Spring had brought renewed activity to the healing house. Crowds gathered earlier each morning as traveling became easier with the warming weather. The food initiative had expanded to serve not just patients but hungry families from surrounding neighborhoods. What had begun as Elaine's solitary mission now employed over thirty regular volunteers managing various aspects of the operation.

  Riona's visits remained a constant, though her approach had changed subtly in recent months. Where once she had come primarily as an observer and liaison to the palace, she now often arrived with specific questions about organization, resource management, and community building—taking notes and considering how elements of the healing house's operation might apply to other royal initiatives.

  Today, however, she arrived with a different purpose entirely. Elaine sensed it immediately in the councilor's posture—the familiar tension that indicated matters of state rather than casual observation.

  "You've brought news," Elaine said as they settled into the private meeting room that had become their regular venue for conversations.

  "Troubling news," Riona confirmed, her expression grim. "Reports have reached the capital of a mysterious illness spreading through villages in the eastern provinces. Three settlements affected so far, with concerning mortality rates."

  "Symptoms?" Elaine asked, immediately shifting to clinical assessment.

  "High fever, skin lesions, respiratory distress. Rapid progression—three to five days from initial symptoms to death in severe cases." Riona's fingers tapped against the table, a rare display of anxiety from the typically composed councilor. "The regional governor has established quarantine zones, but containment is challenging. Local healers are overwhelmed and several have succumbed to the illness themselves."

  "The College's response?"

  "Cautious," Riona replied, a hint of frustration edging her voice. "They've dispatched two senior healers to assess the situation, but not to treat patients directly. Their primary recommendation is strict isolation of affected areas until the nature of the contagion is better understood."

  Elaine considered this information with outward calm that belied her immediate concern. "And the Royal Council?"

  "Divided," Riona said. "Some advocate immediate intervention with healing resources. Others fear sending healers might spread the contagion to the capital if they return infected." She met Elaine's gaze directly. "The debate continues while people die."

  "How many casualties so far?"

  "Over a hundred confirmed, with estimates suggesting the actual number may be three times that." Riona's voice lowered. "The eastern provinces have limited healing resources in the best circumstances. Against an aggressive contagion like this..."

  She left the implication hanging between them. Rural villages with basic medical knowledge at best, overwhelmed by a disease that killed within days. The death toll would rise exponentially without intervention.

  "The eastern road remains open?" Elaine asked.

  Riona's expression shifted as she recognized the question's significance. "For now, yes. Military checkpoints have been established at provincial boundaries, but essential travel continues." She leaned forward slightly. "You're considering going."

  It wasn't a question, but Elaine answered anyway. "Yes."

  "The Council would never formally sanction such action," Riona said carefully. "The risk of losing your healing capabilities to the plague—"

  "Is nonexistent," Elaine interrupted with quiet certainty.

  Riona studied her face for a long moment, searching for any hint of overconfidence or miscalculation. Finding none, she nodded once. "When?"

  "Tomorrow," Elaine replied. "I'll need today to organize matters here."

  "I should accompany you," Riona said. "My authority would ease your passage through checkpoints, and my sword might prove useful in less stable areas."

  "You're needed here," Elaine countered. "Your position on the Council gives you influence over how this crisis is managed. Use that influence to ensure resources continue flowing to affected areas."

  The logic was sound, though Elaine could see Riona's reluctance to accept it. After their journey to Varren's fortress, the councilor had developed a protective instinct toward Elaine—not because she believed Elaine needed protection, but because she'd witnessed firsthand the consequences when Elaine acted alone.

  "The Council will question your absence when they learn of it," Riona warned.

  "By then, I'll have already made substantial progress," Elaine replied with practical certainty.

  Their conversation continued briefly, Riona providing details about affected villages, known travel routes, and regional authorities Elaine might encounter. Neither woman directly acknowledged what this decision represented—Elaine once again stepping beyond institutional boundaries to address a crisis others approached with hesitation.

