A Prayer for Survival

“DON’T COME NEAR MY BROTHER!”

The voice cuts through the haze in my mind, slicing the fog like a knife through silk. It echoes—sharp, furious, familiar.
It’s Elara.

That voice—it's not the voice of a little girl anymore.It roars like thunder from a clear sky, furious and divine.

My body jerks slightly at the sound, like the last spark of life inside me reacts on instinct. Everything hurts. My head is pounding. Blood pumps from my wounds in hot pulses, soaking the torn fabric of my clothes, staining the earth beneath me.

But that voice—it pulls me back.

Before I can react, the very air changes.
It’s subtle at first, like the shift in wind before a storm. Then sharper—like the sky itself draws in a breath.

A shiver races down my spine.

The ground trembles, just a little, and the scent of the forest dampens—replaced by something crisp and raw.

The air shifts around me, turning icy, sharp.
Magic.

But not mine.

I force my eyes open, my vision spinning. My lids feel like stone, my lashes crusted with dried blood.

And then—I see it.

A shimmer appears in front of me, faint and flickering like heat rising from stone. It twists, warps, bends like rippling glass.

I blink again, vision swimming.

What... is that?

The shimmer intensifies—spreading. Expanding. Stretching upward from the dirt. It isn’t fire or shadow. It’s…

Water.

It rises from the ground, swirling like a spirit unbound. Liquid arcs stretch in elegant loops, spiraling with purpose, not chaos. It glows faintly—a pale blue light dancing through every ripple.

It circles me like a living shield, coiling into a barrier.

I try to breathe.

The liquid gleams, reflecting the fading sun as if it holds the sky within it. It hums. A deep, calming vibration, like it’s alive. Like it recognizes me. Like it knows who I am.

The air around me cools, wrapping around my battered body like silk. I can feel its pressure—a protective embrace.

The wolf stops, paws digging into the earth just shy of the barrier. It snarls, confused. Its eyes—those glowing yellow eyes—narrow.

It paces, growling low, lips curled back, ears flicking.

It senses something ancient. Something stronger.

And for once… it hesitates.

My breath catches. I watch it through blurred vision, my pulse pounding in my ears.

What... is this?

I try to shift, but pain lances through my side and arm. Every limb screams in protest. My skin feels cold, my blood sticky.

The sound of rushing water fills my ears—steady, rhythmic, like waves on a shore I can’t reach. I can barely think through the roar.

But the barrier… it holds.
It hums with power, whispering secrets I can’t understand.

The wolf creeps closer again. Just one step.
Then another.

Its muscles coil.

But then—it freezes.

Its ears twitch sharply, turning toward the trees.

It doesn’t see me anymore.It senses something greater.

With a snarl, it whips around and vanishes into the brush, vanishing like a ghost into the dark.

I don’t believe it until it’s gone.

I watch, eyes barely focused, as the last flash of gray disappears into the thick, swaying shadows of the forest.

I want to stand. I want to shout for Elara. I want to say something—anything.

But I can’t.

My chest heaves. My head sways.

My body feels like it’s floating, too light, too heavy, both at once.

I barely feel the ground beneath me anymore.

The rushing water fades, its echoes slipping away into the quiet. What remains is the thundering pound of my heart.

Thud-thud. Thud-thud.

It drowns out everything.

I try to stay awake. Try to listen.

The water barrier vanishes, its task complete.
The world tilts. The trees blur into streaks of green and gold and black.

“What... just happened?”

No answer.

Voices—faint.

Yelling? Shouting?

The dirt is cold beneath my fingers, damp from blood and magic. I try to stay grounded. I try to hold on.

Everything is muffled.

Like I’m underwater.

Like I’m already gone.

My head drops, and the last thing I remember is the faint sound of footsteps running toward me before everything goes black.

----------------------------------------------

“Is he okay?” I asked, my voice trembling as I ran toward Elara.

Elara’s voice is a raw, trembling thread in the wind—piercing, desperate.

I hear her as I crash through the trees, my boots pounding against the forest floor, my heart thundering with every step.

She screamed. I heard her scream. And I ran.

