Threads Of Forever

The Tragic Rebirth

Kingdom of Valeria, Year 1063

The war had been dragging on for years, the fields stained with blood, the air thick with the scent of burning villages and dying men. For soldiers like Corwin, there was no room for doubt. There was only the next battle, the next order, the next life lost in the name of conquest. He had grown numb to the violence, the loss, the endless push forward.

His armor, dented and worn, had seen more battles than he cared to count. His eyes, once bright with the hope of youth, were now shadowed by the weight of war. The sword he carried was a constant reminder of the kingdom's demands-and his own unspoken burdens.

It was on a blood-soaked battlefield, beneath the corpse-strewn earth, that he first saw her.

She was kneeling beside the fallen, her hands steady as she worked quickly, stitching wounds, calming breaths, offering comfort in the chaos of death. Her name was Elyana, a healer who had come with the army, though not for the glory or the fame. She had come to save lives, not to end them.

She was different from the others. Where most soldiers fought for honor or land, Elyana fought with her hands, with the quiet skill of someone who had long known the pain of loss and the fragility of life. Her hands, stained with blood, moved as though she could pull the very life back from the edge of death.

Corwin watched her from a distance at first. He had seen many medics before, but something about her-about the way she moved, about the way her eyes never wavered from the task at hand-caught him off guard. There was no fear in her, no hesitation. Just a calm resolve that mirrored his own, yet seemed to carry an undeniable warmth.

Their first words came when he stumbled upon her after the battle. He had been injured, a shallow cut across his chest that had bled more than it should have, but it was nothing compared to the carnage around him. Elyana was there, kneeling beside another soldier, but when she saw him approach, her eyes flickered to his wound.

"You're bleeding," she said softly, but there was no pity in her voice. Only the quiet understanding of someone who had seen far too much bloodshed to be moved by it.

"I've bled worse," Corwin muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. But the sharp pain of the cut made him wince, and he staggered slightly.

Without hesitation, Elyana stood and stepped toward him. "Sit down. I'll tend to it."

He hesitated. A soldier didn't trust easily, especially in a time like this, but something in her calm presence disarmed him. He lowered himself to the ground beside her, wincing as the blood soaked through his tunic.

As she cleaned his wound, their eyes met. For a moment, time seemed to still, the chaos of the battlefield receding into the distance. Corwin felt it-something that flickered between them, something familiar and yet new. He had never seen her before, never spoken to her, but it was as if he had known her all his life.

Elyana felt it too. She had healed hundreds, if not thousands, of soldiers over the years, but never had she felt such a pull, such a connection to one.

She couldn't explain it.

"Thank you," he said, his voice rough from exhaustion.

Elyana nodded, her fingers gentle as she bandaged him. "It's my duty."

"A soldier's duty," he replied quietly.

"No," she corrected softly, her gaze never leaving her work. "A healer's duty."
_____________________________________________

The days blurred into weeks as Corwin and Elyana worked alongside one another, their bond growing in small, quiet moments. He would always find her tending to the wounded, her brow furrowed in concentration, her hands moving with practiced ease. She would see him in the barracks, eyes tired but alert, always ready for the next fight.