The storm raged outside, wind howling like the cries of the desperate souls that wandered the Lower Wards. Rain lashed against the walls of their small home, seeping through cracks and pooling in the corners of the wooden floor. Naida barely noticed.
Sweat clung to her brow as she worked, her hands were trembling as she crushed dried herbs and ground them into a fine powder. The scent of bitterroot and silverleaf filled the cramped space.
She moved with calmness, but there was — fear gnawing at her ribs. The mixture needed to be ready before Revik returned with Brian. If the healer was even willing to help.
Naida glanced at the cot. Lyra was curled up, breathing weakly. Sweat covered her forehead, and her fingers twitched as if reaching for something invisible. Naida clenched her jaw. Every passing moment chipped away at Lyra's strength, and all she could do was wait.
"Revik, where are you?" Naida whispered, her voice ws barely audible over the storm.
Beside Lyra, a small boy sat diligently patting her forehead with a rag. His name was Taron, an orphan from the Lower Wards with a stubborn streak and a heart too big for a place like this. His wide eyes filled with worry.
"She keeps mumbling," Taron said, glancing at Naida. "I don't know what she's saying."
Naida wiped her hands on her tunic and moved closer, kneeling next to Lyra's bed. When she touched Lyra's wrist, it felt ice-cold. Her pulse was weak, it was barely there. Taron sniffled beside her, and she reached out, ruffling his curls.
"She's strong," Naida murmured, though the words felt hollow. "She's not going anywhere."
The door creaked open, and Mother Sarina entered, leaning heavily on her wooden cane. The blind woman moved with careful steps,with her tattered shawl dragging along the floor. In her other hand, she clutched a wooden bowl of steaming porridge.
"Poor girl," Mother Sarina sighed, her milky-white eyes staring past them. Her voice quivered, thick with sorrow. "Poor, sweet child. Oh, her brother—"
She sucked in a sharp breath, as if holding back a sob, and Naida rolled her eyes. "Here we go," she muttered under her breath.
"I can feel it," Mother Sarina continuedl. "The strings of fate are fraying. The storm weeps for her. The gods—"
"—don't have time for this," Naida snapped, standing abruptly. "Unless you've got divine intervention in that porridge, feed her before she starves."
Sarina scoffed but shifted closer, setting the bowl on the small table beside the cot. "You lack reverence, child."
"I lack patience," Naida corrected. She kneeled beside Lyra again, slipping a hand beneath the girl's head and lifting it gently onto her lap. "Lyra, come on, wake up."
Lyra shook, her fingers moving slightly before gripping Naida's tunic. She opened her mouth and let out a weak whisper.
"Naida…"
"I'm here," Naida said, forcing her voice to remain calm "But I need you to open your mouth, alright? I have something that'll help."
Lyra's eyes twitched, but she didn't move, her breathing rough. Naida let out a sigh and tried once more, making her tone more playful.
"Lyra, if you don't drink this, I swear I'll start reading you the dullest history book I can find."
A small noise—half a laugh, half a groan—escaped Lyra's throat, but she made no move to obey. Taron bit his lip, looking between them anxiously.
"Think she'd wake up if I started singing?" Taron asked.
Naida smirked. "No, but she might fake death to make you stop."
"Brutal," Taron muttered.
Any lightheartedness disappeared as Lyra's body convulsed. She grabbed at Naida's tunic for a moment before going still. Her breath became uneven, and her skin turned worryingly pale. Naida's chest tightened. She could almost feel the life draining out of Lyra.
"Gods damn it," Naida hissed. She grabbed the vial of ground herbs, mixing it hastily into a cup of water. Bjt still Lyra needed something stronger—something that could jolt her awake before whatever was stealing her life took its final piece.
"Taron, You know the forest patch near the old apothecary?"
He nodded, fists clenched. "Yeah."
"There's a herb there, duskroot. Pale blue petals, smells like pine when crushed. Bring it back along with a clean cloth. Don't waste time."
Taron hesitated only a moment before bolting out the door, swallowed by the storm. Naida exhaled heavily, brushing wet trands of hair from Lyra's forehead. The girl's breathing was uneven, as if at any moment it might stop altogether.
"Stay with me, Lyra," she murmured, fingers gripping Lyra's cold hand. "Revik's coming. Just hold on."
The minutes dragged like hours as the storm outside raged on. Every so often, Mother Sarina let out a hum, muttering prayers Naida had no patience for. On the other hand the porridge sat untouched.
Then—
The door burst open, wind howling as Taron stumbled inside, soaked to the bone. He was panting, his small hands clutching a handful of herbs and a cloth.
"They're coming," he gasped. "They're coming!"
Naida's blood turned to ice. She stood to her feet, rushing to the window. Through the rain, she could see dark figures moving between the alleyways—closing in on their home.
"Shit," she breathed.
Heart hammering, she turned back to Taron. "Listen to me—go find Revik. He's at Brian's. Tell him to move his ass and get back here. Now."
"But—"
"Go!" she snapped, shoving him toward the door.
Taron hesitated, but Naida didn't have time for reassurance. She spun toward Lyra, snatching the herbs from the boy's trembling hands as he bolted back into the storm.
Her fingers worked quickly, crushing the duskroot into a paste, mixing it into the water before pressing the cup to Lyra's lips.
"Come on, Lyra," Naida murmured, lifting the girl's head once more. "I need you to drink this."
Lyra moved just a little, still trapped between sleep and being awake. Naida frowned, tilting the cup to let a tiny amount of liquid slide into Lyra's mouth. Lyra twitched, her weak fingers grasping Naida's wrist.
"That's it," Naida urged. "Don't make me force-feed you."
Naida exhaled slowly as Lyra's skin warmed slightly beneath her touch. She let out a quiet sigh, pressing the back of her hand to the girl's forehead. Not much of a difference, but it was something.
Then—
A thunderous bang rattled the door.