It had only been ten days, not a month, not even three weeks, when the first veteran walked unassisted through the military barracks’ central corridor.
Colonel Duane Xander, once known as the “Iron Fist of the Eastern Front,” had been bedridden for over two years. A devastating spinal injury had left him partially paralyzed, in constant pain, and prone to violent spasms. No doctor, eastern or western, had been able to stabilize his nerves without risking further damage.Yet, here he was. Walking. Slow, deliberate steps, yes, but without a cane. Without pain.Gasps had erupted like gunfire across the corridor. Soldiers had paused mid-drill, medics froze in the middle of their charts. Even the stone-faced General Hanson, who had scoffed when Arla-Rosa first arrived, let out a stunned breath. “She… she did it?” the general had muttered. “She did,” whispered Commander Leighton. “In just ten days.”Inside the healing ward, Arla-Rosa washed heAcross the border in Country D, the private lounge of the Fleming House of Hope tower overlooked the glittering skyline of the capital city. The penthouse-level was soundproofed, pristine, and clinical, much like its owner.Duke Fleming leaned back in his leather chair, a half-read report in his hand and his eyes distant. The wind tousled the fine strands of his silver-blonde hair, and a vein pulsed at his temple. He had read through dozens of research journals and military medical reports over the last three weeks, but one name kept surfacing with increasing frequency.Arla-Rosa Hernandez. He had first heard of her from a delegation that returned from Country L. Their descriptions had seemed exaggerated at the time, some prodigy from a war-torn background who had healed twelve elite cases in under two months. But what really caught his attention were the before-and-after scans.Cases that top consultants had deemed irreversible were resolve
Seth Robinson stood outside her apartment, his fists clenched at his sides. He had rehearsed a hundred versions of this moment. Some where he brought flowers, some where he wore the humble smile of a man who had seen the error of his ways. But nothing had prepared him for the sight of two guards stationed outside her building, military guards, their uniforms stiff and their expressions cold.He had not even made it through the gate. “This is a civilian complex,” he argued, trying to keep his tone light. “I just want to speak with Arla-Rosa. I’m her....” “Turn around, Mr. Robinson,” one of the soldiers cut in, hand casually resting on the butt of his pistol. “Dr. Hernandez does not take unsolicited visits. She’s under protective watch. You may request an audience through official military channels.”“Official...” Seth nearly laughed, but it caught in his throat. “She’s a student. Not a soldier. Not a queen.” “She’s a national asset,” the second guard said
The final patient, a once-renowned general from Country E who had been paralyzed from the waist down due to rare spinal degeneration, took his first step on the morning of the tenth day. His trembling hands reached for Arla-Rosa as tears slipped down his battle-worn cheeks. The room had been silent, no machines whirring, no lectures echoing from whiteboards, just the sound of victory etched into human breath.He had walked again. And with that step, Arla-Rosa’s nineteenth soul was healed. Twelve lives in two months. She had surpassed even her own quiet expectations. The entire barracks erupted in celebration, but Arla remained composed, calmly bowing her head to the generals and whispering her thanks to Master Ye in her heart.It was time to go back to campus. The military command, however, was not quite ready to let her go. At a briefing attended by the generals, foreign attaches, and the Minister of Defense himself, Arla-Rosa stood in her pressed uniform, graceful but firm. “Are you
In the quiet hours of the night, Arla-Rosa sat cross-legged in her bunker, candlelight flickering in the room. Medical notes filled the space around her like prayer scrolls, handwritten diagnostics, herbal references from Master Ye, and diagrams she had memorized down to the nerve pathways.Outside, someone watched. A soldier, new to the barracks, moved like a shadow towards the storage room where Arla kept her acupuncture needles and herbal pouches. He slipped inside, with gloved hands, pulling out a small vial of brown liquid meant to corrupt the herbs with toxins.Just as he uncapped the bottle, a gun cocked behind him. “Drop it,” came a low voice. It was General Hanson himself. The saboteur froze, sweating. In moments, soldiers surrounded the room. The general looked murderous. “You tried to sabotage the one person restoring hope to my men?” he hissed.The traitor was disarmed, beaten, and dragged out. The general did not stop at arrest, he launched a formal investigation. All ac
Word of Colonel Xander's miraculous recovery had already rippled through the highest levels of Country L’s government, but when Captain Hutchins, a man once declared a lost cause, walked out of the treatment room with clear eyes and steady hands, the story exploded beyond borders.News outlets, international health forums, and military intelligence briefings all shared one headline: “Who Is Arla-Rosa Hernandez? The nineteen year old Healer Turning Science on Its Head.” From Country R to the Empire of Z, envoys were dispatched posthaste to Brilliant City, their diplomatic missions suddenly detoured with a singular plea: “Let us meet her. Let us borrow her, even for a month. Our Prime Minister needs her. Our Field Marshal. Our Emperor.” The government of Country L remained calm, if amused.Inside the secure walls of the fortified Military Barracks of Unit 9, Arla-Rosa continued treating her patients with unwavering focus. Each of the original four vetera
It had only been ten days, not a month, not even three weeks, when the first veteran walked unassisted through the military barracks’ central corridor.Colonel Duane Xander, once known as the “Iron Fist of the Eastern Front,” had been bedridden for over two years. A devastating spinal injury had left him partially paralyzed, in constant pain, and prone to violent spasms. No doctor, eastern or western, had been able to stabilize his nerves without risking further damage.Yet, here he was. Walking. Slow, deliberate steps, yes, but without a cane. Without pain.Gasps had erupted like gunfire across the corridor. Soldiers had paused mid-drill, medics froze in the middle of their charts. Even the stone-faced General Hanson, who had scoffed when Arla-Rosa first arrived, let out a stunned breath. “She… she did it?” the general had muttered. “She did,” whispered Commander Leighton. “In just ten days.”Inside the healing ward, Arla-Rosa washed he