Teas and Thorns

Over the next week, the blight grew exponentially worse. The sky above Oakhaven remained a perpetual, bruised gray.

Elara was running herself ragged. She barely slept, spending her nights patrolling the town borders, casting complex warding spells that drained her physical vitality. By day, she researched the entity at the mill, trying to find its true name. She was suffering from severe spiritual bruising—deep, aching pains in her joints and a constant, freezing chill that no fire could chase away.

Despite her harsh rejection, Leo did not give up.

He didn't knock on the door of the Keep anymore, respecting her boundary, but he made his presence fiercely known. Every morning, Elara would open her door to find a woven basket on her porch. Inside, there would be fresh pastries, hearty stews, and thermos flasks filled with specially brewed teas.

They weren't just regular teas. Leo had been talking to the town's herbalist. The teas were infused with chamomile, sweetgrass, and sun-dried lemon peel—ingredients known for their gentle, grounding spiritual properties.

He was trying to heal her from afar.

It made Elara furious, and it made her want to weep. She sat at her cluttered desk, wrapping her freezing, bruised hands around a steaming mug of Leo's lemon tea. The warmth seeped into her skin, providing a fleeting moment of relief from the biting cold of her magic.

"Why won't you just let me protect you?" she whispered to the empty, shadowy room.

She felt toxic. Every time she used her power to push back the blight, she felt a little more of her humanity slip away, replaced by the cold, calculating void of the exorcist. She convinced herself that if Leo saw the darkest parts of her—the violent, merciless magic she was preparing to unleash at the mill—he would finally look at her with the fear and disgust she deserved.

She had to finish this. Tonight.

Elara stood up, strapping her silver-inscribed knuckles over her gloves. She loaded her duster pockets with vials of holy water, salt bombs, and banishing talismans. She looked at herself in the cracked mirror on the wall. She looked like a ghost. Pale, hollow-eyed, and completely alone.

It was the only way a Warden could be.