  As Riona departed, she paused at the doorway. "Be careful," she said simply.

  Elaine nodded, understanding the concern went beyond physical safety. The political implications of her actions would ripple through the capital long after the plague itself had passed.

  * * *

  The healing house hummed with morning activity as Elaine gathered her lead volunteers. Marta, Livia, and seven others who had gradually assumed coordination roles assembled in the kitchen where their daily planning typically occurred.

  "I'll be departing the capital tomorrow," Elaine informed them without preamble. "The eastern plague requires attention. I trust you will maintain operations here during my absence."

  Marta, ever practical, immediately began asking the essential questions. "How long will you be gone? What should we tell patients seeking your specific attention? Are there any conditions we should refer elsewhere?"

  "I don't know how long," Elaine replied honestly. "Weeks, potentially longer. Continue treating those you can with conventional methods. Refer serious cases to the College if necessary."

  The volunteers exchanged glances, absorbing the implications of her absence. Over the past nine months, they had developed substantial independence in managing daily operations, but Elaine remained the healing house's heart and purpose.

  "The plague," Livia said quietly. "Is it as serious as rumors suggest?"

  "Yes," Elaine stated simply. "Which is why I must go."

  No one questioned this decision. They had worked alongside Elaine long enough to understand both her capabilities and her unwavering commitment to healing those in need.

  "We'll manage," Marta assured her after a moment. "The community depends on this place now. We won't let them down."

  The others nodded in agreement, their expressions reflecting determination rather than uncertainty. What had begun as Elaine's solitary mission had gradually become their shared purpose.

  "I know," Elaine said, allowing a rare hint of approval to show in her expression.

  The remainder of the day passed in methodical preparation. Elaine organized essential supplies in her dimensional satchel, though she required little beyond basic provisions. She treated the most serious cases personally, ensuring no one in critical condition would be left without her attention. The volunteers made their own preparations, adjusting schedules and responsibilities to cover her absence.

  By evening, all necessary arrangements had been completed. Elaine stood in the quiet courtyard, watching twilight settle over the capital. Nine months since establishing the healing house, she had not left the city once. Now she prepared to journey into the heart of a plague zone with no certainty of when she would return.

  She touched Sarah's pendant briefly, feeling the smooth stone beneath her fingers. The simple gesture had become habitual in moments of transition or decision. Then, with characteristic lack of ceremony, she retired to rest before tomorrow's departure.

  Dawn found her already on the eastern road, having left before the city fully woke. No fanfare marked her departure, no official recognition of her mission. Just a solitary figure traveling eastward as the sun rose behind her, casting her shadow long across the road ahead.

  * * *

  The journey to the eastern provinces took four days at the steady pace Elaine maintained. With each passing mile, evidence of the plague's impact grew more apparent. Traffic thinned as fewer travelers risked the journey toward affected areas. Villages grew more cautious, some refusing to open their gates to any outsider regardless of purpose.

  Military checkpoints increased in frequency and scrutiny. At the first, soldiers merely recorded her passage with minimal questioning. By the provincial border, armed guards in protective masks demanded detailed explanation of her purpose.

  "Healer," she stated simply, producing no credentials beyond the practical healing supplies visible in her opened satchel.

  "From the College?" the checkpoint captain asked skeptically, noting her lack of formal robes or insignia.

  "No."

  "Then on whose authority do you enter the quarantine zone?" he demanded.

  "My own," Elaine replied, her tone carrying neither challenge nor deference—simply stating fact.

  The captain's frown deepened behind his mask. "No one enters without proper authorization. Governor's orders. The plague doesn't care about good intentions, healer."

  Elaine met his gaze steadily. "I understand your caution, Captain. But I can help those affected."

  He scoffed openly at this. "Three College healers already dead trying to help. What makes you different?"

  "I am," she replied simply.

