Chapter 172: Before the Hunger — The Lord of Mercy (Part V: The City of White Bells)
"Every healer carries two bags.
One is filled with medicine.
The other with names they refuse to forget."
Ancient Elyndorian Saying
Winter arrived early in Elyndor.
The once-green valleys were covered by a thin veil of frost, and the white bells that hung from every healing hall rang not in celebration, but in remembrance.
Each bell marked a life that had ended.
As the plague spread from village to village, the bells rang more often.
Some days...They never stopped.
A Kingdom in Mourning
The plague had crossed rivers.
It had crossed mountains.
It ignored borders, wealth, and titles.
Kings fell beside farmers.
Children beside soldiers.
The roads of Elyndor became filled not with merchants, but with wagons carrying medicine, blankets, and the sick.
The Kingdom that had once been known as the safest place in the world now lived behind closed doors.
Yet the House of Healing remained open.
Its lanterns still burned every night.
And at the center of it all...
Myra refused to rest.
The Healer Who Forgot to Eat
For seven days, Myra barely left the infirmary.
She treated fevers until her hands shook.
Mixed herbs until her fingertips became stained green.Comforted families until her voice grew hoarse.
When one patient recovered, another arrived.
When one bed became empty...
It was filled before the sheets had cooled.
One morning, another healer placed a bowl of soup beside her."You haven't eaten."
Myra blinked.She genuinely hadn't noticed.
She thanked him politely.
By the time she remembered the bowl...
The soup had gone cold.
The White Bells
One evening, Myra climbed the bell tower overlooking Rivershade.
Dozens of white bronze bells hung from wooden beams.Each carried a single engraved name.Whenever someone died from the plague...A new bell was forged.
She gently touched one.Tomas.
The boy whose fever she could never cure.
Another.
Elian.
Her teacher.
She closed her eyes.
"I still need you."
The winter wind answered with silence.
Then the bells began to sway.
Not from the wind.
From people below.
Families had gathered in the square.
Not to mourn.To ring the bells together.
No one should be remembered alone.
Myra listened as hundreds of gentle chimes echoed across the valley.
Each one carried grief.
Each one carried love.
The King's Request
Several days later, royal riders entered Rivershade.
The captain bowed deeply.
"Lady Myra."
She frowned.
"I'm not a lady."
"You are now."
He handed her a sealed letter bearing the crest of the royal family.
Inside was a simple request.
The Crown asks for your aid in the capital.
The plague has reached the palace.
She folded the letter carefully.
The capital meant the greatest physicians in the kingdom.It also meant...
The people with the greatest influence.
If she could discover a cure there...
It might save thousands.
She accepted without hesitation.
The Journey North
The road to the capital was lined with shrines.
Travelers stopped to leave flowers, candles, or handwritten prayers.
Some prayed for healing.
Others prayed for strength.
Many simply prayed for one more day with someone they loved.
At one shrine, Myra found a little boy trying to relight a candle that the wind kept extinguishing.
She knelt beside him.
"Who is it for?"
"My sister."
He answered.
"Is she sick?"
He nodded.
"I don't think she'll make it."
Myra quietly shielded the candle with her hands until the flame steadied.
The boy smiled.
"Thank you."
She watched him walk away.
Then whispered to herself,
"I'll save her."
Even though she didn't know her name.
Astraeus Speaks
Further along the road, Astraeus sat beside an old stone bridge, sharing bread with passing travelers.
He smiled when he saw Myra.
"You look tired."
"I am."
"You should rest."
"I can't."
He broke the loaf in half and handed her a piece.
She accepted reluctantly.
"If I stop..."
She said quietly,
"...people die."
Astraeus looked at the river flowing beneath the bridge.
"If the river stopped to save every drowning leaf..."
"It would never reach the sea."
She frowned.
"I don't understand."
"I know."
He smiled gently.
"You will."
The Capital
The capital of Elyndor rose from the hills like a city carved from ivory.
Its towers were crowned with silver roofs that reflected the winter sun.
Hundreds of white banners fluttered from the walls.Normally, music filled its streets.
Now...
The streets were quiet.
People wore white ribbons around their wrists.Not as a sign of surrender.
As a promise.To care for one another.
As Myra entered the Royal House of Healing, dozens of physicians turned toward her.
Some looked hopeful.Others...
Desperate.The chief physician approached.
"We've been waiting."
He led her into the deepest ward.
"There is someone you need to see."
At the end of the corridor...
Behind a single wooden door...
Lay the Queen of Elyndor.
The plague had reached her.
She was unconscious.
The black veins had nearly reached her heart.
The physicians had exhausted every remedy.
As Myra stepped into the room, she felt something she had never experienced before.Fear.Not of failure.
But of running out of time.Far away...
Hidden beneath ancient stone...
The crimson presence stirred once more.
It did not whisper.
It simply watched.
Hope was becoming urgency.
Urgency would soon become desperation.
And desperation...
Was the door it had always waited to walk through.