Ironha carefully laid out the herbs and ingredients on the wooden table, each item placed with deliberate precision. The infirmary was quiet this morning, the soft rustle of leaves outside the only sound breaking the stillness. Ironha took a deep breath, savoring the moment of calm before the day's work began.

  A soft knock at the door drew her attention. She turned to see Doc standing in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the morning light. "Good morning, Ironha," he said, his voice warm with greeting. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

  Ironha shook her head, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Not at all, Doc. Please, come in."

  Doc stepped into the room, his gaze sweeping over the array of herbs and tools on the table. "Preparing for something special?" he asked, his eyebrow raised in curiosity.

  Ironha nodded, her hands moving to straighten a bundle of dried leaves. "Lina's potion test," she said, her voice soft with pride. "She's been observing me for weeks now, learning the methods. Today, she'll try to create a potion on her own."

  Doc's eyes widened, a look of understanding crossing his face. "Ah, I see. And you think this might help her earn her class?"

  Ironha shrugged, her fingers tracing the edge of a clay bowl. "It's possible," she said, her voice thoughtful. "Ever since Tavi became a Flickertracker, the other children have been eager to find their own paths. Lina has a natural talent for healing. I believe this test will show her true potential."

  Doc nodded, his gaze distant as he considered her words. "It's fascinating," he said, his voice soft with wonder. "The way this world assigns roles and abilities. Where I'm from, we choose our paths. But here..."

  He trailed off, his eyes focusing on something beyond the infirmary walls. Ironha watched him for a moment, knowing that he still has secret he feels he could not share.

  "Here," she said softly, drawing his attention back to the present, "our paths choose us. But that doesn't mean we have no say in the matter. Lina has worked hard to get to this point. She's earned the right to try, to see if healing is truly her calling."

  Doc nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "It's an important moment," he said, his voice soft with understanding. "Earning your first class, finding your path in this world... it's not something to be taken lightly."

  He sighed, a hint of regret in his eyes as he glanced towards the door. "I wish I could stay and witness it," he admitted, "but I promised Edda I would help with the translations today. There's still so much we don't understand about the temple and the runic gateway, about the magic that flows through it."

  Ironha nodded, her gaze drifting to the herbs laid out before her. She understood the weight of responsibility that came with their roles.

  "Go," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "The library needs you, just as the infirmary needs me. We all have our parts to play."

  Doc smiled, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you, Ironha," he said, his hand resting briefly on the doorframe. "For understanding, and for being here. For Lina, and for all of us."

  With that, he stepped out into the morning light, his footsteps fading as he made his way towards the library. Ironha watched him go, a pensive look on her face. She knew there were still secrets Doc kept close to his chest, parts of himself he couldn't yet share. But she also knew that trust was earned, not given, and that Doc had proven himself a loyal friend and ally time and time again.

  He'll tell us when he's ready, she thought, turning back to her work. Until then, we'll continue to stand by his side, just as he stands by ours.

  The infirmary settled back into its quiet rhythm, the only sounds the gentle clink of glass and the whisper of dried leaves. Ironha let herself sink into the familiar motions, her hands moving with practiced ease as she prepared for the day ahead.

  There was a calmness to her work, a sense of purpose that grounded her even in the midst of uncertainty. She knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, she would face them with the same steady determination she brought to her healing.

  And today, that meant guiding Lina as she took her first steps on the path of a healer. It was a momentous occasion, one that Ironha knew would shape the course of Lina's life. She felt a flicker of pride at the thought, a warmth that spread through her chest like sunlight.

  She's ready, Ironha thought, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She's been watching and learning, and now it's time for her to put that knowledge into practice.

  She glanced at the door, picturing Lina's arrival. The girl would be nervous, of course, but Ironha knew that beneath that nervousness lay a core of strength and compassion that would serve her well in the years to come.

  And I'll be here to guide her, Ironha vowed silently. Every step of the way.

  With that thought, she turned back to her preparations, her hands steady and sure as she laid out the tools of her trade. The infirmary was ready, and so was she. All that remained was for Lina to arrive, and for the next chapter of their story to begin.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Lina stepped into the infirmary, her small hand clutching the strap of her satchel like a lifeline. The room felt different from the rest of the temple—quieter, more purposeful, like a pocket of calm amidst the bustling halls. The air smelled of steeped mint and clean linen, a soothing balm to her nerves.

  Ironha was already there, her lean frame bent over the counter as she ground herbs with practiced rhythm. Lina watched the motion, transfixed by the efficiency and confidence in each turn of the pestle. There was a cleanness to it, a surety of purpose that made the act of healing seem like a dance.

  Healing is motion, Lina thought, the words settling into her mind like a whispered truth. It was in the steady rise and fall of Ironha's shoulders, the precise twist of her wrist as she scraped the paste into a waiting bowl. Every movement was deliberate, honed by hours of repetition and care.

  Lina's fingers tightened around the strap of her satchel, the worn leather warm against her palm. She had watched Ironha work before, had seen the way her hands could soothe and mend with the gentlest of touches. But today felt different. Today, Lina wasn't just an observer.

  She took a deep breath, the scent of herbs and healing filling her lungs. Then, with a quiet determination that belied her small frame, she stepped forward.

