The house was smaller than Josselyn had imagined.
Its wooden walls looked fragile. The light from a few candles cast restless shadows in every corner of the room.
And in the center of it all, a young girl lay on the bed. She could not have been more than eleven.
Josselyn stopped in her tracks.
"She…"
Her voice caught in her throat. Her feet refused to move.
The girl was thin. Far too thin for her age. Her legs were wrapped in thin cloth, but their shape did not resemble healthy limbs.
There was no movement. No reaction. Only a faint breath that was barely audible.
"It's been years," the old man's voice rasped. "Since that day."
Josselyn turned slowly.
The man stood near the door. His eyes were red. His jaw was tight.
"She has never stood again."
Silence fell.
Howarth stepped closer. Slowly. Far too casually. He stopped right beside Josselyn and leaned down slightly.
"So," he whispered, low enough for only her to hear, "how are you going to heal her?"
Josselyn turned sharply. Discomfort flashed across her face.
"Why would you…"
"I told you, you had no idea what you were about to face, Josselyn," Howarth continued, a cynical smile curving his lips. "So now, I leave the Queen's recovery and the fate of Valenroth in your hands."
His words dripped with sarcasm. Josselyn knew it. Her hands clenched. Her chest burned with the urge to snap back. To say something.
But the voices around her rose again.
"Hurry up!"
"Prove it!"
"If not…"
Josselyn took a deep breath. Then let it out slowly.
"Quiet," she said.
Not loud. But enough to silence a few of them.
She closed her eyes briefly. Thinking.
'How…?'
Her thoughts spun, then a name surfaced. Josselyn opened her eyes and searched the room.
"Kael."
Kael stood in the corner. His eyes met hers, and he gave her a calm smile.
As if to say, You can do this.
Josselyn looked at him for a few seconds, then quickly walked over.
"Wait," she said.
She grabbed his arm and pulled him a little away from the crowd.
"Are you serious?" she whispered urgently. "I don't even know what I did yesterday."
Kael looked at her calmly.
"You do."
"I don't," Josselyn cut in. "I'm not even sure that power is mine."
Kael shook his head slowly. "I've seen this before."
Josselyn went still.
"Your mother," Kael continued quietly. "Not exactly the same. But the case is similar to Lyria's."
He tilted his chin toward the paralyzed girl.
Josselyn's breath caught.
"My mother…?"
"If you are her daughter," Kael said, "you can do it."
Josselyn stared at him. Doubt crept into her chest. Fear.
"Kael… if that really is my power," she swallowed, "I only discovered it yesterday."
"Yes. And you saved Sebastian."
Silence.
Josselyn bit the inside of her cheek. She could not deny it. Slowly, she nodded.
"…Alright."
They returned to the center of the room.
All eyes immediately turned to them.
Howarth leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His smile had not faded.
"Finished discussing?" he asked lightly.
Josselyn did not answer. She walked to the bed and sat beside the young girl.
Her hands trembled. Slightly. She quickly clasped one hand with the other to steady herself.
"What's her name?" Josselyn asked softly.
"Lyria," the old man, Garrick Ashford, answered at once.
Josselyn nodded. She looked at the girl's face. Pale. Silent, as if she lacked the strength even to move her lips.
Josselyn took a deep breath. Then placed her hand on Lyria's chest.
The air tightened. The village chief and several others held their breath. No one spoke.
"…What is she doing?" someone whispered.
Howarth narrowed his eyes.
'Just like yesterday…' he thought.
But something was different.
"There's no Kael this time."
Howarth's murmur brushed faintly against her ears. But Josselyn kept her eyes closed, trying to focus.
'How do I do this?' she nearly whimpered inwardly.
A quiet laugh sounded behind her. 'Damn it. That must be Howarth.'
She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, her brow furrowing deeper.
'Mother, if you truly passed this power on to me, help me.'
Something stirred within her. Faint at first, but growing clearer with each passing second.
She tried to grasp it. To push it outward.
"Ah—"
Her body trembled slightly, sending the same vibration through Lyria. Her hands grew cold.
"What's happening to her?" a panicked voice rose.
"Quiet!" Kael snapped. The room fell silent again, though the tension remained thick.
Josselyn bit her lip.
'Deeper…'
She drew in a breath. Then pushed harder.
Suddenly—
"Ahh!"
Lyria's body arched. The cry was small, but sharp.
The room erupted into chaos.
"What's happening?!"
"She's hurting her!"
"Stop…!"
"Quiet!" Kael shouted again, forcing calm.
Josselyn did not open her eyes. She felt something.
A flow.
Rough.
Heavy.
Like tearing something out that had taken root deep in flesh.
"No… no…" Josselyn whispered.
Her hands shook harder. Her whole body trembled. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead.
"Josselyn!" Kael's voice sounded close.
"Don't disturb me…" she whispered weakly. She opened her eyes for a brief moment, just enough to catch sight of the silver-haired man with the low ponytail.
Howarth had not moved. But his amber eyes had changed. The smile was completely gone. Without realizing it, he stepped forward.
Josselyn closed her eyes again.
Lyria screamed. Louder this time. Her small body shook violently.
"Enough!" Garrick, the girl's father, shouted. "Stop! You're hurting her!"
"Not yet!" Kael cut in, moving quickly to block Garrick.
Josselyn took a deep breath.
"Now…"
She pushed all her energy at once. A single surge.
Strong. Heavy.
And then, silence. All sound vanished.
Josselyn slowly opened her eyes.
Her hand was still on Lyria's chest. Her body felt weak.
"…Lyria?"
Still, Josselyn tried to rouse the girl lying before her. Lyria's clothes were soaked. Josselyn assumed it was sweat from her earlier cries.
She waited. But there was no response. She froze.
"Did I… fail…?"
She tried to pull her hand away, but her body wavered.
Then she collapsed to the side.
"Josselyn!"
Kael caught her immediately.
"Did she faint?" Village Chief Halvern asked.
"No," Kael whispered. "She's still conscious."
Josselyn gasped, her breathing heavy.
"…I'm… done…"
All eyes shifted to the bed. Silence settled. Time stretched.
Then Lyria's toes moved. A faint motion. Small, but real.
"Look—"
"She moved?"
The old man stepped closer. His trembling hand brushed Lyria's hair.
"Lyria…?"
Slowly, Lyria opened her eyes.
"…Father?"
Her voice was small and hoarse.
The man froze.
"Lyria…?"
"…It hurts…"
"I-it's alright… it's alright…"
Garrick instinctively touched his daughter's leg, then began to massage it.
"…Father…"
"Yes… I'm here."
"Your massage is too hard." Lyria tried to pull her leg away.
"Oh, sorry, I'll be gentler…"
Garrick's voice faltered. His eyes widened as he saw his daughter's leg move. His gaze lifted to her face.
"My child, your legs… they're moving," he murmured, caught between overwhelming excitement and disbelief.
Lyria looked at her legs. Hesitant, she tried to move her toes.
"Father…" she called. "You see that, right?"
Garrick nodded quickly. "Yes. Your toes are moving."
Without waiting, Lyria's hands gripped the bedsheet. Slowly, she lifted her body.
Everyone held their breath.
"…Impossible…"
Josselyn said nothing. Her breath caught. She looked completely unprepared.
And for the first time in years, Lyria stood.