Page 62 of Cursed Dreams
"I’m sorry," he murmured.
Thalia let out a shaky breath, her eyes burning.
It had all been for nothing.
All the searching, all the desperate hope, Aric was going to die.
Her fingers dug into his sleeves, gripping the fabric as if she could will a different answer from him. "There has to be another way."
Vaelith exhaled slowly, his silver gaze filled with concern
"I wish there was,"
For the first time since she had met him, Thalia believed him.
Thalia didn’t know how long she stayed like that, pressed against Vaelith’s chest, her body wracked with silent, heaving sobs. Time felt like it had stretched and warped, an endless loop of grief, regret, and something darker curling in her stomach like poison.
Her fingers had twisted into the fabric of his tunic, gripping him like he was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.
She couldn’t stop seeing Aric’s face, his tired but ever-kind eyes, the warmth he still managed to show even when his body was failing him. She saw the way his daughter clung to him, the way his wife had looked at him like he was the centre of her entire world.
They were going to loose him.
Her mind whispered the awful, cutting truth:
You failed him.
For the first time since she had arrived at the temple, doubt crept in—a small, insidious voice curling through her grief.
Maybe I’m not meant to be a healer. I’m not good enough.
She had always thought that if she worked hard enough, studied long enough, dedicated herself completely, she couldsave people. That she could make a difference.
But Aric was going to die and no amount of knowledge, no amount of training, no amount of desperate hope could change that.
She had been so arrogant.
So certain that there was always a way. That if she just tried hard enough, she could outthink fate.
But fate had laughed in her face.
Another choked sob escaped her, she barely noticed when Vaelith’s arms tightened slightly, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles along her back.
Shhh,he murmured softly, his voice lower, gentler than she had ever heard it.
She hated that she found momentary comfort in it, hated that his warmth, his solid, steady presence, was the only thing anchoring her right now.
Gods, she felt so lost.
"You did everything you could," Vaelith murmured against the top of her head.
She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head against his chest.
"It wasn’t enough," she whispered, voice raw.
Vaelith was silent for a moment, his fingers still tracing slow, grounding patterns against her spine.
Softly, he whispered in her ear, "Don’t let this break you, little healer."
