The road home was longer than Mira remembered.
Even with the wagon they’d found—a miracle—with one wheel barely holding.
It groaned with every dip in the forest trail, and the canopy overhead was painted in hues of dusk, violet and gold bleeding through the leaves.
The cart creaked loudly as it rolled over another root.
Kael and Grey pulled it slowly along the forest path, both of them sweating, shoulders tense.
The air smelled of damp leaves and smoke, but the deeper they walked into the woods, the calmer things felt.
Mira sat near the front of the wagon beside Leila. The two of them hadn’t said much since they left the ruined chapel.
Behind them, Garron and Captain Alric lay still, both unconscious.
Garron’s breathing was shallow but steady. Alric hadn’t moved at all. The glowing seal on his chest—left by Veylar—still pulsed gently.
At the back of the wagon, the three assassins were tied up tightly. Thick green vines, conjured by Mira’s magic, held them in place.
They were still unconscious—or at least pretending to be.
Leila spoke first.
“How are they doing?”
Mira looked down at them. “Still the same.”
“Do you think they'll wake soon?” Leila asked.
“I hope so,” Mira whispered.
They went quiet again.
The only sounds were the creaking wheels and the soft grunt of Kael dragging the weight forward.
Grey didn’t complain, but Mira could see the stiffness in his arms.
Lucien and Cassian walked behind them, hands near their swords, eyes scanning the trees. Just in case.
Rook was somewhere ahead, checking if the road was clear.
Mira looked up at the trees overhead. The sky was turning orange now. Evening was close. Shadows stretched long across the path, and the light felt colder than it should.
A loud groan came from the front as Kael hit a rough patch. “Damn roots,” he muttered. “Feels like we’re dragging a whole house.”
“You want to switch sides?” Grey grunted.
Kael didn’t answer. He just kept walking.
The forest thinned as they moved farther along the trail. The trees opened up, and the path widened. Grass replaced mud. The light ahead turned brighter—softer.
Then, finally, the Elmhurst estate came into view—or what was left of it.
The once-grand manor was burning.
Flames licked up from broken windows. Parts of the roof had already caved in.
The front garden was torn apart—scorched earth, shattered stone, and bodies.
Dozens of city guards had gathered outside the gate.
Some were sitting or lying down, their armor cracked and bloodied. Others stood watch with vacant eyes, weapons still drawn, as if expecting another attack at any moment.
Mira’s heart sank.
Kael and Grey stopped pulling the wagon, eyes wide.
“Gods,” Kael muttered. “What a catastrophe.”
Lucien moved past them, walking quickly toward the nearest city guard. “How are you holding up? What’s the casualty count?”
The guard looked up slowly, face pale and streaked with ash. He recognized Lucien—and saluted weakly. “Your Highness… we’re still counting, but... it doesn't look good.”
“Please gather the wounded,” Mira said, climbing down from the wagon. Her voice was soft. “Let me heal them.”
“Mira-san!” The soldier’s eyes widened with joy. “Thank you. I’ll gather them at once.”
The soldier led Mira to the camps of the wounded, stepping over broken weapons and bloodied ground.
The smell of ash and burnt wood clung to the air, thick and choking.
Mira walked carefully, eyes scanning the wounded.
Some guards were propped against the trees, bleeding from deep gashes or burns. Others lay flat on the ground, barely conscious. A few had already been covered with cloth.
She took a slow breath and knelt beside the first man she saw—a guard clutching his side, his armor torn and soaked with blood.
“It’s all right,” she said gently, placing her hand over the wound. “You’re safe now.”
Her palm glowed faintly. Green light spread from her fingers like warm mist.
The man tensed for a moment, then slowly relaxed. The bleeding stopped. His skin began to close.
His eyes opened wide. “I… I can breathe again…”
“Don’t move too much yet,” Mira said softly. “Just rest.”
She stood and moved to the next one—a woman with a broken leg and bruises across her face.
