Eila was practically humming with energy on her first official day at the infirmary. Dressed in a simple linen healer's robe, she moved with quiet focus as she assisted patients who had come in with common ailments — fevers, scrapes, joint pains. Her touch was gentle, glowing faintly with her Moon-blessed healing aura, and within moments, the pain in their eyes would vanish. One older woman even held her hands and whispered, "Bless the Moon Goddess for sending you to us."
Word spread quickly, and soon, curious glances from the other healers turned into nods of admiration. Some even asked her for pointers on how to sense the energy lines within the body — a technique Eila had barely learned to name, let alone explain. The air buzzed with curiosity and whispers.
All, that is, except for one pair of eyes — sharp and unimpressed.
Rosalie, the Head Healer, stood tall at the far end of the room, arms folded, lips pressed into a tight line. With her graying braid and steely expression, she radiated the authority of decades of experience. She didn't say a word until Eila had finished tending to a young boy's twisted ankle — her healing aura flickering like moonlight around his leg.
"Eila. My office. Now," Rosalie said, voice firm.
Eila followed, a twinge of nervousness creeping into her chest.
Rosalie closed the door behind her and turned with an expression that hovered somewhere between frustration and concern. "You're reckless."
Eila blinked. "I was only—"
"You're using too much magic on minor injuries," Rosalie interrupted, her tone clipped. "This isn't about whether you can heal, girl. It's about when you should."
Eila lowered her gaze. "I thought I was helping…"
"You were. And that's the problem." Rosalie's eyes softened just slightly. "If you keep healing every bump and bruise, soon the others will start seeing you as a threat. Your power is miraculous — but it also undermines the years of work we've built with herbs, poultices, and skill. You must be wise with your gifts, Eila. Even the Moon Goddess gave her children limits."
Eila swallowed hard. "So… what do I do?"
"Reserve your magic for those who truly need it," Rosalie instructed. "And starting tomorrow, I want you to learn herbal healing as well. If one day your powers fail or are drained, knowledge will be your only weapon. Understood?"
"Yes, Head Healer," Eila whispered.
Though her heart stung from the reprimand, she understood Rosalie wasn't just being harsh. She was protecting her — and the harmony of the infirmary.
Her shift ended in quiet reflection. She trudged through the stone halls of the medical wing and made her way to Nina's office. When she knocked lightly, the older woman looked up from her desk and frowned.
"Who scolded you?" Nina asked, sharp as ever.
Eila offered a sheepish smile. "Was it that obvious?"
Nina crossed her arms. "Spill it."
Eila recounted everything — Rosalie's disapproval, the warning, and the subtle threat that others might turn against her.
By the end, Nina looked ready to storm the infirmary herself.
"I should have a word with her—"
"No," Eila said quickly. "Please don't. She wasn't wrong. It… it actually made sense. I need to learn balance. Not everything can be fixed with a glowing hand and a burst of magic."
Nina studied her, then nodded slowly. "Wise words. Still, I'll be keeping an eye on Rosalie."
With a smile, she fetched a warm bowl of lamb soup and a thick slice of bread. "Eat. You're probably running on fumes."
Eila didn't argue. The warmth of the food soothed the chill inside her bones, and the tightness in her chest loosened with every bite. By the time the soup was gone, she felt herself again — lighter, focused, and determined.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of arcane lessons. Nina had her focus on energy channeling, symbol etching, and elemental alignment — fundamental magic skills Eila had never formally studied. But with Nina's patient guidance, she was catching on quickly.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in strokes of crimson and gold, Eila sent a mind-link message to her mother.
"I'll head straight to the pack house for the full moon ceremony. Don't wait up. Love you."
Her mother replied warmly, her voice still a little hoarse from recovery but full of pride: "We'll be watching, sweetheart. Be safe."
Eila packed up her notes and stepped outside into the cool twilight breeze. The night felt charged — not just with the magic of the moon rising, but with the promise of change. Tonight, Michael would face his turning point. She wanted to be there. She had to be there.
But just as she reached the outer edge of the pack house ceremonial grounds, a familiar scent drifted toward her — musky, rich, and impossibly intoxicating.
She turned sharply.
Her breath caught in her throat as she faced the one approaching.
"Leonard," she whispered.
He stood there, eyes gleaming like starlight beneath the silver moon, his presence wrapping around her like a shield and a storm all at once.