Page 55 of Cursed Dreams
Cellen pushed a hand through his copper hair, exhaling slowly. “Have you tried magical intervention? Something stronger than what’s already been attempted?”
“I have consulted the senior healers,” Elric admitted. “We attempted a direct infusion of light magic this morning, but the reaction was… violent.”
Thalia’s breath hitched. “Violent how?”
Elric’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It caused himpain. Excruciating pain. His body rejected it entirely.”
Thalia’s heart sank. That wasn’t normal. Fae magic was supposed to heal, not harm.
“Then what do we do?” Nyla asked, voice quiet but firm.
Elric straightened, his gaze sweeping over each of them, studying their faces. “We go see him.”
Thalia’s throat went dry.
“We must remain strong and professional,” Elric continued. “I know Aric is a wonderful patient, and I understand that you have all grown fond of him. But your emotions must not cloud your judgment. He needs your best care, and his wife and child need your support now more than ever.”
Thalia’s chest tightened at the mention of Aric’s family. She had spent enough time with them to see the deep love his wife had for him, the adoration in his daughter’s wide eyes.
He couldn’t die.
Not when he had so much to live for.
She clenched her hands into fists, forcing away the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to rise in her chest.
Professional. Focused. Strong.
She could do that.
She had to.
Elric gave them one last measured glance before gesturing toward the door. “Come. Let’s not waste any more time.”
With a shared breath, the four of them followed
The room was quiet, save for the faint crackling of the fireplace and the rasp of Aric’s laboured breathing. The air inside was thick with sickness, carrying the faint scent of herbs and candle wax, but beneath it all, there was something heavier—a sense of finality that settled like a weight in Thalia’s chest.
A priestess stood near the bedside, her hands glowing with a soft golden light as she gently pressed a damp cloth to Aric’s forehead. She worked quietly, her brows furrowed in concentration, though Thalia could see the underlying worry in her eyes.
Aric lay propped against several pillows, his once solid frame now frail, his skin sickly pale, almost translucent. A soft green shimmer still lingered along his forearms, fading slowly, but it had clearly left him weaker than before. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling at an uneven rhythm.
Across the room, his wife sat beside their daughter, her slender fingers absently stroking the little girl’s dark curls as she slept curled up in a chair far too big for her. The exhaustion in her features was evident, deep shadows beneath her eyes, her usually warm brown gaze dulled with worry and grief.
She looked up as they entered, her voice breaking with quiet desperation. “Master Elric… has there been any progress?”
Elric offered her a gentle nod, stepping forward to place a hand on Aric’s shoulder, feeling the weak pulse at his wrist. He took a long moment to examine him, checking the heat of his skin, the slow sluggishness of his body as Aric barely stirred at the contact.
When he finally spoke, it was soft, so achingly gentle that Thalia’s stomach tightened in dread.
“I am so sorry,” Elric said, his voice laced with quiet sorrow. “But we have done all we can.”
A single breath.
A moment of silence.
Aric’s wife let out a shattered sob, her fingers tightening around her daughter's small frame as her shoulders shook with grief.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, there has to be something else. He, he’s still here, he’s still fighting,”
