and battered bodies lay on stretchers, the scent of iron filling the air. One female soldier, Lila, had sustained extreme injuries; her entire left arm was severed at the shoulder, blood soaking her uniform.

"Why are they here and not at the Inner District?" Elra demanded, urgency pushing her to ask as the paramedics wheeled the soldiers in.

"The injuries were too severe—no time to transport them further," a paramedic explained, breathless. "They had to stop here to save them today. We needed to administer first aid rapidly before relocating them for complete treatment."

"Stop the bleeding!" Elra commanded as they rolled Talia's stretcher in. "We need a pressure bandage and transfusions. NOW!"

The second soldier, Marcus, had large gashes across his torso; internal bleeding was evident as they pulled up his shirt, exposing cruel damage. The third soldier, Riven, was pressed against the gurney, struggling against his breath, his color flecked with pallor. The fourth soldier, the youngest of them all, Ashen, lay unconscious with multiple fractures, his skin ghostly pale.

The atmosphere was thick with tension, the air sharp with determination and dread. The buzzing of machines accompanied the frantic whispers of family members, worried faces peering in through the glass. An inferno of anxiety billowed, and Elra felt it swirl around her like an impending storm.

"Split into teams," Elra declared, her instincts honing in. "I'll take Talia and Marcus, you handle Riven and Ashen."

Elra quickly assessed Talia's wounds. "Elra pressed a wad of gauze to Talia's stump. 'Tourniquet and O-negative, now!'"

"Yes, Doctor!" nurses responded, moving quickly to gather the supplies. 

Talia groaned, her eyes fluttering open as Elra's face came into focus through the haze of pain. "Please… save my team," she whispered, her voice laced with desperation—not for herself, but for them.Elra's heart felt both heavy and warm. Even in agony, Talia's thoughts were with her team. What a noble heart she has.

"Don't worry about them, we are trying our best to save them, and I'm right here, and we'll get you through this," Elra promised, maintaining eye contact as she worked.

Meanwhile, Nguyen was with Riven and Ashen, each in critical condition. After stabilizing Talia, the team turned their focus to Marcus, whose breathing had markedly slowed.

"Make sure he stays conscious. Give him oxygen support; we need to monitor his pulse," Elra ordered, her heart racing. Marcus winced but managed a feeble nod, the flicker of resolve still shining in his eyes.

As she pressed ahead, blood continued to ooze from Talia's severed arm while Elra stitched Marcus's gashes. The urgency heightened with every moment, the reality enveloping them—a fight against time with every heartbeat that echoed through the room.

The grave reality of their work became palpable in the pressed white walls of the emergency room, the tension tightening with each passing second. The repetitive sounds of the equipment, the anxious murmurs of families waiting, and the scent of blood charged the atmosphere, pushing Elra and her team to their limits as they fought for each soldier.

With fate hanging in the balance, every second counted. Finally, after what felt like hours, relief washed over Elra as she managed to stabilize all four soldiers. They had meticulously addressed each wound, and the adrenaline faded as they caught their breath, exhausted but satisfied that they had done everything in their power.

Families flooded in, drawn by the gravity of the situation, relief blossoming as they witnessed their loved ones alive. Tears of gratitude streamed down the faces of mothers and fathers, each embrace heartwarming yet heavy, a poignant reminder of the sacrifices made by their brave warriors.

Elra felt a mixture of pride and pain as she watched them, yet her heart grew heavy when she thought of her eldest daughter, Elizabeth. Because cases like this were rare, and to be honest, it was Elra's first. She had never treated a soldier with battle wounds before. Just like these soldiers, she too was part of the army—a captain leading her own team into battles. What if she found herself in a similar situation, brought back battered and broken without someone like Elra to save her?

As Elra stepped outside into the cool evening air, the weight of her thoughts lingered.. If they didn't act soon, both her children faced a grim future in this skewed society.

Her maternal instinct surged as she knew it was time to reconsider their living arrangement. They had to move to the Draycrest, especially now that Elizabeth was a captain there—she would have the respect and rights that came with it.

A determined Elra made her way home, knowing that she had to talk to Theron about their family's future. How could she keep her family safe in a world fraught with danger?

