The healers finally stood, their pale hands trembling faintly from the strain of working on a human body. One of them—a tall woman with grey irises that shimmered like mercury—exhaled and said, "We've done all we can, Lady Eleanor. But human anatomy doesn't respond to our magic properly. His internal flow… it resists."
The other nodded, voice low. "Our methods were made for blood blessed by the moon. He has none. He may live… or he may not. The rest is up to fate."
Reva nodded stiffly, though her chest tightened at the word fate. "Thank you," she murmured, forcing steadiness into her voice. "You've done enough. I'll handle the rest."
They bowed, robes rustling, and quietly left the room. The heavy doors shut with a hollow echo, leaving her in silence with the faint crackle of moonlight bleeding through the glass.
She let out a slow breath and turned to look at him.