  Ironha looked up as Lina approached, her eyes softening with a kind smile. "You're early today," she said, her voice a gentle hum amidst the quiet of the infirmary.

  Lina nodded, her braids bobbing with the motion. She had woken before dawn, too eager to wait for the sun's first light. "I wanted to help," she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I've been watching, and I think I can—"

  Ironha held up a hand, silencing Lina's nervous chatter. "I know," she said simply. She reached beneath the counter and withdrew a small wooden box, its surface worn smooth by countless hands. "Here," she said, placing the box before Lina. "A fever potion. I've made it dozens of times."

  Lina's eyes widened as Ironha lifted the lid, revealing a neat row of ingredients. Lightroot, willow glow bark, Goldcomb—she recognized them all from her hours of silent observation. Ironha laid them out on the counter, each one a piece of a puzzle Lina had watched her assemble time and time again.

  "You've seen it," Ironha said, her gaze steady on Lina's face. "Now do it."

  Lina's heart leapt into her throat, but she nodded, reaching for the Lightroot with trembling fingers. She could feel Ironha's eyes on her as she began to grind the root, the pestle heavy and unfamiliar in her hand. She tried to remember the way Ironha's hands had moved, the smooth, figure-eight motion that seemed to coax the essence from the fibrous root.

  Slowly but surely she went through steps she had witnessed so many times before. Water from the rain barrel, measured carefully into a small copper pot. Willow glow bark, shaved thin and added to the simmering liquid. The sharp scent of the extract filled the air as Lina poured it into the mixture, her hand shaking so badly she nearly spilled it across the counter.

  Steady, she told herself, taking a deep breath. Steady like Ironha's hands.

  She reached for the Goldcomb, her fingers hovering over the golden surface. In her mind's eye, she saw Ironha adjusting the ratio, adding a bit more sweetness to balance the bitterness of the willow. Lina hesitated, then broke off a larger piece, dropping it into the simmering mix.

  The mixture bubbled and hissed, the scent shifting subtly as the Goldcomb dissolved. Lina held her breath, watching the steam rise in delicate curls. She had seen Ironha make this correction before, had watched her adjust the heat and time without a word. Now, as the mix simmered, Lina found herself doing the same, trusting her instincts to guide her.

  Minutes passed, marked only by the gentle bubbling of the pot and the thrum of Lina's heart in her ears. Finally, she lifted the mixture from the heat, pouring it carefully into a waiting bottle. The liquid glowed a soft amber, catching the light as Lina held it up to the window.

  Ironha walked over to Lina and examined the vial, holding it up to the light. The amber liquid caught the sun's rays, glowing softly in her hand. She turned it this way and that, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the color, the consistency, the subtle scent that wafted from the cork. Finally, she smiled and said simply: "This will work."

  The words were enough, but then Lina felt a warmth rise in her chest. It started as a flicker, a tiny spark nestled beneath her ribs, but it grew quickly, spreading through her veins like wildfire. She gasped, her hand flying to her heart as the sensation intensified, filling her with a tingling heat that made her skin glow with a faint, pulsing light.

  Ironha noticed and approached, setting a hand gently on Lina's shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft with concern.

  Lina nodded, her eyes wide with wonder. The glow faded, but something inside her had settled, like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place. She looked up at Ironha, a smile spreading across her face. "I unlocked my very first class," she said, her voice trembling with excitement. "I'm a Greenhand Healer now."

  Ironha's eyes widened, then crinkled at the corners as she smiled. "Congratulations," she said, giving Lina's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "That's a powerful thing, to find your path so young. The Vale has chosen well."

  Lina beamed, her chest swelling with pride. She turned back to the vial in her hand, studying it with new eyes. It wasn't just a fever potion anymore—it was a symbol of her newfound purpose, a tangible reminder of the power that now flowed through her veins.

  With careful hands, she labeled the vial, her handwriting neat and precise. Then, she placed it on the infirmary's growing shelf of potions, nestling it among the rows of glass and clay. She brushed a finger along the wood, tracing the grain beneath the dust. Her bottle sat beside Ironha's now, a apprentice’s work alongside a master's.

  It wasn't hers anymore, Lina thought, stepping back to admire the sight. It was medicine. And it would help someone. The thought filled her with a quiet sense of satisfaction, a warmth that had nothing to do with the glow of her newfound power.

  She turned to Ironha, her eyes shining with determination. "What's next?" she asked, her voice steady and sure.

  Ironha smiled, her gaze flickering to the shelves of herbs and tonics that lined the walls. "There's always more to learn," she said, her voice soft with promise. "And there's always someone who needs our help."

  Lina nodded, her braids bobbing with the motion. She could feel it now, the weight of responsibility that came with her new title and class. But it wasn't a burden—it was a gift, a chance to make a difference in a world that needed healing.

  She reached for her satchel, her fingers brushing against the worn leather. Inside, she knew, were the tools of her trade—herbs and bandages, mortar and pestle, the small notebook where she recorded Ironha's lessons. They were simple things, but in her hands, they held the power to change lives.

  And that, Lina thought, is what it means to be a healer.