Chapter 4 Chapter 4: The Whisper of a Miracle

The silence was a heavy, suffocating blanket. Lira’s chest was motionless. Her limp body was a dead weight in my arms. I had killed her. My mad, desperate attempt at magic had done nothing but end her suffering a few moments sooner. A wave of nausea and despair washed over me, so cold and absolute it was worse than the lash of Boris’s whip. I had failed. Again. My second chance was over before it had even begun.

Commander Cassian stepped forward, his face like an unreadable mask of stone. “You wasted your time. And mine,” he stated, his voice devoid of all emotion. He reached down, presumably to check for a pulse I knew wasn’t there, his duty-bound clinicality taking over.

But just as his gauntleted fingers were about to touch her neck, Lira’s eyelids fluttered.

It wasn't a death spasm. It wasn’t a random nerve firing. It was a slow, deliberate movement, like the wings of a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis.

A tiny, wheezing sound escaped her lips, followed by a deep, shuddering cough. It wasn’t the weak, rattling cough from before. It was a wet, productive cough, as if her lungs were finally clearing out the poison that had been drowning her.

Then, she took a breath. A real, deep, life-giving breath. Her chest rose and fell, a steady, reassuring rhythm.

My own breath hitched in my throat. I stared, utterly mesmerized, as a faint hint of color returned to her sallow cheeks. The feverish heat in her skin seemed to recede, replaced by a gentle, healthy warmth. The life was coming back into her. It was a miracle.

Her eyes opened. They were the same soft brown as before, but they were clear, focused, and lucid. They looked at me, not with the hazy confusion of the dying, but with a dawning, aware wonder.

“You…” she whispered, her voice raspy but stronger than I could have imagined. “You saved me.”

I didn’t know what to say. I had. Somehow, I had. The magic was real. The emotions, the intent I’d poured into the broth had become a tangible, life-giving force. It wasn’t just cooking. It was creation. It was power.

Cassian froze, his hand hovering in the air. His cold, grey eyes widened almost imperceptibly, a tiny crack in his granite facade. He saw it too. He had seen a girl on the very verge of death, her breath gone, and now she was speaking. He looked from Lira to me, then to the empty wooden bowl in my hand. A flicker of something shock? suspicion? disbelief? crossed his features before being ruthlessly stamped out by his usual stoicism.

“Get up,” he ordered, his voice even gruffer than before. He was unnerved, and he didn’t like it one bit. He had just witnessed the impossible, and his rigid, logical world was tilting on its axis.

He grabbed my arm again, his grip tighter this time, and hauled me to my feet. “We leave. Now.”

I cast one last look at Lira. Another slave, a young man with haunted eyes, had scurried out of the shadows and was now wrapping a cleaner, though still ragged, blanket around her shoulders, murmuring to her in a low voice. He looked at me, his expression a mixture of awe and terror. He had seen it. The secret was out. And in a place like this, secrets were a currency more valuable than gold, and far more dangerous.

As Cassian marched me down the corridor, away from the scene of the miracle, the full weight of my situation crashed down on me. I wasn’t just a slave anymore. I was a curiosity. A weapon. And in a place like this, anything that gives a slave power is a death sentence.

We walked in silence, the only sound the steady, rhythmic clank of his armor against the stone floor. He led me not to the western scullery as he’d told Boris, but to a different part of the palace entirely. The corridors became cleaner, the air warmer, the torches brighter. We were moving towards the heart of the Imperial Keep, away from the squalor of the kitchens and slave quarters. My fear was a cold knot in my stomach, but beneath it, a spark of something else was growing. Hope. Or maybe it was just ambition. The fire of my vow was being fed with a new kind of fuel.

He stopped outside a heavy, ornate door carved with the snarling wolf crest, guarded by two sentries who snapped to attention at his approach. “Wait here,” he commanded, his voice a low growl, and disappeared inside, leaving me alone with my thundering heart.

I stood there, small and insignificant before the massive door. What was happening? Why was I here? The fear was a cold knot in my stomach, but beneath it, a spark of something else was growing. Hope. Or maybe it was just ambition.

Inside the room, I could hear muffled, frantic voices. “…no stronger, my Lord! The fever is relentless! The healers have done all they can…”

“The Shadow Mages?” a weak, raspy voice demanded. It was the voice of ultimate authority, laced with pain and incandescent fury.

“Refused to come, my Emperor. They say the curse is… too powerful. A dark magic that feeds on life force. They fear it.”

A curse. The Emperor was cursed.

There was a crash, as if something fragile, like a crystal goblet, had been thrown against a wall. “Useless! All of you! Get out! Get out before I have you all executed for incompetence!”

The door flew open and a man in fine physician’s robes stumbled out, his face ashen with terror. He didn’t even see me. He just ran, his robes flapping behind him like the wings of a frightened bird.

Cassian emerged a moment later, his face grim, his jaw set like a stone. He looked at me, his grey eyes holding a new, calculating light. He was no longer just a guard. He was a man with a desperate, last-ditch plan.

“The Emperor is dying,” he said, his voice low and direct, for my ears only. “A wasting sickness, a curse from a rival pack, that no healer or mage can break. He grows weaker by the hour. His temper… grows shorter.”

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “I saw what you did for that dying omega girl can you do it again after you gave her a simple broth.”

My blood ran cold. He knew. He knew it wasn’t a fluke.

He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper, his breath warm against my ear. “Can you do that again omega?”

I couldn’t speak. I could only stare at him, my mind racing with the implications. Lie and say no? Or tell the truth and risk everything?

He didn’t wait for an answer. A slow, dangerous smile touched the corner of his lips. It was the first genuine emotion I’d seen from him, and it was terrifying. It was the smile of a gambler who had just been dealt a winning hand in a game he was about to lose.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice ringing with a newfound, fierce resolve. “Because the Emperor has lost all hope. He is ready to die. But I am not. And you… you are the last card I have left to play.”

He turned and pushed open the heavy, ornate door to the Emperor’s chambers. “You are going to go in there,” he said, his voice a command that left no room for argument. “And you are going to make him well. Or we will both die.”