One by one, she healed them. Cuts closed. Burns faded. Fever cooled. Her magic flowed steadily and quietly, like water over stone.
More guards gathered near her, some limping, others helping their wounded friends forward.
None of them spoke loudly. Some wept in silence. Others just stared.
“Mira,” Leila called gently from behind. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”
“I’m okay,” Mira said, wiping sweat from her brow. “Don’t worry.”
Lucien stood nearby, watching her with a quiet look on his face—part worry, part awe.
He’d never seen any healer manage this many wounded before.
Cassian joined him, arms crossed, eyes filled with admiration. “The Saintess of the South, she really deserve that name.”
Lucien nodded. “I know. I can’t even imagine how she hasn’t depleted her mana yet.”
Mira moved to the last patient—a young squire, barely more than a boy. His chest was wrapped in makeshift bandages, stained red.
He was still breathing, but barely.
Mira hesitated for a moment, then placed both hands on him. Her magic pulsed brighter this time. She closed her eyes and whispered something no one else could hear.
Slowly, the boy’s breathing steadied. His body stopped shaking. The red on the cloth stopped spreading.
When she opened her eyes, the sun had dipped lower in the sky. The last bit of warmth on her skin was fading into cold dusk.
She swayed slightly, and Leila rushed forward, catching her by the shoulder.
“Are you all right?” Leila asked firmly.
Mira nodded, eyes heavy. “Just… a few more…”
Leila shook her head. “There are no more, Mira.”
She looked toward the other side of the tent. “Those are... bodies.”
Mira looked around her. The wounded who had been crying were now sleeping. Those who could sit were sitting—bandaged and breathing.
And those who couldn’t be saved… had already been carried away.
She sank down beside a pile of sandbags and pulled her knees to her chest, resting her forehead against them.
A gentle breeze passed through the ruined courtyard, carrying with it the scent of ash and pine.
Behind her, Grey and Kael had finished securing the wagon near the tents.
Rook was talking with one of the surviving officers. Lucien was still watching her—silent, protective.
Mira sat in silence, her breaths slow and uneven. The weight of it all—the attack, the wounded, the near loss of her father—settled over her like a heavy cloak.
The light around them dimmed further as the sun sank behind the hills.
Fires still crackled in the ruins of the Elmhurst estate, casting flickering shadows across the courtyard.
No one said anything for a long while.
Leila sat down beside her, not speaking, just resting a hand gently on Mira’s back.
Across the courtyard, Lucien stepped away from the tent and made his way toward them. His boots crunched softly over gravel and ash.
“You saved more lives than I can count,” he said, stopping in front of her.
Mira didn’t look up. “But not all of them.”
“No,” Lucien said gently. “But more than anyone else could have.”
She closed her eyes. “It wasn’t enough.”
“It was more than enough,” he said. “Without you… this place would be a graveyard.”
Mira opened her eyes slowly. The pain behind them hadn’t faded. But she nodded, just a little.
Lucien offered a hand. “Come. You can rest in the wagon. I’ll pull you back to town.”
Mira hesitated, then took his hand and stood. Her legs trembled slightly, but Lucien steadied her.
“Where’s Rook?” she asked quietly.
"He's still with the officers," Lucien said, his voice heavy. "We're trying to piece together what's left of the command. Most of the senior guards... didn't make it."
“And the manor?” Mira glanced toward the still-burning building.
“Beyond saving,” Lucien let out a sigh.
Mira’s gaze drifted to the scorched remains of the manor. The place that had once been full of secrets and whispers was now nothing but smoke and rubble.
And somewhere under that wreckage… the answers to the Crimson Crow had likely burned with it.
Kael and Grey returned to the group, dirt-streaked and tired.
“I've borrowed horses and a new wagon from the guards,” Kael said. “We should be able to make it back tonight.”
“Then we’ll go now,” Lucien said. “We’re on a tight schedule.”
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