  Something in her quiet certainty gave the captain pause. He studied her more carefully, noting the quality of her simple clothing, the unusual pendant at her throat, the complete absence of fear as she sought entrance to an area others fled.

  "Your name?" he asked finally.

  "Elaine."

  Recognition flickered in his eyes, followed quickly by reassessment. "Of the healing house? The one they call—" He stopped himself, suddenly aware of his men listening nearby.

  "Yes," she confirmed.

  The captain stepped closer, lowering his voice. "My sister's child was dying of lung fever last winter. Your healing house saved him when the College physicians had given up hope." His expression changed subtly behind the mask. "Pass through, Healer Elaine. But be warned—what awaits beyond is worse than any reports describe."

  With a sharp gesture, he ordered the checkpoint opened. As Elaine passed, he added quietly, "May whatever power guides your gifts protect you."

  Beyond the checkpoint, the landscape itself seemed to reflect growing tragedy. Fields lay untended where farmers had fallen ill. Occasional abandoned carts stood at roadside, their owners' fates unknown. Smoke rose from village cremation grounds where traditional burial had been abandoned for expedience and safety.

  By late afternoon of the fourth day, Elaine approached Willowbrook, the first village reported to have suffered outbreak. Even from a distance, the signs were unmistakable—yellow quarantine flags hung at the village entrance, windows shuttered despite the pleasant spring weather, an unnatural silence hanging over what should have been a bustling farming community.

  Two guards stood at the village gate, their postures suggesting exhaustion rather than vigilance. They straightened as Elaine approached, raising warning hands.

  "Halt! This village is under quarantine by order of—"

  "I'm a healer," Elaine interrupted, continuing forward without breaking stride. "I've come to treat the sick."

  The guards exchanged uncertain glances. "We've had no word of healers being sent," one said doubtfully.

  "None were sent," Elaine replied. "I came on my own."

  Before they could formulate further objection, she had passed between them, entering the village proper. Neither made physical attempt to stop her—whether from surprise, recognition of the futility, or desperate hope that help had finally arrived remained unclear.

  Inside Willowbrook, the devastation became fully apparent. What had once been a thriving village of perhaps three hundred souls now lay half-abandoned. Houses marked with red slashes indicated infection within. The central village green, normally a gathering place, had been converted to a mass cremation site, though currently unlit.

  Elaine moved purposefully toward the largest building—likely the village hall or communal gathering space. Inside, she found what she had expected: a makeshift infirmary filled with the sick and dying. Pallets covered the floor, occupied by villagers in various stages of the disease. The air hung heavy with the distinctive scent of the plague—a sweet-sour smell of fever and infected lesions.

  A middle-aged woman moved between patients, her movements sluggish with exhaustion. Strips of cloth soaked in vinegar covered her nose and mouth in rudimentary protection. She barely glanced up as Elaine entered, too focused on her tasks to register a newcomer.

  "You're the village healer?" Elaine asked.

  The woman looked up properly then, surprise evident in her reddened eyes. "I was the midwife," she corrected. "Now I'm what passes for a healer since Davrin died on the third day." She straightened, wariness replacing exhaustion. "Who are you? How did you get past the guards?"

  "I'm Elaine," she replied simply. "I've come to help."

  The midwife's expression hardened. "We've had College 'help' already. They observed, took notes, recommended treatments we had no means to provide, then left when their precious observers started showing symptoms." Bitterness edged her voice. "Twenty-seven dead since then, including three children yesterday."

  Without responding directly to the accusation, Elaine moved to the nearest patient—a young man whose fever had progressed to delirium, angry red lesions covering his visible skin.

  "How long since he showed symptoms?" she asked, already placing her hands gently on his chest and forehead.

  "Four days," the midwife replied. "He'll likely not see tomorrow."

  Golden light emanated from Elaine's palms, flowing into the young man's body. The midwife gasped, stumbling back as the glow intensified briefly before sinking beneath his skin. Within moments, the angry lesions began to fade. The man's ragged breathing eased, his fever-flushed skin cooling visibly.

