Azarinth Healer Novels & Stories

Her description for her family had been Harry Potter meets 1950’s nursing uniforms. “The position of healer is a choice. As is that of a divine healer. Your mark will have appeared at birth and faded by the first moon,” Zsa Zsa explained. “If you choose to accept the position, the mark will return. The goddess herself will touch you to mark you.” The divine healer sat forward and took the teens hands in her own. “But you must choose. Do not choose because you have been told that this is your fate. Choose because this is what you want to do.”

Past guard stations and checkpoints and layer after layer of security. Finally, we reached a large chamber that looked like a throne room. And sitting on an actual throne was a man who could only be Archon Shade. He was younger than I expected, maybe forty, with perfectly styled black hair and cold blue eyes. He wore Covenant robes of deep purple with black trim. Everything about him screamed power and cruelty. "Mary Hart," he said, his voice smooth and cultured. "The infamous Healer Alpha who's been causing us so much trouble. Welcome to my facility."

The only thing on Summers Hartley’s mind was revenge. Being a half-breed, she was born extremely weak and completely incapable of protecting herself or anyone, and that cost her. Her family was slaughtered, and her pack was reduced to ashes. As the Alpha heir to Silverguard pack, she swore to destroy the monsters responsible: the Bloodmoon pack. When the perfect chance for revenge arrives, she hides behind a new identity as the dying Alpha’s personal healer and enters the Bloodmoon pack. Every day she heals the pack, she has promised to destroy. Sworn to pay back the same hand, her mission is simple: poison the Alpha who murdered her people and, together with her uncle, destroy eve

All I can do is sit and stand in one place while staring at the metal door or thinking of my love, Winston Luca. Oh! Are you wondering how I survived a full month without sunlight, food, water, or anything else? It's because I am a "Healer." Healers are humanoid creatures who have supernatural abilities to heal. Depending on our abilities, our lifespan can range from a hundred to a thousand years. People confuse us with the elves, but we don't have pointy ears; we are just extremely attractive humanoids. But don't worry; I'm still a young healer. I am a healthy 28-year-old healer who belongs to the Arco clan. I am an alpha, but I refused to join my clan or help my family manage our clan. The

When I think for a second, he reminds me of Norgarth but has more delicate and civil facial features than that beast. “Aralyn, if I am not wrong, is that correct?” he asked me. I nodded my head. “Well, Aralyn, I am Naevres, a healer in here.”-I could feel that he was a demon, not sure what kind of demon though, but definitely not a human. “Aralyn, you were brought in here in a critical state. It seems that you are better now. The next step to full recovery is resting and eating properly. I will bring you a meal now.” He said. I shook my head.

He sends me starlit messages, his gruff hope a beacon, his shadowed dagger a relic of our fight. Sylvara tends a living forest beyond the city, her jade-green aura faint but enduring, her vine-hair blooming with Elara’s light. She nurtures starborn flora, her resolve a quiet strength, her vine-wreathed staff a symbol of renewal. Lysara trains warriors in a radiant arena, her frost-ring glowing, her aura sharp, her laughter free. She spars with recruits, her blade flashing, her redemption a lesson etched in frost, her voice firm. “Fight for each other.” Theryn and Zorath, bonded, heal the wounded in a crystalline sanctuary, Theryn’s light-blade a healer’s tool, their aura frail but hopeful, Z

Four days before the trial. AZAEL Delicately, I rub the cotton over the wound to disinfect it and I do it with great care, so as not to wake it up. I don't know what the hell they did it with, but he's been lucky it doesn't rub against the main vein in his arm, because it could have bled. On top of that, she has some bruises all over her body that make her wish she could have them and not her.

“You need brewers. I’ll make weapons of shadows if you’ll supply the cause.” Next: Mace and Yara—exiled Riverdale twins, expert trackers. “Mother of wolves… we smell blood and betrayal. Your scent carried north, Queen.” Then: Helen, half-Alpha healer. “I bring warding herbs and sharp blades. Your mark…it wasn’t broken. It was redirected.” She showed me—a circle carved in silver-blue light around my wrist. Still glowing faintly. A hush as I touched it. “You’ll need healers,” I said to no one. “Thank you.”

I feel it now, deep and steady, beneath the surface of the world. Yet it is not just his awakening that stirs my soul. Beneath the wolf’s pulse, another light shimmers, a softer glow, yet no less profound. The healer’s legacy is breathing anew. Zenith. The child of sealed memories, the daughter of the Mystic Healer. She who carries within her veins the ancient bloodline that once bridged the mortal and the magical, the weak and the powerful.