Forbidden Bond: A Velthorn Tale

The air was thick with tension as Anora knelt beside Mikhail's prone form, her small green hands clasping his larger one tightly. Tears streamed down her face, leaving glistening trails across her freckled cheeks. Her orange eyes, wide with fear and concern, never left Mikhail's pale face as Calista and Kaelith worked frantically to stem the flow of blood from his wound.

"Please, Mikhail," Anora whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "Don't leave me. Not now.”

Kaelith moved with purpose, his face set in grim determination. He strode over to Rawl's lifeless body, lying crumpled where Bakule had tossed him. Without hesitation, he wrenched the large knife from the dead man's stiff fingers. The blade gleamed wickedly in the morning light, still stained with Mikhail's blood.

With swift strides, Kaelith returned to the campfire. He thrust the knife deep into the hot coals, the metal disappearing among the glowing embers. The group waited in tense silence, the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and Mikhail's labored breathing.

After what felt like an eternity, but was likely only a few moments, Kaelith carefully extracted the knife from the coals with some metal tongs. The blade glowed a dull red, radiating heat. He held it out to Calista, handle first, his movements slow and deliberate.

"Here," he said, his voice low and steady. "It's ready."

Calista wrapped a cloth around the handle without hesitation, her face a mask of concentration. She turned to Mikhail, her eyes flickering briefly to Anora's tear-stained face before focusing on the task at hand.

Anora watched in a mixture of horror and fascination as Calista worked. The woman's movements were swift and sure, betraying years of experience. She pressed the heated blade against Mikhail's wound, cauterizing it with practiced efficiency.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air, making Anora's stomach turn. But she couldn't look away, her orange eyes fixed on Calista's hands as they moved with surprising grace and precision. It was clear that this wasn't the first time Calista had treated such a grievous injury.

As Calista worked, Anora found herself wondering about this woman's past. What experiences had given her such skill in treating wounds? But those questions were quickly pushed aside by her overwhelming concern for Mikhail. She squeezed his hand tighter, silently willing him to hold on, to fight, to survive.

As Calista pressed the heated blade against Mikhail's wound, his eyes suddenly flew open. A blood-curdling scream tore from his throat, his body arching off the ground in agony. The sound sent chills down Anora's spine, her heart clenching at the sight of Mikhail's pain. But just as quickly as he had awakened, Mikhail's eyes rolled back, and he fell limp once more. The sudden silence was almost as terrifying as his scream had been.

Panic seized Anora's chest, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She looked up at Calista, her orange eyes wide with fear. "Is he... is he dead?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Calista shook her head, a reassuring smile softening her features despite the gravity of the situation. "No, dear," she said gently, her voice steady and calming. "He's just passed out from the pain. It happens to a lot of people when they're treated this way. It's actually a blessing - his body is protecting him from feeling too much at once."

Anora nodded slowly, trying to process Calista's words. She looked down at Mikhail's face, now peaceful in unconsciousness, and felt a glimmer of hope.

Calista continued working as she spoke, her hands never faltering in their task. "Mikhail needs rest now," she explained, her tone professional yet kind. "The knife missed any vital organs, which is truly amazing. It was a close call, but..." She paused, “If it becomes infected then things could get bad.” She glanced at Anora with a hint of admiration. "Your quick thinking, jumping on that brute's back, it likely saved Mikhail's life. You threw off the attacker's aim just enough."

Anora felt a rush of relief mixed with a surge of pride at Calista's words. She had acted on instinct, driven by her fear for Mikhail's safety. To know that her actions had made such a crucial difference filled her with a warmth that momentarily overshadowed her worry.

She looked down at Mikhail's unconscious form, gently brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "You hear that?" she whispered to him, even though she knew he couldn't respond. "You're going to be okay. You just need to rest now."

Calista wiped her brow, leaving a faint smear of blood on her forehead. "Kaelith," she called, "I need your help moving Mikhail. We should get him somewhere more comfortable."

Kaelith nodded, quickly spreading out a blanket beside the wagon. Together, they carefully lifted Mikhail's unconscious form and gently laid him on the makeshift bed. Anora hovered nearby, her eyes never leaving Mikhail's face.

"Don't worry too much," Calista said softly, placing a comforting hand on Anora's shoulder. "After a day or so of rest, he'll be fine. Mikhail's strong, and the wound, while serious, isn't life-threatening."

With Mikhail settled, Kaelith and Calista set about the grim task of clearing away the bodies of their attackers. They worked efficiently, dragging the corpses away from the camp and catching the horses that had been left behind. The animals nickered nervously, still uneasy from the recent violence.

Anora remained by Mikhail's side, her mind reeling as she tried to process the whirlwind of events. She looked down at her hands, noticing for the first time how they trembled. They were covered in blood - Mikhail's blood, she realized with a jolt of horror. The sight made her stomach churn.

Kaelith, noticing her distress, approached and squatted down beside her. "Hey," he said gently, his voice low and soothing. "You shouldn't dwell on that. None of it was your fault, you know." He paused, considering for a moment. "Maybe you should go clean up. It might help clear your head a bit."