  His eyes opened, confusion replacing delirium as awareness returned. "What—" he began, voice cracking from disuse.

  "Rest," Elaine instructed, already moving to the next patient. "You're healing now."

  The midwife stood frozen, disbelief warring with desperate hope. "That's impossible," she whispered. "No one recovers so quickly."

  "They do now," Elaine replied simply, her hands already glowing as she treated the next victim—an elderly woman whose lesions had progressed even further than the young man's.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Again, the golden light flowed, and again, healing followed with impossible speed and completeness. The elderly woman's breathing steadied, her skin cleared, strength visibly returning to her frail form.

  The midwife moved closer, her initial suspicion transformed by witnessing two miraculous recoveries in as many minutes. "How are you doing this?"

  "The method isn't important," Elaine replied, continuing to the next patient without breaking rhythm. "Bring me water to help them drink as they wake."

  For the next several hours, Elaine moved methodically through the infirmary, healing each plague victim with the same focused efficiency. The midwife—Maren, she eventually introduced herself—shifted from skepticism to assistance, helping recovered patients drink, organizing their removal to make space for others, sending runners to bring the sick from homes too distant to reach the infirmary.

  By nightfall, every plague victim in the village hall had been healed completely. As word spread, villagers began bringing family members who had been too ill to move or whom they had been trying to care for at home. Elaine continued without rest, treating each new arrival with the same careful attention as the first.

  Near midnight, as she healed the last identified patient in Willowbrook, an elderly man grasped her hand. "Who are you?" he asked, voice strengthened by his miraculous recovery. "Really?"

  Elaine met his gaze steadily. "I'm Elaine," she said simply. "I'm a healer."

  "No," the old man insisted. "No ordinary healer can do what you've done today. Are you sent by the gods? Are you something else entirely?"

  "I'm just a healer," Elaine repeated firmly. "One with sufficient skill for this particular illness."

  The old man seemed unconvinced, but released her hand with a respectful nod. As he departed, she overheard him whisper to another villager, "Mark my words, we've been touched by something beyond our understanding today."

  Maren approached as the village hall emptied of all but a few recovering patients. Exhaustion lined her face, but wonder had replaced her initial skepticism.

  "In one day," she said softly, "you've accomplished what I had believed impossible. We were preparing for dozens more deaths, weeks of suffering." She hesitated, then asked the question that clearly troubled her. "Why did you come when others wouldn't? Why risk yourself?"

  "I face no risk," Elaine replied honestly. "And I came because I could help."

  "Simple as that?" Maren pressed.

  "Yes."

  The midwife studied her with newfound respect. "The next village over—Oakvale—has been hit even harder than we were. Are you..." She hesitated.

  "I'll go there tomorrow," Elaine confirmed.

  Maren's shoulders sagged with relief. "I'll send word ahead. They should prepare their sick."

  "No need for preparation," Elaine said. "Just tell them a healer is coming."

  * * *

  Word of Elaine's work spread faster than she could travel. Before she had completed the half-day journey to Oakvale, rumors of miraculous healing had raced ahead. Runners from Willowbrook had carried messages not just to the next village but to settlements throughout the region.

  "The Miracle Healer comes!" they proclaimed, their breathless accounts growing more elaborate with each telling. "She healed every sick person in Willowbrook with a touch! The plague fled before her golden light!"

  Approaching Oakvale, Elaine found not guard-protected gates but a gathered crowd. Unlike Willowbrook's guarded entrance, these villagers waited with desperate hope rather than cautious defense. Many had traveled from neighboring communities, some carrying sick family members on makeshift litters, others bringing only stories of infected left behind.

  A small delegation moved forward as she approached—the village elder supported by two younger men, all wearing protective cloths across their faces.

  "Healer Elaine?" the elder called, his voice muffled behind his mask. "We received word from Willowbrook. Is it true you cured their sick in a single day?"

