"What's wrong? Nothing's wrong, I swear."

  Garth narrowed his eyes as Rachel’s demeanor shifted, her usual confidence giving way to something more guarded.

  "Rachel." He placed his hands on her shoulders, locking eyes with her. "Tell me what's wrong. I promise—"

  "Garth, nothing is wrong. I need you to leave. Now."

  "Rachel, I don’t—"

  "What is going on here?"

  A sharp, authoritative voice cut through the tension, echoing behind Rachel and into Garth’s ears. He followed the sound, his gaze landing on the source of the interruption.

  His eyes widened as recognition struck.

  "What? Rachel, what’s going on?"

  The woman before them was a Nun of the Order of Divine Medicus—one of the revered healers found in every kingdom.

  Garth turned back to Rachel, confusion deepening. "I thought you said you'd never be a Medicus. What happened? Did your father—"

  "No," Rachel interrupted, shaking her head. "He can never make me do anything I don't want to."

  "Then what’s wrong?"

  This didn’t make sense. In his past life, she hadn’t joined Medicus training until a year later. This sudden shift wasn’t just unexpected—it was completely unnatural.

  "Release her at once," the Nun ordered, stepping forward as Garth instinctively tightened his grip on Rachel’s shoulders.

  "This has nothing to do with you," he said coldly.

  "How dare you speak to me in such a manner."

  The Nun raised her hand, a green glow radiating from her palm. A surge of dark energy washed over Garth, seeping into his skin. His veins darkened, turning black as a burning sensation coursed through his body.

  "Ahhh!" Garth screamed, scrambling onto his knees.

  "Garth!" Rachel shouted as she watched him fall and scream, his strength sapped in an instant. She turned sharply to the Nun, fury flashing in her eyes.

  "Stop it!"

  The Nun met her gaze, and when she realized what she had done, she didn't hesitate to let Garth go.

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  A little flustered, she fell her gaze.

  "Forgive me, Rachel. I msu have gone too far." She said, then walked toward Rachel and rose her head so as to meet her gaze. "I'll return to speak with you tomorrow. I do hope you aren't swayed in your decision." The Nun added with a gentle smile, before walking past Rachel.

  Upon reaching Garth, she frowned, before walking past him without giving a second glance.

  A few steps later, she vanished in a plume of light.

  Turning his sights to Rachel, she fell her gaze, unable to meet his.

  Silence lingered between them as they sat inside her home. Seconds stretched into minutes until Garth, unable to contain himself any longer, broke the quiet.

  "Why?"

  Rachel looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze.

  "You said you'd rather—"

  "I know what I said," she interrupted, voice firm.

  "Then make me understand because right now, I'm just full of questions."

  Still, she remained silent, her lips pressed together in a tight line.

  "Say something, Rachel."

  She exhaled slowly, as if gathering the strength to speak.

  "You… I'm tired… of seeing you go."

  Garth frowned. "Seeing me go?"

  "Yes. It’s that simple." She rose from her seat, but Garth grabbed her wrist before she could walk away.

  "What do you mean, Rachel?"

  "How do you not understand?" Her voice cracked. "I don't want you to die, Garth!"

  Her words hung in the air, heavy and raw.

  Garth clenched his jaw. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Rachel was supposed to work as a maid for three months. Then, after the capital was destroyed, they would escape to the Western Kingdom, where she continued as a maid, and he became an assistant to a researcher—his days as a warrior stolen by the injury he would sustain during the fall of the capital.

  So why was everything changing?

  "Damn it, Rachel. I'm not your responsibi—"

  "Don't give me that crap!" she snapped and pulled her hand free of Garth's grip. "It doesn't make sense—no, scratch that. It isn't even up for debate. If I have to suffer for a short time to secure our family's future, then so be it."

  "Rachel—"

  "But compared to you risking your life every time, just for scraps? It isn’t up for debate."

  "This isn’t about me or our families. It’s about you."

  "For heaven’s sake, Garth—"

  "No, stop." His voice softened. "You know what a Medicus goes through. Words can't even begin to describe the pain and suffering you'll endure. You'll come so close to death that surviving will feel like a curse."

  "I know, Garth. I’m fully aware—"

  "Then don’t do it. Please, Rachel."

  "I'm sorry." She distanced herself from him, turned toward the door to her room.

  "I won't let you do this."

  "You can't stop me, Garth."

  He clenched his fists. "This is about securing our family's future, right?"

  Her steps faltered.

  "Don't join the Order until the end of the week," he continued. "If I secure our family's future by then, you stay. But if I fail, you go."

  She spun around, disbelief etched onto her face. "You're speaking the impossible."

  "Just say you'll do it."

  Rachel hesitated, her mind warring between reason and hope.

  "It doesn’t really make a difference," she muttered. "Whatever you say, Garth."

  "Swear on it."

  Another pause.

  "I swear," she finally said, her voice quieter this time.

  A moment passed before she crossed her arms. "And what about you, then? After supposedly securing our future, will you still go to the raids?"

  He hesitated—too long for her liking.

  "One thing at a time," he said, looking away.

  Rachel sighed, unsure of what to say. Yet, despite the doubt gnawing at her, she decided to let him try.

  "Fine."

  "Good." Garth turned on his heel and bolted toward the exit door.

  "Where are you going!? What are you going to do?!" she called after him.

  "You don’t have to worry!" He stopped for a second, glancing back with a grin. "I’ll be back alive, and I’ll change everything!"

  Before she could respond, he dashed into the night.

  Rachel lingered in the doorway, staring after him, unsure whether to feel foolish or hopeful. Or foolish for being hopeful.

  She placed a hand over her chest, fingers brushing against the hidden necklace beneath her clothes.

  "Markus," she whispered. "I hope what I'm doing is right."

  Her expression darkened at the thought of her brother.

  A cracked, snot-filled voice suddenly cut through the silence.

  "That fool."

  Rachel flinched, twisting around.

  "Father!"

  "You made the right choice, my dear," her father said, his tone smug. His words made her skin crawl. He wasn’t supporting her decision—he was savoring his victory.

  Rachel’s irritation flared. Without another word, she brushed past him and disappeared into her bedroom.

  ***

  Garth moved through the capital with renewed determination. He had spent too long playing it safe, too long holding back. That was about to change.

  He wouldn’t just survive the next raid.

  He would escape—and he wouldn’t be leaving empty-handed.

  For hours, he scoured the markets, buying materials and ingredients. If he was going to pull this off, he needed to prepare.

  By the time he returned home, he had everything—except for a Celestial Catalyst. A single drop could boost one of his potions by fifty percent. Unfortunately, none had been available.

  Still, he wasn’t discouraged.

  Smirking, he set down his materials and cracked his knuckles.

  It was time to get to work.