The woods blur past in streaks of green and shadow. My muscles burn. My breath rips from my lungs. But I don’t stop. I can’t stop. There’s only one thought in my mind:

Get to them.

Branches claw at my arms, thorns scrape my legs, but I barely feel any of it. The sound of my footsteps crashes over everything else—thud-thud-thud—matching the pounding of my blood as it rushes through me like a war drum.

And then—

I see it.

The wolf.

Too close to her.

No hesitation. No thought. Just instinct.

I reach for the largest rock I can find, the rough surface scraping my fingers as I grip it tight. My muscles coil, mana surging through them like lightning. With a guttural shout, I throw it.

CRACK.

The rock slams into the side of the wolf’s skull with sickening force. Its body folds mid-motion, collapsing like a puppet with cut strings. It doesn’t move again.

But the danger isn’t over.

Because when I turn—when I see him—

Orion drops.

His knees buckle. His body sways.

And then he’s down, slamming into the dirt like a lifeless doll.

I can’t breathe.

No. Gods, no.

I surge forward, every fiber in my body screaming in protest as I dive toward him. The world narrows to this one moment, this one scene.

Elara is already there.

She’s kneeling beside him, her tiny frame shaking, tears streaking her cheeks like silver threads. Her hands hover, glowing faintly as water magic swirls from her fingers, forming a trembling shield around his body.

She saved him.

She saved him.

At least for now.

But the sight of him—of Orion—

It breaks something in me.

The damage is brutal.

His back is torn open, shredded with claw marks so deep I can see muscle. Blood spills freely, soaking into the ground. His arm—mangled, swollen, teeth marks puncturing deep. His leg—twisted in a way no leg should ever be. Gods, it looks shattered.

Every injury screams a story.A story of a child who fought when he shouldn’t have had to.

A boy who bled to protect someone else.

I drop to my knees, my palms dirty, trembling above his body.

Where do I start?

What can I do?

How is he even alive?

“Please be alive,” I whisper before I even realize the words are escaping. My voice cracks. “Please…”

The forest is still now—eerily so. Even the birds have gone quiet. The scent of blood clings to the air like smoke after a fire. Dirt, magic, fear—it’s all there. Coiling around us. Drowning me.

I can’t lose him. I won’t.

I press my fingers to the side of his neck.

A pulse. Barely.

He's still here.

I grit my teeth, forcing back the wave of panic threatening to swallow me whole. My mind races—healers, salves, runes—what do I have? What can I use?

Elara is sobbing now, her voice broken. “Uncle… please… help him…”

I nod slowly, my jaw clenched tight.

I won’t let him die.

Not him.

“We need to get him to a healer. Now,” I say, my voice harder than steel, even as my insides twist and burn.

Because Orion’s still breathing.
And while he is—I’ll move the damn world to save him.

Elara nods, her face pale and stricken. She’s trying to hold herself together, but I can see the fear swimming in her wide, tear-glazed eyes.

Her magic still flickers faintly—water floating in delicate tendrils above Orion’s wounds—but her hands tremble with exhaustion. The spell is breaking, her strength almost spent.

“Stay with me, Elara,” I say quickly, my voice firm but not unkind as I drop to one knee beside her. I place a hand on her shoulder, feeling how cold she’s gotten.

“You’ve done well. He’s alive because of you. But we must move now.”

The glimmer of resolve returns to her eyes—just enough.

I shift my position, slipping my arms under Orion’s limp frame.

Gods, he’s heavier than he looks. His muscles, still so young and lean, offer no resistance. His body is warm, yes—but lifeless. Boneless.

The moment my fingers press against his back, I feel the torn flesh, slick with blood. It soaks instantly through my shirt, sticky and warm, but I don’t flinch.

That warmth is hope.

That warmth means time.

“Hold on, Orion,” I murmur, more to him than myself. My voice is low, barely above a whisper.

“You’re not leaving us. Not like this.”

I rise to my feet, cradling him carefully, adjusting to keep pressure off his shattered leg. Every step is a calculated effort—steady, smooth, avoid jostling the injuries. The pain he must’ve endured…

No. Focus.

“Stay close to me,” I tell Elara as I begin to move through the trees. She stumbles behind me, struggling to keep pace on her short legs, but she doesn’t complain.

