With a sharp tug and a flare of silver light from Elara’s palms, the arrow was gone. But the arrowhurt remained—a hollow, thrumming void where his strength used to be. For a moment, Kaelen felt himself slipping away, ready to let the cold take him.
The sky over the Great Forest was the color of a bruised plum when the final volley of arrows fell. Kaelen, a young scout whose only real talent was running fast and staying quiet, felt the sharp, hot sting in his shoulder before he heard the thwack of the shaft finding its mark. arrowhurt
One. The forest held its breath.Two. Kaelen gripped a handful of dirt, feeling the grit and life of the earth.Three. With a sharp tug and a flare of
It was Elara, the troop’s veteran archer. She was already at his side, her hands glowing with a faint, steady light. She didn't reach for the arrow first; she reached for his mind. The sky over the Great Forest was the
"I know. The shadows are heavy," Elara agreed, her fingers finally brushing the feathered fletching. "But you are lighter than the dark. On three, I’m going to pull the physical steel. The spiritual hurt... that’s yours to push out."
"Told you," Elara said with a grim smile, handing him his bow. "Now get up. We still have a long way to run."
He tumbled into the damp ferns, the world spinning. The "arrowhurt"—a term the healers used for the lingering, soul-deep ache of an enchanted projectile—blossomed through his chest. These weren't ordinary arrows; the Shadow-cloaks tipped them with essence-draining glass that ate at the spirit as much as the flesh. "Stay down," a voice hissed.