He pointed to the northwest. "There's a spring-fed pond not far from here. The water's clean and it'll do you good to wash up."

Kaelith helped Anora to her feet, then called over to his wife. "Calista, would you mind going with her?"

Before Calista could respond, Anora shook her head. "No," she said softly but firmly. "I... I'd like to go alone, if that's alright."

Understanding flickered in both Kaelith and Calista's eyes. Calista nodded, returning her attention to Malric, who had begun to fuss.Even though the child made no sounds he did move about and thrash when upset. She cradled him close, beginning to feed him.

Kaelith retrieved a towel and a small bar of soap from a spot on the wagon, handing them to Anora. She looked at the soap curiously, turning it over in her hands.

"It's soap," Kaelith explained, noting her confusion. "You use it to wash yourself. Just rub it on your skin with water, and it'll help clean you up. Do you understand?"

Anora nodded. "Yes, I understand.”

With that, she turned and began walking in the direction Kaelith had indicated. Kaelith shrugged and returned to his task.

Anoras mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions as she made her way through the trees. The events of the morning played over and over in her head - the sudden attack, the fear, the violence, and most of all, Mikhail's injury.

After a few minutes of walking, lost in her thoughts, Anora came upon a small clearing. There, nestled among the few trees on the plains, was a steaming pool of water. The spring-fed pond Kaelith had mentioned. Steam rose gently from its surface, curling into the cool morning air. The sight was both inviting and slightly intimidating to Anora, who had never seen such a naturally warm body of water on the surface.

She stood at the edge of the pond, clutching the towel and soap, and took a deep breath. The warm, slightly mineral scent of the water filled her nostrils much like the ones she remembered from her childhood underground. A wave of nostalgia washed over her, bringing with it rare, happy memories of her youth. She recalled the laughter and joy of playing in the warm, subterranean pools, one of the few bright spots in an otherwise dark and difficult childhood.

Anora's hands trembled as she reached for the knot securing the piece of grey cloak. As her fingers worked to undo it, memories flooded her mind. That fateful night in the pass, when Mikhail had saved her from the bandits, flashed before her eyes. The cloak, torn from one of the attackers, had been his first act of kindness towards her - a shield against prying eyes and the cold. It represented the moment her life had changed, when someone had finally seen her as worthy of protection and dignity.

Her hands moved to the hem of her orange dress, and she hesitated. This garment held a different significance. It was the second gift Mikhail had given her, well, sort of given her, but it symbolized so much more. As she slowly pulled it over her head, Anora's fingers lingered on the soft fabric, savoring its texture. She remembered the day she had first put it on, after the bath Morga had drawn for her in Arendale. It had been a moment of transformation, shedding her old life like a snake sheds its skin.

The dress represented a new beginning, a taste of what it felt like to be treated with kindness and respect. It was more than just clothing; it was a tangible reminder that she could be seen as something other than a lowly goblin - that she could be beautiful, worthy of fine things.

A sad smile played on Anora's lips as she held the two items. They were physical links to the journey she and Mikhail had shared, to the growing bond between them. As she set them aside, she felt a mixture of emotions - gratitude for how far she had come, fear of losing what she had gained, and a deep, aching hope for what the future might hold.

These simple pieces of fabric had become talismans of sorts, carrying the weight of her evolving identity and the promise of a life she had never dared to imagine before meeting Mikhail.

Setting the dress and half cloak aside carefully, Anora stepped into the hot spring. The warmth enveloped her, soothing her aching muscles and frayed nerves. She sank deeper into the water, letting out a soft sigh as the heat worked its way into her bones. For a moment, she allowed herself to simply exist in the comfort of the spring, her eyes closed as she focused on the sensation of the hot water surrounding her.

As she began to relax, the events of the past week and a half crashed over her like a wave. The attack at the camp, Mikhail's injury, their narrow escape from Sablewood, the restoration of her voice, and the confession of love – it all swirled in her mind, overwhelming in its intensity. So much had happened in such a small amount of time.

The blood on her hands – Mikhail's blood – began to dissolve in the warm water, turning it a faint pink before dissipating entirely. As she watched it fade away, the full weight of everything that had happened finally hit her.

Anora's composure crumbled. A sob tore from her throat, echoing across the surface of the spring. She brought her hands to her face, her shoulders shaking as she wept. All the fear, frustration, and anguish she had been holding back poured out of her in a torrent of emotion.

"Why?" she cried out to the silent trees around her. "Why did this have to happen? Why can't we just be left alone?"

Her words dissolved into incoherent sobs as she continued to cry, letting out all the pent-up emotions she had been carrying. The hot spring cradled her as she wept, its warm embrace a poor substitute for the comfort she truly craved – Mikhail's arms around her, his reassuring voice telling her everything would be alright. She longed to be leaning against him as they rode Bakule.

As her sobs echoed through the clearing, Anora felt both relieved and utterly alone. The catharsis of finally releasing her emotions was powerful, but it did little to ease the worry gnawing at her heart. Mikhail was hurt, their future uncertain, and the weight of it all pressed down on her small frame as she continued to weep in the solitude of the hot spring.