  "Yes," she replied simply.

  The crowd murmured at this confirmation, hope and disbelief mingling in their reactions. The elder studied her carefully, perhaps expecting more impressive appearance for someone reputed to work miracles.

  "Our situation is grave," he said finally. "Over forty sick, fifteen already dead since the plague reached us. And these people—" he gestured to the gathered travelers, "—have come from as far as Riverford and Millvale seeking your help."

  "Take me to them," Elaine requested, her tone making it a statement rather than a question.

  What followed established the pattern that would repeat across the plague-stricken region in the weeks to come. Elaine moved methodically from patient to patient, house to house, her golden healing light transforming despair to amazement as the seemingly impossible occurred village by village.

  With each community she visited, the anticipation of her arrival grew more intense. Sick were gathered in central locations awaiting her. Riders traveled ahead, spreading word of her approach. Villagers lined roads to watch her pass, some falling to their knees in reverence despite her consistent rejection of such treatment.

  "I'm just a healer," she would say again and again. "Nothing more."

  But to those who witnessed her work, she was far more. Tales spread of a woman with golden hands who turned away death itself. Songs were already being composed in taverns and around cooking fires, describing her journey through the plague lands.

  At Oakvale, as people attempted to thank her with excessive gratitude or offers of payment, she redirected their focus. "Help your neighbors recover," she instructed simply. "Rebuild what the plague has damaged."

  From Oakvale to Riverford. From Riverford to Millvale. From village to town to scattered homesteads. Elaine traveled the plague road, healing thousands where formal estimates had predicted months of suffering and uncountable deaths.

  Local healers watched in wonder, asking endless questions about her methods. Though she could not teach them her power, she offered practical advice about contagion management, patient care, and recovery support. In her wake, communities reorganized themselves around principles learned through observation of her efficient, methodical approach.

  Some tried to treat her as something beyond human—offering prayers before her arrival, attempting to touch her clothing as if it carried healing properties, speaking of divine intervention and miraculous gifts. To all such reverence, Elaine responded with the same quiet correction: "I am a healer. Nothing more or less."

  * * *

  Two weeks into her journey, Elaine encountered something unexpected—a College healer traveling the same path but in the opposite direction. The woman, middle-aged with the formal blue robes and silver insignia of a senior College physician, stared in open shock as they met on the road outside a recently healed village.

  "You're Elaine," the College healer said, recognition immediate. "From the capital's healing house."

  "Yes," Elaine confirmed. "And you are?"

  "Lydia Marren, Senior Physician of the Royal College." The woman's tone carried the practiced authority of academic credential, though her expression betrayed uncertainty. "I've been dispatched to assess the... unusual reports coming from this region."

  "The plague is being eliminated," Elaine stated simply.

  Lydia's lips thinned. "So we've heard. Hence my presence." She gestured to the village behind Elaine. "Did you truly heal everyone there?"

  "Yes."

  "In a single day?"

  "Yes."

  Lydia shook her head slightly, professional skepticism warring with the evidence before her. "I've been a healer for thirty years. What you're claiming defies every practical limitation we've established about healing energy expenditure and recovery patterns."

  "The limitations apply to others, not to me," Elaine replied.

  "So I'm discovering." Lydia glanced toward her travel companions waiting at a discreet distance—two junior healers and a royal scribe. "The College has been in constant debate since reports of your... activities reached the capital. Archmaster Valerian himself requested I verify what's happening before the Council takes official position."

  "And what will you report?" Elaine asked.

  Lydia studied her carefully. "The truth, as best I can determine it." She hesitated, then added, "Would you permit me to observe your work? Not to interfere, but to witness."

  "If you wish."

  The College healer accompanied Elaine to the next village on her route—a small farming community called Elmbrooke where nearly a third of the population had fallen ill. As with previous settlements, word of Elaine's approach had preceded her. The sick had been gathered in the village center, fearful families hovering nearby.

