Nyra's POVThe scent of crushed herbs and lavender clung to the air as I stepped into Lydia's healing hall. The soft rustle of linen, the faint clink of glass vials, and the warm hum of whispered reassurances were the usual sounds that greeted me here. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, packed with amber bottles, dried flower bundles, and rolled parchments marked with healing sigils. The familiar comfort of this place had always been a sanctuary for me, a place where broken things could be mended.But not today.Today, there was silence, so quiet it rang in my ears like a funeral bell.Lydia stood by the far wall, her long robes dusted with the gold of early light filtering through the stained windows. Each pane told a story of healing, hands reaching toward wounded hearts, light piercing darkness, life blooming from barren ground. Her head was bowed over her open ledger, fingers stained faintly with ink and balm. The silver threads in her dark hair caught the morning ligh
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