Page 61 of Daughter of the Serpent

She paused, her eyes trailing back to her.

“And yet, with you... I sense that pain has been your constant companion.” Her gaze assessed her quietly, as if she could see straight through her. “While kindness - that is something you are completely unprepared for."

The silence stretched between them, but it didn’t feel hollow. Something unspoken had passed between them, a certain shared understanding. Her words pierced deep, and for a moment Sylvie felt a silver of recognition from one of the most unlikely sources.

“Thank you.” She whispered.

“Do not mistake my kindness for leniency.” Runa said quickly. “I will expect great things from you. As will the gods. Do not squander this chance.”

Runa made her way back toward her, her hand finding her shoulder. “Be strong. Hone your magic.” Her eyes darkened. “But do not be foolish. Do not hand your future away on things like whatever feelings you may possess for Haldor. Keep focused on the task at hand, and do not trust anyone - your sole focus should now be set on survival.”

Sylvie nodded, her new reality settling like a weight in her chest. Despite her childhood wishes for fame, to become a Drengr - she would have never imagined the cost. Overwhelm threatened toconsume her. As she turned towards the door, she left with the renewed gravity of her situation.

Her life had changed.

Everything had been turned upside down, and it would only continue to shift.

The deeper she stepped into herself, into her magic, into who she truly was, the further she drifted from her known reality - the temple, her long - held beliefs…Haldor. The thought cut deep, the realization sinking in as she pushed open the door, and walked past the threshold.

This was the beginning of the end.

Sylvie moved swiftly through the winding halls of the temple the next morning, her footsteps barely making a sound on the cold stone floor. She clutched her satchel tightly to her chest, the leather worn smooth from years of use, as she made her way to the healers’ rooms. She hesitated at the entrance, her fingers brushing against the carved wooden door before pushing it open. As she stepped inside, her eyes stayed pinned to the floor.

After recent events, she wanted to remain inconspicuous.

Despite herself, Runa’s words had hit deep, and she knew that she needed to be more vigilant than ever to keep prying eyes at bay, and feral tongues from wagging. All it took was one mistake, and the elders could seek to remove her from her training, her destiny, to likely meet a fate worse than both. It was no mystery that many wished her dead, and would be happy to see it so before she could ever have the chance at glory or redemption.

She couldn't let them.

From now on she had to follow every rule, every dictation - to the letter.

She would appease the gods. She would play the part the temple required - until she could face the trials.

The familiar scent of herbs and incense drifted through the air, mingling with the coppery tang of blood and sweat as she strode forward, weaving through the flurry of healers aiding the unusual influx of patients since the rune casting. Rows of cots lined the walls, each occupied by a figure in various states of distress.

Moans and cries of pain echoed through the crowded space, and Sylvie’s heart ached. Though magical healing was available, most refused. As was Mardovian custom, the sick and the injured were to only accept meager treatment, unless absolutely vital. This was to ensure strength of will and remove fear of pain. Most chose the suffering even when offered relief, to prove to themselves and to the gods that they were strong and worthy.

Sylvie’s heart tightened. As she took in all the suffering, she couldn’t help but draw it all in toward herself. Most days she left the healers' rooms exhausted, worn, and overwhelmed. She tried her best to help, bring comfort - yet there was only so much she could do. As her eyes scanned the many cots now filled with fellow students, some burnt and bloodied, others with freshly cracked bones, and others missing limbs - she felt the overwhelming urge to ease their pain.

She wondered after yesterday’s events, if she could.

For so many years she had assisted the healers, helping gather herbs, mix tonics, and create salves for healing, yet they could only do so much.

Yet magic -hermagic- had succeeded in truly healing pain at its source.

As she tuned into the energy around her, the place was a storm cloud of sorrow. There was only darkness that loomed, the soul stretched thin, the heart devoid and empty. She could feel their emotions, their agony and desperation pressing in on her mind. Somehow, just like before with Baldr, with Thyra - she was tuning into their pain, and she ached to heal it. Remove it for good. Ease theirtrue suffering. Like an open heart, cracked open and bare - she felt the pain that festered - not of the mind, the body, or flesh - but of the soul. She could feel her energy rising with this awareness, the overwhelm. Her hands were growing hot, her bodily temperature rising. Her fingers came to her temples, as she tried to hush the burning heat that had begun to overtake her body, to calm the sudden influx of energy.

“Sylvie?” A familiar voice cut through the haze of her focus, drawing her senses back to the present. She blinked, her surroundings coming into sharper view. The dim light filtering through the narrow windows cast a patchwork of shadows across the floor, tracing the outlines of beds filled with pale, weary faces. Her gaze flitted from one patient to the next until it settled on Thyra, who was propped up on a thin mattress, looking straight at her. Her long blonde hair was unbraided, a curtain of spun wheat that split down her shoulders framing her oval face. Her blue eyes were bright, like she was fresh as a summer rose despite the early hour. Thyra’s eyes lit up with recognition, a faint smile lifting her lips. Sylvie moved instinctively toward her, relief washing over her like a warm breeze.

“It is you.” Thyra whispered, her voice edged with surprise.

But as Sylvie approached, the mood in the room shifted.

She could feel it - eyes suddenly open and following her every movement, tension thickening the air now that they had been alerted to her presence. Patients shifted uncomfortably, their bodies recoiling, their faces a mix of suspicion and unease. A low murmur rippled through the room, sharp whispers that stung like thorns against her skin. Sylvie’s steps faltered, the warmth she had felt moments before cooling into something else - something cold and familiar.

Judgment.

Fear.