Then one day, amidst the ruins of a remote village, Zahrah knelt beside a dying child whose illness had no known cure. She closed her eyes, placed her hand over the child's heart — and something ancient stirred within her. A warmth, a pulse of divine light, flowed from her fingers. The child opened his eyes.
Word spread like wildfire.
Zahrah, once known as the flower of the valley, was now whispered among the people as "the healing wind."
She began researching tirelessly, using her gift not to replace science, but to advance it. She created medicines that reversed incurable diseases. Her laboratories became sanctuaries — where compassion was the first ingredient, and hope the second. She healed the blind. Restored the limbs of the wounded. Slowed the decay of rare illnesses.
But she never charged a coin.
To those she healed, she only asked, "Pass it on. Help someone else. Love harder."
Aydin stood beside her through it all — sometimes her shield, sometimes her wings, but always her peace. He often said, "Zahrah doesn't heal because she must. She heals because she remembers what it feels like to be broken."
And she did.
Not long ago, she had been forgotten, abandoned, torn apart.
Now?
Now she was the hand that held the world together — quietly, gently, like a mother holding her child close after a nightmare.