  Lydia and her junior healers watched in stunned silence as Elaine moved among the patients. The golden light from her hands, the immediate reversal of symptoms, the complete restoration of health where conventional medicine would have managed, at best, gradual recovery for some and painful death for many—all unfolded before their professional scrutiny.

  After the last patient had been healed, Lydia approached Elaine, her face pale with the implications of what she'd witnessed.

  "You're using the same fundamental techniques as any College healer," she said quietly, her trained eye having recognized the familiar energy patterns. "But the raw power behind it..." She shook her head in disbelief.

  "What we require days to accomplish—and often fail despite our best efforts—you do instantly, without apparent effort or depletion." Lydia's voice betrayed both awe and professional dismay. "Your capabilities aren't just quantitatively greater than ours; the difference is so vast it becomes qualitative."

  Elaine offered no contradiction to this accurate assessment.

  "The College's entire understanding of what's practically possible in healing—" Lydia stopped herself, visibly struggling with the implications. "We've always known theoretically that with sufficient energy, full regeneration would be possible. But no healer has ever possessed such reserves. The human body simply can't channel that much power."

  Lydia's expression shifted, professional assessment giving way to a profound realization. "I've dedicated my life to healing. Studied every text, practiced every technique, taught countless students." Her voice lowered. "And yet what you just accomplished in hours…"

  "I will return to the capital immediately," Lydia decided. "The College should understand what I've witnessed, though I suspect it will create more questions than answers." She hesitated, then extended her hand in a gesture of professional respect. "Thank you for allowing me to observe. Your work here forces us to reconsider not our understanding of healing techniques, but our understanding of what's possible for a single healer to accomplish."

  As the College delegation departed, Elaine continued her methodical progress through plague-affected communities. The institutional implications meant little to her; the immediate alleviation of suffering meant everything.

  * * *

  By the third week, Elaine faced the greatest challenge of her journey—Eastcross, the provincial capital and largest settlement in the region. Unlike the villages and smaller towns she had already healed, Eastcross housed over ten thousand people, with nearly two thousand infected by the time she arrived.

  The city's grand square had been transformed into a massive treatment area, with hundreds of sick arranged in rows beneath hastily constructed canvas shelters. The provincial governor himself waited at the city gates, his formal attire incongruous with the crisis atmosphere.

  "Healer Elaine," he greeted her, relief evident in his voice. "Your reputation precedes you. We've prepared as instructed—all identified cases gathered in the central square."

  "How many?" she asked.

  "Nearly eight hundred in the square," he replied. "Perhaps twice that still in homes throughout the city, too ill to move or not yet identified."

  Elaine nodded, calculating the scope of work before her. Previous settlements had required hours; this would demand days of continuous effort.

  "Take me to them," she said simply.

  The scale of suffering in Eastcross exceeded anything she had encountered since beginning her journey. Hundreds lay dying, the air thick with the sounds of labored breathing and occasional cries of pain. Medical workers moved among them, offering what limited comfort they could—cold cloths for fever, water for parched lips, nothing that could truly heal.

  Elaine began without ceremony, moving to the first patient and summoning the golden light that had saved thousands already. As in smaller communities, a crowd gathered to witness her work, their whispers spreading outward as seemingly terminal cases rose healed within minutes of her touch.

  Hour after hour, she continued without rest. The governor offered food, water, opportunities to pause—all politely declined as she maintained her methodical progress through rows of the sick. By nightfall, hundreds had been healed, yet hundreds more remained.

  Lanterns were brought as darkness fell, illuminating her continued work. Still she moved from patient to patient, the golden light unwavering despite hours of continuous use. Those healed early in the day returned to help others, creating an impromptu support system around her steady progress.

  Dawn broke with Elaine still working, having continued through the night without pause. Onlookers whispered in amazement at her endurance—no ordinary healer could maintain such effort without rest, without apparent fatigue, without diminishment of their abilities.

