Elara's POV
The blade swings toward my throat.
I drop to the ground, Nessa crashing against my chest. The attacker's weapon slices through empty air where my head was a second ago.
"Run!" I scramble to my feet and sprint down the alley.
"Get her!" the leader shouts behind me.
My arms burn from carrying Nessa, but I don't stop. I can't stop. Footsteps pound behind me—getting closer.
I round a corner and slam straight into a merchant's cart. Apples explode everywhere, rolling across the cobblestones.
"Watch it!" the merchant yells.
I don't apologize. I vault over the cart and keep running. Behind me, I hear the attackers crash into the same obstacle. Angry shouting. Smashing wood.
It buys me seconds. That's all.
I duck into a narrow passage between buildings. My lungs scream for air. Nessa's dead weight makes my arms shake. But I push forward, diving deeper into the maze of the lower city.
The footsteps fade. I risk a glance back.
Empty. Did I lose them?
I press against a wall, gasping. Nessa's pulse flutters against my palm—weak but still there.
"Hold on," I whisper. "Just hold on."
And then the memories pull me under again, dragging me back to the worst day of my life.
THREE MONTHS AGO - THE TRIAL
"All rise for the High Council of the Royal Sanctum."
The Council chamber was packed with healers, nobles, and Church officials. Everyone who mattered. Everyone who used to respect me.
Now they all stared at me like I was a monster.
I stood alone at the center of the room, my hands bound in magic-suppressing chains. They were cold and heavy, draining what little strength I had left. I hadn't slept in three days. Hadn't eaten. All I could think about was Nessa, still unconscious in the medical wing.
The High Healer sat in the center chair, flanked by four senior Council members. His eyes, once warm when he taught me, now looked at me with disgust.
"Elara Thorne, you are accused of practicing forbidden dark magic." His voice echoed through the chamber. "How do you plead?"
"Not guilty." My voice shook. "I was researching curse-breaking to save my sister. That's all."
"Researching?" He slammed his hand on the table. "You broke into the restricted section! You stole books on necromancy! You violated every oath you swore as a healer!"
"My sister is dying!" Tears burned my eyes. "You said there was nothing you could do. Those books were my only hope—"
"Hope?" He laughed bitterly. "You call consorting with death magic hope? You call breaking sacred laws hope?"
"I call saving my sister whatever it takes!"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. I saw faces I knew—teachers who trained me, healers I worked beside, friends I laughed with. They all looked horrified.
The High Healer raised his hand for silence. "We have a witness who will testify to your crimes. Healer Mira Ashwood, please step forward."
My heart stopped.
Mira walked to the front, her head down. She still wouldn't look at me.
"Miss Ashwood, tell the Council what you saw."
Mira's voice was quiet. "Three weeks ago, I found Elara in the restricted section at midnight. She was reading books on necromancy and death curses. When I confronted her, she said she didn't care if it was forbidden. She said rules didn't matter."
"That's not what happened!" I lunged forward, but the chains yanked me back. "Mira, tell them the truth! You said you understood! You said you'd keep it secret!"
Mira finally looked at me. Her eyes were wet with tears. "I'm sorry, Elara. But I can't protect someone who practices dark magic. Even if she's my best friend."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
"You're lying," I whispered. "Why are you lying?"
But I knew why. I saw it in the way her eyes flickered to the right side of the room. Where Davrien stood with the other officers.
Where Davrien stood watching me fall apart.
"Commander Castor," the High Healer said. "As Master Thorne's fiancé, do you have anything to add?"
Everyone turned to Davrien. This was his moment to defend me. To tell them I was desperate, not evil. To explain I was trying to save my sister.
He stepped forward. My heart lifted with hope.
"I have no comment," he said flatly. "Except to say that I cannot, in good conscience, marry someone accused of dark magic. Our engagement is ended, effective immediately."
The room exploded in whispers.
I felt something inside me shatter. "Davrien—"
He turned his back on me. Walked away like I meant nothing.
"Order!" The High Healer banged his gavel. "The Council has heard enough. Elara Thorne, you are hereby stripped of your title as Master Healer. Your credentials are revoked. Your access to the Sanctum is forbidden. You are banished from practicing healing magic within the kingdom."
"No!" I struggled against the chains. "Please! I need access to the medical wing! My sister needs me!"
"Your sister will be cared for by qualified healers who don't dabble in darkness." His voice was ice. "You are dismissed. Guards, remove her."
They dragged me from the chamber. I fought, screamed, begged. Nothing mattered.
In the hallway outside, they released me from the chains and shoved me toward the exit.
I stumbled, catching myself against the wall. My hands were numb. My magic felt dead inside me, suppressed by the Council's judgment.
I heard voices ahead. Familiar voices.
I looked up.
Davrien stood at the end of the hallway. His hand was wrapped around Mira's. She was crying into his chest, and he was comforting her, stroking her hair.
They didn't see me. They were too wrapped up in each other.
"You did the right thing," Davrien murmured to her. "She was dangerous."
"I know. But she was my friend." Mira's voice broke. "This isn't how I wanted—"
"Shh. It had to be done." He tilted her chin up. "You and me now, okay? No more hiding."
Then he kissed her.
And I understood.
This wasn't about dark magic or protecting the Sanctum. This was calculated. Planned. They wanted me gone so they could be together. So they could take everything I had—my position, my reputation, my future.
They used Nessa's curse as their excuse to destroy me.
Rage burned through my chest, hot and sharp. But I didn't scream. I didn't cry.
I just turned and walked out of the Sanctum forever.
PRESENT
A hand clamps over my mouth from behind.
I try to scream, but the sound is muffled. Strong arms wrap around me, pinning my arms to my sides. Nessa tumbles from my grip.
"No!" I kick backward, connecting with shin bone.
The attacker grunts but doesn't let go. "Stop fighting. We're not going to hurt you."
That's when I realize—the voice is different. This isn't one of the cloaked attackers.
A figure steps in front of me. Not wearing black. Wearing grey traveling clothes, hood up. But I can see his eyes—sharp and intelligent.
"My name is Kieran," the man says calmly. "And if you want to save your sister, you need to come with me right now. Those men chasing you? They work for someone very powerful. Someone who doesn't want you reaching the Death Keeper."
"Why should I trust you?"
"Because—" He glances past me, his expression darkening. "They're coming back. And this time, they brought friends."
I hear it then. Multiple footsteps. Many voices.
The person holding me releases my mouth. "Your choice, healer. Come with us and maybe survive. Or stay here and definitely die."
I look down at Nessa, unconscious and dying.
Then at the shadows where the footsteps are getting louder.
"Fine," I gasp. "But if you hurt my sister—"
"We won't." Kieran scoops Nessa up easily. "Now run."