Elra struggled to envision her children's futures within a society that prioritized power and status over shared humanity. She needed her family to be safe, to be free to thrive, away from the harsh realities outside.

After stabilizing the last soldier, Elra stepped outside into the cool evening air, the weight of her thoughts lingering. If they didn't act soon, both her children faced a grim future in this skewed society.

The sliding doors of Southside General hissed shut behind Elra, cutting off the sterile tang of antiseptic. She inhaled deeply—the air outside was thick with the smell of fried dough from a street vendor and the underlying musk of damp concrete. The sky over Ironreach was the color of bruised flesh, twilight pressing down like a weight.

She adjusted the strap of her medical satchel and stepped into Martell's Market, its flickering neon sign buzzing like an angry insect. The aisles were cramped, shelves half-empty—standard for the Ironreach. A pyramid of withered carrots sat beside a freezer humming laboriously, its glass fogged with condensation.

As she picked through the vegetables, voices slithered from the next aisle:

"—heard another squad got wiped out near the western fissure. Clan Veymar's hiding the numbers again—"

Elra's fingers stilled on a bundle of limp scallions.

"Bullshit. The Army's the one lying," a man rasped. "My cousin's in the Ironreach barracks. Says they pulled four survivors from the Gravelands yesterday. Rest were torn apart. Something big got loose—not a normal beast. The Clan wasn't prepared—they didn't expect a devil in that sector."

A chill crawled up Elra's spine. Her daughter Elizabeth was out there right now, leading her own team into similar battles. Theron's mission. The unstable zone. She clutched the scallions tighter, their roots shedding dirt like grave soil.

"Clans and government playing tug-of-war with corpses," a woman muttered. "Mark my words—they're racing to claim something out there. And we're the fodder."

The bell above the door jingled. The voices fell silent.

Elra exhaled, her breath stirring the plastic wrap on a tray of discounted meat. Four survivors. The soldiers she'd stabilized. The ones who'd looked at her with glassy, thousand-yard stares.

She turned her steps toward Mira's school to pick her up. Normally, it was Kael or Theron's responsibility, but today, she felt she needed to do it herself—her heart was too heavy after losing a patient.

She grabbed the meat, its surface slick under her fingers, and hurried to the checkout.

Mira's school was a squat building with peeling blue paint, its yard dotted with rusted swing sets. The ancient oak tree by the gate shuddered in the wind, leaves whispering secrets Elra couldn't decipher.

She rounded the corner and froze. 

Kael was already there, bent at the waist in an exaggerated bow, his left hand tucked behind his back like a storybook butler. His uniform jacket was rumpled, one sleeve singed at the cuff (some experiment gone wrong, she guessed).

"I have come to pick you up, my lady," he intoned, nose in the air.

Mira stood with her arms crossed, her puffed cheeks and knitted brows the spitting image of Theron mid-calculation. "No thanks. I know you, Kael. You'll use your powers to tickle me again, and I won't fall for it this time."

Kael gasped, clutching his chest. "You wound me! I am but a humble servant—"

"Liar," Mira said, but a giggle escaped.

Elra's chest swelled with warmth, as if her very ribs cracked open to let the light in. For a moment, the whispers of devils and dying soldiers faded into silence. This—this was what she was fighting for. Her children. In this dark, cruel world, they were her most precious treasure.

The moment Kael and Mira saw her, they broke into a run. And as she watched them racing toward her, her heart grew lighter with each of their steps, like every footfall was wiping away a layer of her sorrow.

Then Kael's eyes gleamed. "Race you to Mom!"

"Wha— Hey!"* Mira shrieked as Kael's body dissolved into swirling shadows. He reappeared inches from Elra, slapping her shoulder with a triumphant "Ha!"

The dark energy clinging to him smelled like ozone and something deeper, older—like the air before a thunderstorm.

Mira stomped up, her braids bouncing. "Cheater." She raised her arms demandingly. Elra scooped her up, kissing the sugar-dusted curve of her cheek.

"I'm more loved than you," Mira informed Kael, smug.

"In your dreams!" Kael cried, but he was grinning as he hoisted Elra's grocery bag onto his shoulder.

The walk home was loud with their bickering, the cobblestones uneven underfoot. Elra held Mira's sticky hand, her thumb brushing the child's knuckles. So small. So alive.