  "The Mother walks among us again," an elderly woman whispered, falling to her knees. The phrase spread through the gathered crowd, passed from person to person with growing conviction. "The Mother has returned."

  It took three full days and nights to heal every plague victim in Eastcross—three days without sleep, without rest, without any apparent diminishment of Elaine's healing power. As she completed her work in the central square, city officials organized teams to bring her to those still isolated in homes throughout the city.

  By the fourth day, rumors of her inhuman endurance had spread throughout the province. Some claimed she neither ate nor slept. Others insisted they had seen the golden light emanating not just from her hands but surrounding her entire form like an aura. Still others reported that plants bloomed where she walked, that animals bowed in her presence, that the very air seemed purified by her passing.

  Elaine ignored these growing myths, focusing only on the task before her. House by house, street by street, she continued until every last infection had been eliminated from Eastcross.

  The governor attempted to host a formal celebration upon completion, erecting a platform in the central square where Elaine might be publicly thanked and honored. She declined without explanation, already preparing to depart for the next affected community.

  "At least accept some token of our gratitude," the governor insisted. "The province is prepared to offer land, title, whatever you might desire."

  "I desire nothing," Elaine replied. "Continue caring for those who have recovered. That is sufficient."

  Before sunrise the following day, she had already left the city, continuing her methodical journey through what remained of the plague-affected region.

  * * *

  After three weeks, the plague's advance had been halted completely. Where quarantine zones had contained the illness but not eliminated it, Elaine had eradicated the contagion entirely. Villages that had prepared for devastation found themselves instead recovering with unprecedented speed.

  The lords of the eastern provinces requested her presence, prepared to offer formal recognition and reward. Elaine declined the invitation without explanation, already turning her attention westward—back toward the capital and her healing house.

  Her return journey followed the same route as her arrival, though the landscape had transformed in her absence. Fields once abandoned now showed signs of renewal as recovered farmers returned to their work. Checkpoints maintained vigilance, but the soldiers' faces showed relief rather than grim determination.

  At the final checkpoint before the capital, the same captain who had granted her passage weeks earlier stood waiting. His protective mask was gone, his posture considerably less tense. As she approached, he raised his hand, signaling his men to attention. To Elaine's surprise, they formed a perfect line on either side of the road.

  "Healer Elaine," he greeted, his voice carrying new respect. "Word of your work has traveled far beyond the plague lands."

  As she passed between the soldiers, each lowered their head in a gesture of profound respect. The captain himself placed his right hand over his heart—a salute reserved for generals and royalty.

  "Before you passed this checkpoint, fifty villages stood at risk," he said. "Thousands of lives hung in the balance. The Royal College estimated tens of thousands would die before the plague ran its course." He paused, emotion briefly tightening his voice. "Instead, the death toll rose only slightly after you began your work—barely seven hundred total, not the twenty thousand predicted. Your intervention changed everything."

  "The plague is ended," Elaine confirmed simply.

  "How many did you heal?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

  "I didn't count," Elaine replied honestly. The number had been irrelevant to her purpose.

  The captain nodded slowly. "The Royal Council has been in constant debate since your departure. They've sent messengers daily seeking news of your progress." A hint of admiration crept into his voice. "What you've done for these provinces won't be forgotten."

  She continued past the checkpoint, leaving the captain still contemplating her response. As she walked away, he called after her, "Your healing house continued its work in your absence. They've cared for hundreds while you saved thousands. What you've built there—it continues even when you're gone."

  Elaine paused briefly, acknowledging this observation with a slight nod before resuming her journey. The capital appeared on the horizon by late afternoon, its white towers and blue domes familiar despite her absence. No triumphant procession awaited her return, no formal recognition of what she had accomplished. Just as she had departed without ceremony, she returned the same way—a solitary figure on the western road, a healer returning to her work.

