Chapter 5: The Healer and the Flame
The next week, Aerith rode out in secret.
No guards. No procession. Just one horse, one cloak, and one destination: the southern province, where the royal healer Elias lived in seclusion.
The healer had refused court summons after Aerith's cruelty. It was the one apology Aerith feared most.
He arrived at dusk.
The cottage was simple. Lavender bushes lined the path. A white-haired man opened the door with dark, tired eyes.
> "You."
"I won't waste your time," Aerith said. "I was vile. I used you. I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm asking… to help you instead. Anything. A grant, land, silence—"
Elias tilted his head.
"You're different."
"I'm trying to be."
A long pause. Then—
"I have children to treat. If you mean it, you'll assist me tonight."
And Aerith—once prince, now silent student—followed him into the little house, rolling up his sleeves.
He wrapped bandages. Carried herbs. Listened.
And when Elias offered him tea in the early hours of dawn, it was the closest thing to redemption he had ever tasted.
> "I won't trust you yet," Elias said. "But I don't hate you either."