The forest is quieter now, the chaos of before stripped away, leaving only the echo of our footsteps, the hiss of wind through pine needles, and the faint crackle of distant magic still lingering in the air.

The path ahead winds between gnarled trees, roots threatening to trip us at every step. The light filters in dappled fragments through the canopy—golden, fading, the last breath of daylight.

“You’re strong, Orion,” I whisper to him as his head rests against my shoulder. His face is pale, slack.

“You made it this far. Just stay with me a little longer.”

My pace quickens.

The smell of iron fills my nose—his blood, still fresh and flowing. It trails behind us in droplets, splashing against the leaves and moss.

I grit my teeth and press forward, boots hitting the dirt with purposeful force. Faster now. Healers can mend the body. They can even restart a fading heart. But only if we’re not too late.

We break past the edge of the forest, the village rising before us like a forgotten dream—stone cottages, tiled roofs, narrow winding roads that lead straight to salvation.

The gates loom ahead—wrought iron, high and curved, creaking as the wind whistles through the gaps. They groan when I shoulder them open with a grunt.

“Elara, Aria,” I shout, my voice cracking from the effort, “go! Get Anara and bring her to the church immediately!”

They nod in unison—Elara barely composed, Aria fierce despite her trembling hands—and take off in opposite directions, vanishing down the narrow village lanes like arrows loosed from a bow.

I don’t stop to watch them go.

My focus is a single point now.

The church.

My arms ache. My back screams. My lungs burn with every breath, but I don’t stop. Orion’s body shifts against mine with every step, and I adjust my grip again and again, unwilling to let him fall even an inch. His blood drips a line down my wrist, painting my skin red.

The church rises in the distance—tall, white, its spire cutting the sky like a blade. The stained glass glows faintly with the last rays of sunlight. The twin doors wait ahead, closed but not locked. They never are.

My boots hit the cobblestones—clack, clack, clack—the sound echoing through the silent street. Villagers peek from behind shutters, hushed whispers following in my wake, but no one stops me.

He’ll make it.

He has to make it.

I reach the doors, and I don’t slow down.

Not for pain.

Not for fear.

Not for anything.

“Father! FATHER!” I shout, my voice raw, throat torn from the run, as I slam through the heavy wooden doors. The sound of my boots pounding the stone floor follows like thunder.

The church greets me with silence and shadow. Cool air wraps around me like a shroud. Enchanted candles flicker along the arched walls, their pale golden flames trembling slightly—responding, perhaps, to the storm I’ve dragged in.

The massive oak doors groan shut behind me, echoing like the toll of distant bells. At the far end of the grand hall, near the altar beneath the towering statue of Goddess Uranas, he turns—Father Eldric—his silvered brows furrowing as his robe flows around his ankles.

“Father!” I cry again, pushing forward, Orion's limp weight dragging at my arms. My muscles scream in protest, but I don’t stop. I reach the altar, nearly staggering as I kneel and lay him down—my nephew, torn and broken—on the polished stone slab meant for prayer, not pain.

“Heal him. Now! He was attacked by a wolf pack.”

The words burst from me like an order, but there’s a quiver beneath them I can’t hide.

The blood... it’s everywhere. It pools across the altar, dark and slick. His body—gods above—his body is a mess of claw and fang. His leg’s twisted at a sickening angle. His face is pale, too pale. And still. Too still.

Father Eldric doesn’t speak for a heartbeat. Just stares.

His lips part slightly as his eyes land on Orion’s mangled frame. His shoulders slacken, and the color drains from his face.

“By the gods…” he breathes, as if the sight alone siphons the strength from him. I see it in his eyes—fear.

My jaw clenches. “Please,” I say, more growl than plea now. “He doesn’t have much time.”

That’s all it takes. The father blinks once, and then resolve takes hold. His spine straightens, and the weariness vanishes behind duty.

“Step back,” he commands, his voice calm but hard as stone.

I stagger back, blood sticking to my arms and chest. My chest rises and falls rapidly, every breath a battle. My gaze locks onto Orion’s face, willing him to breathe, to move, to do something—anything.

