The night pressed in around them, heavy and still, broken only by the faint flicker of a lantern outside the healer's tent. Shadows stretched long across the rough ground, quivering like ghosts in the wind. Selene's soft, uneven breathing came from within the tent, a quiet reminder that her recovery was painfully slow.
The General, her lieutenant, and Elise huddled together, voices hushed, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile calm.
"General," Shawn finally broke the silence, voice tight with worry, eyes narrowed, "Selene… she has the ability to heal, a moon weaver…"
Elise blinked, startled by the term. "A moon weaver? Is that… what Selene is?"
Shawn nodded, voice low. "Then why… why is she still like this?"
Elise nods her head. She herself was a proof of Selene Magical healing ability. "Its been days now."
Lyra's jaw clenched. Her eyes flicked to the tent flap, where the dim glow revealed Selene's fragile form. Normally unshakable, her stance now betrayed something rare—a quiet, gnawing worry. Elise noticed it immediately, as did Shawn, exchanging a brief, unspoken glance.
"I've been asking myself the same thing," she said, voice steady but low, heavy with thought. "The wounds close… but it's not her magic. It's the body itself. Slow. Stubborn. Unforgiving."
Elise's arms crossed. "So… she can save others… but not herself? That's a cruel joke"
Lyra's mind flashed back unbidden: Selene, just nights ago, carrying her supper with a shy, fleeting smile. Lyra had noticed the bandage on her hand—the cut that refused to heal. She had asked lightly then, brushing it off. Now, the memory cut sharp.
"It seems that way. Her power doesn't touch her," Lyra whispered, almost to herself. "Maybe it only works outward… on others. Never on her own wounds."
Elise frown "what kind of power is that?"
Shawn's face darkened. His eyes flicked toward the tent. "Then every time she uses it… does it cost her?"
Lyra's gaze lingered on the closed flap. Her chest tightened. Selene's gift was no gift at all. A power that could save lives… but demanded a price too cruel to name.
"That's why we return to Oakhart," Lyra said finally, her voice cutting through the night like steel. "If there's anywhere that holds answers… it's there."
"The King's Royal Library?" Elise whispered, reverent. "They say the King of Oakhart holds knowledge from centuries past… more than any kingdom alive today. Secrets long forgotten."
Lyra's eyes gleamed, lantern light catching the edge of her resolve. "We need to know what she truly carries… and what it will cost her."
The night seemed to hold its breath around them, heavy with unspoken truths. The journey ahead was perilous—but necessary.
The next day, The training ground, once empty and somber, now hummed with energy. The air buzzed with the sound of cords snapping back, stones whistling through the air, and the steady thwack of projectiles striking wood. Rory stood at the center of it all, his movements precise and deliberate. Even the older boys who once scoffed at him now watched in silence, their skepticism replaced by something closer to respect.
He held the slingshot with a new kind of focus, every motion measured, every shot calculated. Beside him, Finn tracked each stone with wide eyes as they arced across the field, hitting the makeshift targets with a satisfying crack.
Then, from the treeline, a small crowd of children emerged. They approached cautiously, their steps slow, their eyes fixed not on Elise or Finn, but on Rory. Alex, Elera, and several others who had followed Rory before—children who had been scarred, frightened, even traumatized by that reckless choice—were among them. For days, their fear had kept them away, draining all interest from training. Yet the story spreading through camp had reignited their curiosity. Whispers of an orc felled by Rory had drawn them back.
"Rory! We heard you killed an orc!" one called out, voice high with awe.
Alex stepped forward, wonder written plain on his face. "You were amazing!"
"It's true!" Enzo blurted, his small frame practically vibrating with excitement. "Big sister Selene, Livy, and I were there gathering herbs. There were two orcs."
Gasps rippled through the group. Whispers spread like sparks.
"Rory blinded one and killed the other!" a voice exclaimed.
Rory stared at the slingshot in his hand. It suddenly felt heavier, as though the wood itself bore the weight of their belief. His throat tightened. "I didn't kill it," he said, his voice low, almost swallowed by the silence. "It was… an accident. I only meant to blind it so we could run."
But Enzo surged forward, his excitement refusing to be tempered. But Enzo surged forward, his excitement spilling over. "Because you blinded the first one, the General finished it off with ease. Then the second orc charged!" He mimed!" He mimed the monster's lumbering stride, his hands clutching at his own throat. "You aimed again—missed—but the next stone—" He gave a dramatic gurgle, staggering backward as though choking.
A hush fell over the children. Some shuddered, others leaned in, their eyes wide. The fear was real, but so was the awe.
For Rory, though, something else stirred. A strange, dizzying pride rose in him, a heat that spread through his chest. He had faced the monster. He had won.
A grin broke across his face, shaky but wide. "I… I did it." The slingshot in his grip no longer felt like a toy. It was a wand of power, a weapon that had transformed him from a frightened boy into something more.
But just as quickly, the memory of Selene's collapse struck him like a blow. Her pale face, her body limp as her gift drained her. The grin faltered. His voice dropped. "But… Selene still got hurt."
Enzo's grin was bright, almost defiant. "She's better! She woke up!"
The news was like a spark to dry tinder. Cheers burst from the children, their voices filling the air with relief and joy. The dread that had lingered since the attack broke apart, replaced by celebration.
Elise let it swell for a moment before her voice cut clean through the noise. "That is why we train."
The cheers faded into silence. Every eye turned to her.
Her gaze swept the group, hard and sharp. "It's not about being a hero. It's about being ready. Because when you are not, the people you care about get hurt."
She pointed to the slingshots clutched in their hands. "These are not toys for telling stories. They are tools. Tools for saving lives."
Rory's mind flashed with memory—the General's voice, steady and commanding, the day she had first placed the slingshot in his hand: This is not a toy. It is a tool of precision. A way to defend your home without standing before your enemy. A way to feed your family when the hunt is hard. Used properly and strategically, this can break bones. Puncture organs. Protect lives.
He straightened, the echo of those words steadying him.
Elise's voice carried on. "Selene is a healer, but she cannot be everywhere at once. The General cannot be here every time a monster comes. That is why we train. For Selene. For each other. For every life that might one day depend on you."
The children looked down at their slingshots. The weight of the wood felt different now—heavier, real. They looked back at Elise and nodded, understanding dawning.
Rory's grip tightened, his expression shifting. No longer the wide-eyed boy who had chased rabbits and trembled at shadows—he was someone who understood responsibility, the cost of bravery, and the value of preparation.
Being a hero wasn't about glory. It was about survival, strategy, and the courage to act when the moment demanded it.
Lyra remained at the edge of the field, eyes flicking back toward the healer's tent. Though she did not speak, Shawn and Elise could see it clearly: for the first time in ages, the General's worry had bled through her armor, a silent testament to the cost of caring. And Rory, unknowingly, had felt it too, carrying it forward in the precise arc of his next shot.