Katrina's POV
The chaos of the battlefield still felt too fresh in my mind, the echoes of screams and the scent of blood lingering in the air.
But it wasn’t the sight of Dorian’s lifeless body that had me frozen in place, it was Adolphus, lying unconscious before me, his body still and pale, with no sign of life.
I hadn’t been able to heal him. No matter how many times I pressed my hands to his skin, the surge of my power refused to respond.
My energy didn’t connect with him. It was like there was a barrier, something I couldn’t break through, and I had never felt more helpless in my life. Every minute that passed without him waking felt like an eternity, and my mind spiraled deeper into panic.
“Why isn’t it working?” I whispered to myself, my voice shaky as I pressed my palm to his forehead again. His skin was so cold. Please, Adolphus, I thought, don’t leave me now.
The pack doctor, a woman with steady hands and an air of professionalism, worked efficiently beside me. I saw her take a vial of some dark liquid and inject it into Adolphus’ arm, then move to Cassandra, who was still unconscious and bleeding.
My heart clenched for her too, but it was Adolphus I was focused on. His injury had been the worst, the gaping wound in his abdomen still not responding to any of my healing attempts.
I wasn’t sure what Dorian had done to him, but I had never felt more powerless.
“How is he?” I asked the doctor again, my voice barely above a whisper. “Will he be alright?”
The doctor didn’t respond immediately, her eyes focused on Adolphus’ still form. She checked his vitals, her fingers working quickly, but her silence spoke volumes. It wasn’t reassuring.
My heart thundered in my chest. I didn’t need her to say it aloud, I could feel the weight of the worry hanging between us.
Finally, after what felt like forever, she turned to me, her face grim. “We need to move him to the recovery room. There’s nothing more we can do for him here.”
“But—” I began, my throat tight, “he’ll be fine, won’t he?”
She didn’t answer me. Instead, she turned to one of the attendants, a young man who had been assisting her. “Take her out of here,” she ordered.
My breath caught in my throat. “What?” I asked, voice rising in panic. “No! I won’t leave him!”
The attendant approached me gently but firmly, his hands at my shoulders. “Ma’am, you have to step outside. The doctor needs to work.”
I shook my head, backing away from him. “No. I’m not going anywhere until I know he’s going to be okay. I can help! I can.”
But the doctor wasn’t listening. She wasn’t saying anything at all, just moving forward with her preparations. In a blur of motion, the attendant’s hand was on my arm, gently, but with enough force to pull me out of the room.
The door shut behind me with a soft click, and I felt my heart break all over again.
“Please,” I whispered to no one in particular, “please, Adolphus, don’t leave me.”
I stood there, frozen, my hands trembling. The hall felt unnaturally quiet. The stillness of it was suffocating.
“Are you alright?” a voice asked, and I turned around, startled. Standing in front of me was the pack’s shaman. Her dark eyes were intense, almost piercing, as she studied me.
The air around her seemed to hum with energy, and I instinctively knew she could sense my pain. She didn’t speak again, but her presence, somehow, made me feel like I wasn’t entirely alone.
“I… I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “My powers aren’t working. I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t—”
“You are not the only one who can help,” she interrupted me, her voice low and steady.
I frowned, confusion clouding my mind. “What do you mean?”
Without another word, she motioned for me to follow her. I didn’t question it, I had questions of my own, questions that had been swirling in my mind ever since the battle began.
I needed to understand why I couldn’t heal Adolphus and Cassandra, and I needed to know if there was a way to save them.
I followed the shaman as she led me through the corridors, her pace deliberate, her steps sure.
She brought me to a small, dimly lit room, the air filled with the smell of herbs and incense.
There were stones scattered across the floor, and shelves filled with books and artifacts I didn’t recognize. I took a seat as instructed, trying to calm the frantic thoughts in my mind.
The shaman didn’t speak immediately. She simply sat across from me, her eyes still studying me. “Spread your hands,” she instructed after a moment.
I did as she said, my hands trembling slightly as they rested on my knees. The shaman stared at my fingers for a long moment, and I could feel her energy swirling around me.
Then, she asked me to fold my hands and close my eyes. I hesitated but did it anyway, trusting her for reasons I couldn’t explain.
The world around me seemed to dissolve.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else, somewhere distant. It was as though I was seeing through someone else’s eyes. I watched as a woman, an older version of myself, but not quite, stood on a battlefield, her eyes fierce and determined. The world around her was a blur of fire and smoke, and yet she moved with purpose. I gasped, recognizing her immediately.
It was my mother.