Eldric’s hands hover over Orion’s chest. His fingers begin to glow, pulsing with a faint, pure light. There’s no hesitation, no wasted motion.

“Lux vita circulorum, vita lumen. Sana vulnera, redde robur!”(Light of life, circle of vitality. Heal the wounds, restore strength.)

His voice cuts through the hush of the church, deep and resonant. Magic stirs in the air like dust in moonlight. A subtle vibration hums through the stone beneath my boots.

And then—circles.

One by one, glowing sigils bloom beneath Eldric’s hands. The first is pale, flickering like a dying flame. The next, stronger—its edges traced in gold. Then two more, each larger, each more complex, spinning slowly in place like gears turning within the world’s own clockwork.

The altar glows. The air thickens. My skin prickles with rising heat and mana. I feel my heartbeat slow, drawn into rhythm with the pulse of the spell.

The candles flicker harder. The stained glass windows shimmer faintly as the golden light dances across their colored panes.

Eldric's face tightens with strain. Sweat trickles down his temple, catching the glow and sparkling like tiny drops of light. His breath comes harder now, but he doesn’t stop.

Not yet.

The magic crackles around Orion’s broken body. His wounds... they’re still open, still raw. But the bleeding slows. I can see it. The circles press inward like rings of fire, sealing the injuries one by one.

I hold my breath.

Come on, boy. Come on.

And Eldric keeps going, his voice steady even as his hands begin to shake.

Middle-class healing spells are not easy to cast—especially not at this level—but Eldric doesn’t falter.

The golden light from the circles intensifies, pouring down from his trembling hands like divine rivers. It flows over Orion’s body, streams of warm, luminous magic seeping into torn muscle and shattered bone. The sacred energy hums in the air, vibrating faintly through the stone beneath my knees.

I can see the change almost immediately.

The claw marks raked across his back—deep, brutal gashes—begin to draw inward. The raw, jagged edges smooth out, skin knitting itself back together like a wound in time being reversed. His arm, swollen and misshapen, pulses once, and I watch in awe as the flesh reshapes, healing with a slow, organic grace. His broken leg—twisted, useless—shifts with a soft crack as it straightens, aligning itself under the spell’s guidance.

My breath catches in my throat, and only then do I realize I’ve been holding it. I let it out in a slow, shaking exhale, my chest rising and falling with the release of tension. My heart still hammers, but for the first time in what feels like hours, there's hope.

But then, Eldric staggers.

“Father!” I move without thinking, stepping forward with my arms ready to catch him.

He raises a trembling hand. “I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth. His eyes are shadowed, face pale with strain, and yet his voice doesn’t waver. “This… spell is nearly complete.”

The golden circles pulse one final time. The room glows in a radiant burst—and then, silence.

They fade into the air, the golden warmth dissolving like mist under morning light. The magic is gone. The candles flicker gently once more, and the church returns to its dim stillness. But it’s different now. Calmer. Softer.

Eldric steps back, nearly stumbling, his chest heaving. His hands hang at his sides, trembling, slick with sweat. His breath rasps in the quiet, and he looks like a man who’s just climbed a mountain with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Orion’s chest rises and falls steadily now.

His brow is no longer furrowed with pain. The tension in his jaw has eased. The lines of agony carved into his face are gone. He sleeps—truly sleeps—for the first time since I pulled him out of that bloodstained forest.

“He’s stable,” Eldric says at last, his voice low, a whisper tempered by hard-earned calm. “But he’ll need time to recover fully. The damage was… severe.”

The words echo through the space between us.

I feel my legs give out beneath me. I drop to my knees, the strength I’ve been clinging to finally abandoning me now that it’s over. My palms meet the cold, polished stone of the church floor, and I bow my head.

“Thank you,” I whisper, barely louder than a breath, but every ounce of gratitude I possess is carried in it.

Eldric places a hand on my shoulder. It’s not firm—it shakes—but the weight of it steadies me all the same.

“You got him here in time,” he says gently. “That’s what matters.”

I look up at Orion. His face is peaceful now. His chest moves with quiet breaths. His skin is pale, but not ghostly. His wounds are closed. His heart still beats.

He’s alive.

I feel like I can breathe again.