Madame Clara stared over the rim of her sharp spectacles, her face unimpressed.
"Three days?"
the grumpy tailor repeated, crossing her arms. "You want three whole days off? What in the world for, Roya?"
Roya blinked, her mind entirely focused on the upcoming surgery. She hadn't prepared a lie. "My... roof is leaking. And the door broke. I have to stay home to guard the kitchen from... aggressive stray goats."
Clara stared at her in dead silence.
"Goats," Clara said flatly.
"Yes. Very fierce ones," Roya nodded solemnly.
Clara sighed, rubbing her temples. She knew the girl was lying, but looking at Roya's hollow, deeply exhausted violet eyes and her newly purple hair, the tailor's strict demeanor softened. "Fine. Three days. But don't expect to be paid for them, Little Miser. Go deal with your goats."
Roya rushed home. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She didn't waste a second.
She boiled a large pot of water, brought over several clean, warm towels, and arranged them neatly by the bed. She locked the broken door as best as she could and drew the ragged curtains, plunging the freezing room into shadow.
Roya sat on the edge of the bed. Elara's skin was pale blue, covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat. Her breathing was dangerously shallow.
"I'm going to fix this, Mom," Roya
Whispered.
She gently placed both hands on her mother's freezing chest.
Roya closed her eyes and unleashed her Aether. The deep, vibrant purple energy surged out of her palms, wrapping around Elara's body until she was completely encased in a thin, glowing aura.
Roya dove into the microscopic world.
Instantly, the temperature in the room made sense. The Frost-Vein disease wasn't like the natural bacteria in the rabbit. The viruses had mutated.
They had clumped together, forming massive, dense clusters that clung to the walls of Elara's blood vessels like jagged blockades of ice.
Roya summoned her Aether threads, their microscopic, razor-sharp edges leading the charge, and struck the nearest cluster.
Clink.
The thread bounced off. Roya gritted her teeth and pushed harder, striking it again. It only chipped away a microscopic fraction of the virus.
(Are you kidding me?) Roya's mind reeled in horror. (There are hundreds of these blockades! If I just chip away at them like this, it will take weeks.
Her heart will give out before I even clear her arm!)
Panic threatened to break her concentration, but the realist in her ruthlessly suppressed it. She needed a new plan.
(Think. They're like ice. Ice doesn't just need to be cut... it needs to melt.)
Instead of simply attacking, Roya pulled deep from the core of her chest. She channeled the immense, comforting warmth of her Aether, flooding it directly into her mother's veins. She engulfed the jagged virus clusters in overwhelming,
concentrated heat.
Slowly, agonizingly, the clusters began to soften. Their rigid structures weakened.
The moment they softened, Roya struck. The sharp edges of her threads snapped forward, severing the weakened viruses and completely breaking the blockades apart.
It worked. But the toll it took on Roya was devastating.
Hours bled into a full day. The sun set, plunging the house into darkness, but the room remained illuminated by Roya's fierce purple glow. Her muscles cramped. Her throat burned with severe dehydration. Her hands shook violently under the immense mental strain of holding the heat while simultaneously controlling hundreds of microscopic threads.
A second day passed. The sunlight filtered through the cracks in the walls, tracking across the floorboards.
Roya didn't move. She didn't eat. She didn't drink. She held onto her mother by pure, unadulterated stubbornness.
(Don't stop...) Roya chanted in her mind, her consciousness blurring at the edges.
(Almost there... snap the threads... melt the ice...)
On the evening of the second day, the final cluster shattered. The Frost-Vein disease was completely eradicated from Elara's bloodstream.
Roya pulled her trembling hands back. The purple Aether vanished from the room.
Through half-open, exhausted eyes, Roya saw her mother's pale blue skin slowly returning to a healthy, warm peach. For a split second, Elara's heavy eyelids fluttered open, looking at her daughter.
Roya smiled weakly. Then, her vision went completely black, and she collapsed unconscious onto the wooden floor.
Warm sunlight was hitting her face.
Roya groaned, her entire body aching as if she had been trampled by a horse. She slowly forced her violet eyes open, expecting to see the dusty floorboards.
Instead, she was lying comfortably in the bed.
She blinked, confused. Then, she felt a warm, gentle hand softly stroking her deep purple hair.
Roya snapped her head up.
Sitting beside her, bathed in the morning sunlight looking out the window, was her mother. Her skin was warm. Her eyes were clear. For the first time in two years, Elara wasn't shivering.
"Mom?" Roya whispered, her voice cracking.
Elara looked down, tears instantly welling in her eyes. "My strong little bird."
Roya threw her arms around her mother's waist, burying her face into her chest. The tough, cold exterior of the Little Miser
shattered entirely. Roya sobbed, clinging to her mother like the child she truly was.
Elara hugged her back tightly, resting her chin on Roya's purple head. "I'm so sorry, Roya," she wept softly. "I'm so sorry for leaving you alone... for making you suffer through this."
"You're awake," Roya cried, her voice muffled against her shirt. "That's all that matters. You're awake."
One Month Later
The village of Oakhaven was bustling.
A month had brought massive changes to the small, muddy house at the edge of the woods. Elara was not only walking again, but she was cheerfully doing light household chores, her laughter filling the once-silent home.
Roya, ever the practical realist, had immediately weaponized her new powers.
She had opened a small, makeshift clinic in their living room.
She didn't advertise the glowing purple magic, of course. She just claimed she had found her father's old medical journals. For a handful of copper coins, she could cure a merchant's sprained ankle or a farmer's deep infection in a matter of minutes. The "Little Miser" was finally getting paid properly.
Today, Roya walked proudly through the crowded market, her pockets jingling with hard-earned coin. Her dark purple hair was tied back, drawing stares, but she ignored them.
As she stopped by the bakery to buy fresh, warm bread for once,
she tuned into the gossip of the traveling merchants.
"I'm telling you, it's a miracle,"
a silk trader said to a blacksmith.
"The Holy Church sent a group of their priests to the nearby village.
They can heal any disease in an instant. Just a flash of white light, and the sick are cured! The Holy people are truly blessed by the heavens."
Roya paused, her violet eyes narrowing. (Healers? Instant cures? Sounds exactly like Aether... but wrapped in religion.)
"Forget the priests," another merchant scoffed, lowering his voice. "Have you heard the news from the East? The King of Lorin is dead."
The blacksmith gasped. "Lorin? But that kingdom is richer than ours combined! Who takes the throne?"
"No one knows," the merchant whispered.
"The princes are already at each other's throats. If Lorin falls into civil war, the trade routes will collapse. It's going to be chaos."
Roya filed the information away in her incredibly sharp mind. Rich kingdoms, civil wars, and Holy healers who used suspicious magic.
The world outside Oakhaven was moving fast.
She bought her bread and began the walk home.
She paused by the side of the dirt road. The massive rice fields had already been harvested, leaving the golden, empty stalks swaying gently in the breeze. She took a deep breath of the fresh, sweet air.
Her mother was safe. Her magic was growing. For the first time in her life, Roya felt ready for whatever the world threw at her.
(Bring it on,) she thought, a confident, sharp smile spreading across her face.
[Two Years Later] in next chapter