Chapter 169: Before the Hunger — The Lord of Mercy (Part I: The Girl Who Refused to Let Go)
"Mercy is not the opposite of strength.
It is strength choosing not to destroy."
— Inscription above the Hall of Healers in the Kingdom of Elyndor
The eastern deserts valued knowledge.
The northern valleys valued resilience.
Far to the southwest...
Another kingdom cherished something else.
Life.
The Kingdom of Elyndor was unlike any other nation on the continent.
Rolling green hills stretched beyond the horizon, broken only by winding rivers that reflected the morning sun. Orchards bloomed throughout the seasons through careful Aether cultivation, and white stone villages rested among fields of lavender and golden wheat.
Weapons were carried here.
But rarely drawn.
The greatest honor in Elyndor was not becoming a knight.
It was becoming a healer.
Its people believed that saving one life was equal to winning a hundred battles.
Many kingdoms mocked them for such ideals.
History would one day prove that compassion was far more difficult than war.
The House of Healing
In the village of Rivershade, the House of Healing never closed.
Day or night, its lanterns burned with a soft emerald glow, welcoming anyone who sought help.
Inside, dozens of healers worked together.
Some stitched wounds.
Others brewed medicine.
Children carried water while elders comforted frightened families.
No one asked about wealth.
No one asked about status.
Pain made everyone equal.
Among them moved a young girl.
She couldn't have been older than thirteen.
Her name was Myra.
The Apprentice
"Slowly."
Master Healer Elian guided her hands.
"If you rush because you're afraid..."
"...your patient will become afraid too."
Myra nodded, taking a slow breath before carefully wrapping a hunter's injured arm.
Her movements were gentle.
Almost instinctive.
The hunter smiled.
"That feels much better."
She smiled back.
Not proudly.
Relieved.
Elian noticed.
"You don't celebrate success."
He observed.
"I celebrate that they're alive."
Myra answered.
The old healer smiled to himself.
Some lessons couldn't be taught.
Only discovered.
A Small Funeral
Not every patient survived.
That afternoon, the village gathered beneath an ancient willow tree.
A child named Tomas had died from a fever.
The illness had spread too quickly.
Every remedy had failed.
Rain fell softly as villagers placed white flowers upon the small wooden coffin.
Myra stood silently at the back.
Her hands trembled.
After everyone left...
She remained.
"Why?"
She whispered.
"We tried everything."
No answer came.
Only the gentle rustling of leaves.
The Promise
That evening, Elian found her sitting beside the river.
She hadn't moved for hours.
"I failed him."
She said without looking up.
Elian sat beside her.
"No."
"I couldn't save him."
"You couldn't."
The honesty surprised her.
She turned.
"I thought you'd tell me it wasn't my fault."
The old healer shook his head.
"Sometimes..."
"It is our fault."
She stared at him.
"And sometimes..."
He continued.
"...we simply aren't enough."
Silence settled between them.
Finally, Myra spoke.
"I don't want anyone else to die."
Elian smiled sadly.
"Neither do I."
She looked toward the flowing river.
"Then I'll become someone who can stop it."
"A healer?"
"A better one."
She answered.
"No matter how long it takes."
A Traveler Arrives
Several weeks later...
A traveler entered Rivershade.
A weathered cloak.
A wooden staff.
A satchel worn by countless journeys.
Walking beside him...
A silver-haired young man balancing an impossible number of books.
The villagers welcomed them warmly.
Travelers always brought stories.
Myra noticed them immediately.
Not because they looked unusual.
Because the older man walked straight toward the House of Healing.
Almost as though...
He already knew where it was.
The Lesson
Inside, Astraeus quietly watched the healers work.
He said nothing for nearly an hour.
Finally...
He asked Myra,
"Why did you become a healer?"
She answered without hesitation.
"So no one has to lose someone they love."
He nodded.
"A noble reason."
She smiled.
"But?"
He chuckled.
"You've met people like me before."
She folded her arms.
"A few."
Astraeus looked around the room.
"You'll save many lives."
His voice became quieter.
"But one day..."
"You'll meet someone you cannot save."
The smile disappeared from her face.
"I'll work harder."
"I know."
"And I'll become stronger."
"I know."
"And then I'll save them."
Astraeus looked at her with kindness.
"I hope you do."
For some reason...
His answer frightened her more than if he had disagreed.
The Common Thread
That night, Astraeus wrote in his journal while Auren read nearby.
"Another one?"
Auren asked.
The Wanderer nodded.
"She carries mercy."
"The blacksmith carried hope."
"The scholar carries curiosity."
Auren closed his book.
"They're remarkable."
"They're human."
Astraeus corrected.
"And that's what worries me."
Far beyond Rivershade
Across a battlefield where two kingdoms fought over land neither truly needed...
Hundreds of wounded soldiers lay abandoned between the armies.
Their cries echoed into the night.
The wind carried those voices for miles.
Toward Rivershade.
Toward Myra.
She stood awake beside her bedroom window, listening.
Her heart ached for people she had never met.
She made another promise.
One day...
She would heal everyone.
No matter where they were.
No matter who they fought for.
No matter the cost.
Far away...
Hidden beneath crimson crystal...
Something ancient smiled.
Not because she sought power.
Because she believed...
No life should ever be beyond saving.
And that belief...
Would one day become the very chain that bound her.