Chapter 176: Before the Hunger — The Lord of Mercy (Part IX: The Weight of Every Goodbye)
"No heart breaks all at once.
It fractures quietly, one farewell at a time."
From the final teachings of Master Elian
Several years passed.
The Kingdom of Elyndor slowly recovered.
The plague faded into history, becoming another chapter studied by future healers.
New Houses of Healing were built across the kingdom, just as the King had promised. Roads connected villages that had once stood isolated, allowing medicine and physicians to travel more quickly than ever before.
Children once orphaned by the plague now laughed in courtyards.Fields bloomed again.
The white bells rang only during ceremonies of remembrance.Life had returned.
Yet Myra could never return to the person she had once been.The Saint of Elyndor
Word of her kindness spread beyond the kingdom.
In the western deserts, caravans spoke of a healer who asked for no payment.
In the northern mountains, travelers told stories of a woman who walked for days through blizzards to save a single child.
In coastal towns, fishermen swore she had delivered babies during raging storms while refusing even a warm meal afterward.
People began calling her...
The Saint of Elyndor.
Myra disliked the title.
"I'm not a saint."
She would always reply.
"I'm simply someone who arrived before it was too late."
But she quietly remembered every time...
She had not.
The Journal of Names
Her journal grew heavier every year.
It no longer contained medical notes alone.
It held names.
Thousands of them.
Every patient she had treated.
Every child she had delivered.
Every person she had buried.
Beside each name she wrote a single sentence.
Something that made them human.
Loras — loved singing while gathering herbs.
Mina — laughed whenever it rained.
Captain Oren — secretly carved wooden birds for his grandchildren.
She refused to let anyone become merely a memory of how they died.
The Mountain Village
One winter, a messenger begged Myra to visit a remote village high within the Frostpeak Mountains.
An avalanche had buried half the settlement.
She traveled without hesitation.
For two days she climbed through deep snow, accompanied only by a handful of local guides.
When they finally arrived
Silence greeted them.
Entire homes had vanished beneath ice.
Families dug with bleeding hands.
No one waited for orders.
Everyone searched.
Myra worked beside them until sunrise.
One child.
Then another.
An old woman.
A young father.
Some survived.
Many did not.
When the final survivor was carried to safety, Myra collapsed into the snow from exhaustion.
An elderly villager wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.
"You saved my grandson."
He whispered.
She looked toward the frozen hillside where dozens still remained buried.
"I couldn't save the others."
The old man shook his head gently.
"They weren't asking you to become the mountain."
"They were only praying someone would climb it."
A Reunion
As spring returned, Astraeus visited Elyndor once more.
He found Myra planting herbs outside a newly built House of Healing.
She smiled when she saw him.
It had been years.
"You look older."
She teased.
"I've been accused of that before."
He laughed.
"And you?"
She looked at the rows of young healers training nearby.
"I've finally learned something."
"What is it?"
She gently pressed a seed into the soil.
"Healing isn't something one person does."
She looked at the students.
"It's something people teach each other."
Astraeus smiled.
For the first time in many years...
Hope outweighed worry.
The Letter
Before leaving, Astraeus handed Myra a sealed letter.
"Don't open it until you truly believe you've reached the end of your strength."
She frowned.
"What's inside?"
"A reminder."
"Of what?"
He adjusted his worn satchel.
"That no burden was ever meant to be carried alone."
She accepted the letter.
She never opened it.
Not then.
The Crimson Star
That summer, an unusual star appeared in the southern sky.
Unlike the others...
It glowed with a faint crimson light.
Astronomers argued endlessly about its origin.
The Vorthari charted its movement with concern.
The Eshkarai quietly sealed old records connected to it.
Most ordinary people simply admired its beauty.
Myra hardly noticed it.
She was too busy answering another call for help.
Yet somewhere far away...
Others looked upon the same crimson star.
A scholar.
A blacksmith.
A storyteller.
Without realizing it...
The Seven Stars of humanity were now all looking toward the same heavens.
Deep beneath the roots of the world...
The ancient crimson presence stirred one final time.
It watched Myra as she treated another frightened child.
It listened as she comforted a grieving father.
It observed as she quietly cried after everyone else had gone home.Then
For the first time in years
It spoke.
Not to tempt.
Not to persuade.
Simply as a quiet observation.
"You still believe love is enough."
Myra paused.
For a heartbeat, she thought she had heard a distant voice carried by the wind.
She looked toward the crimson star shining above the horizon.
Then smiled softly.
"Yes."
She whispered.
"It has to be."
The presence fell silent.
It had learned something important.
Her compassion had not yet become despair.
The time for her fall had not yet come.
Like the others...
She would need many more years.
Many more losses.
Many more impossible choices.
Only then...
Would the Lord of Mercy be born.
The Story of Myra Will Continue.