  The shadows had lengthened to evening when she finally reached the healing house. What struck her immediately was not what had changed, but what hadn't—the steady rhythm of purpose continued uninterrupted. Patients rested in recovery rooms, volunteers moved with quiet efficiency through familiar tasks, the kitchen hummed with activity beyond what she remembered.

  Marta noticed her first, pausing in her record-keeping to stare for just a moment before hurrying forward. "Elaine!" she called, her tone reflecting joy but notably lacking surprise, as if Elaine's return had been not just hoped for but expected. "Welcome home."

  Others gathered quickly—Livia from the kitchen, Tomas from the supply room, more volunteers emerging from various parts of the building. Their greetings carried the same quality—happiness without astonishment, as if her defeat of a plague that had stymied the kingdom's finest healers was simply what they had come to expect of her.

  "The eastern plague?" Marta asked, the question containing multitudes.

  "Ended," Elaine confirmed.

  "And the healing house?" Elaine asked in return, shifting focus from her accomplishment to their shared purpose.

  "Functioning smoothly," Marta reported. "We've maintained regular treatment schedules, expanded the food program to reach three additional neighborhoods, and established a rotating system for volunteer healers to attend to minor ailments when you're occupied with more serious cases."

  As they walked through the main hall, Elaine noted new developments—additional storage areas for food supplies, a small but well-organized dispensary for basic medicines, children's drawings covering one wall where younger patients waited. The healing house had not merely maintained itself in her absence; it had grown.

  "People believed you would return when your work was finished," Livia explained as she showed Elaine the expanded kitchen operations. "That certainty gave us confidence to build upon what you started."

  The entrance hall doors opened, admitting Riona in her councilor's robes. Her expression brightened visibly upon seeing Elaine.

  "I was informed of your return," she said, crossing the room with purposeful strides. "Reports are already reaching the palace about the plague's 'miraculous end.' The Royal Council is assembling to discuss the implications."

  "There's nothing to discuss," Elaine replied. "The plague is over. Thousands who would have died are now recovering."

  "That simplicity is precisely what confounds them," Riona said, a hint of amusement touching her features. "Three weeks to end what their experts projected would take months, if containable at all. Some Council members speak of 'divine intervention,' while others search for political explanations or hidden motives."

  "All unnecessary complications," Elaine observed.

  "To you, perhaps," Riona acknowledged. "But to those accustomed to measuring power in political influence or military might, what you've accomplished represents something... destabilizing."

  As they spoke, a family entered the healing house—parents with a young child between them. They carried no obvious injury or illness, their purpose unclear until they approached the corner table that had become an informal shrine. The father placed a small carved wooden figure among the existing offerings—a simple human form with outstretched hands.

  "For the eastern villages," he explained when he noticed Elaine watching. "My brother's family lives in Oakvale. They wrote to us about what you did there."

  The mother knelt briefly, whispering something too quiet to hear, before they departed as quietly as they had come.

  "Your absence hasn't diminished what's developing here," Riona observed. "If anything, reports of your work in the east have only strengthened it."

  Elaine touched Sarah's pendant briefly, feeling the familiar smooth stone beneath her fingers. What had begun as a healing house had evolved into something more complex—not by her design, but through the accumulated responses of those whose lives she had touched.

  "I should check on the serious cases Marta mentioned," she said, already moving toward the treatment area.

  Riona nodded, understanding that for Elaine, the most natural response to her return was simply to resume her work. Not dwelling on past achievements, not seeking recognition for lives saved, just continuing the purpose that defined her.

  As night settled fully over the capital, Elaine moved among her patients with the same quiet efficiency she had shown in plague-stricken villages. Golden light flowed from her hands, healing wounds, curing illnesses, restoring what had been damaged. Behind her stretched a road of recovered villages and thousands saved from certain death. Before her lay the continuing work of the healing house and whatever challenges might emerge next.

  She faced both with the same quiet certainty—not as a divine figure as some now whispered, not as a political power as others feared, but simply as what she had always been at her core: Elaine, the healer.