Mikhail's eyes fluttered open, consciousness returning to him in a haze of pain. He winced, his hand instinctively moving to his left side where a dull, throbbing ache reminded him of the recent battle. The memory of Rawl's face, contorted with murderous rage, flashed through his mind, causing him to shudder.

As awareness fully returned, Mikhail's first coherent thought was of Anora. He turned his head, searching for her familiar form, but she was nowhere to be seen. A knot of worry began to form in his gut, growing with each passing moment.

Blinking away the last vestiges of unconsciousness, Mikhail took in his surroundings. Finding himself lying on a soft blanket beside Calista and Kaeliths wagon, the fabric a stark contrast to the hard ground he remembered falling upon. The camp was quiet, save for the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Mikhail reached out and grasped the edge of the wagon. Using it as support, he slowly pulled himself up to a sitting position. A sharp lance of pain shot through his left side, causing him to gasp and pause momentarily. But concern for Anora drove him forward, overriding his body's protests.

"Anora?" he called out, his voice hoarse and weak. He cleared his throat and tried again, louder this time. "Anora!"

Silence met his calls. The lack of response only fueled his growing worry. Where was she? Had something happened while he was unconscious? The last he remembered, she had been by his side, her face streaked with tears.

"Anora!" he shouted once more, his voice cracking with the effort. The pain in his side flared with each call, but he ignored it, focusing solely on finding her.

As the silence stretched on, broken only by the faint echoes of his own voice, Mikhail's concern deepened. His mind raced with possibilities, each more alarming than the last. Had some new attackers returned? Had she wandered off, distraught? Or worse, had she left, thinking it safer for both of them? That last one frightened him the most for some reason.

Mikhail's heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and adrenaline coursing through him. He knew he needed to find her, to assure himself of her safety. With determination overriding his physical discomfort, he began to push himself to his feet, intent on searching for Anora, regardless of the toll it might take on his injured body.

Kaelith and Calista's heads snapped up at the sound of Mikhail's shouts. They exchanged a quick glance before abandoning their grim task and rushing towards him. Calista reached him first, her hands outstretched in a calming gesture as she approached the agitated young man.

"Mikhail, please," she said soothingly, her voice steady and reassuring. "You need to lie back down. You're in no condition to be up and about." She gently placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to guide him back to the blanket.

"Anora is fine," Calista continued, her tone warm and comforting. "She's safe, I promise you. We sent her to the hot spring nearby to bathe and clean up. She needed some time alone after everything that happened."

But Calista's words did little to quell Mikhail's rising panic. His blue eyes widened in disbelief and anger. "You let her go alone?!" he yelled, his voice hoarse with pain and fear.

With a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength, Mikhail weakly pushed Calista aside. He stumbled forward, his face pale and drawn with pain. "Where's the hot spring?" he demanded, his words slurring slightly as he fought against his body's protests. "I need to find her."

As Mikhail attempted to stagger away from the camp, Kaelith quickly stepped in front of him. The older man's face was set in a mixture of concern and determination as he blocked Mikhail's path.

"You're not going anywhere," Kaelith said firmly, his hands raised to stop Mikhail's unsteady advance. "You need to rest and heal. That wound isn't something to take lightly."

Kaelith's voice softened slightly as he continued, "Anora will be fine, I promise you. The spring isn't far, and it's a safe area. She needed some time to process everything that's happened, just as you do."

Mikhail's legs trembled beneath him, his burst of energy quickly waning. He looked up at Kaelith, his eyes pleading. "But what if... what if something happens to her? What if they send more?" The fear in his voice was palpable, raw and honest.

Kaelith placed a steadying hand on Mikhail's shoulder. "Nothing will happen to her," he assured him. "We've been keeping watch, and there's been no sign of any more trouble. Anora is safe, and she'll be back soon. Right now, the best thing you can do for her is to rest and regain your strength."

Mikhail's face contorted with frustration as he tried to push past Kaelith. "You don't understand," he insisted, his voice rising with desperation. "I have to protect her. I promised her she'd be safe with me!"

Kaelith stood his ground, his larger frame easily blocking Mikhail's weakened attempts to move forward. "Mikhail, listen to reason—"

Their argument was suddenly interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. Both men turned to see Anora emerging from around the large oak tree, her hair still damp from the spring. Her orange eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Mikhail awake and on his feet.

"Mikhail!" she cried out, her face lighting up with joy and relief.

Without hesitation, Anora ran towards him, her small form darting past Kaelith. She threw her arms around Mikhail, hugging him tightly. The force of her embrace, combined with Mikhail's weakened state, caused him to lose his balance.

They toppled backwards, Mikhail landing hard on his bottom with Anora on top of him. A howl of pain escaped his lips as the impact sent a fresh wave of agony through his injured side.

Anora quickly scrambled off him, her face etched with concern and guilt. "I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, her hands hovering uncertainly over him. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Despite the pain, Mikhail managed a warm smile. The relief of seeing her safe overshadowed his discomfort. "Don't worry about it," he said softly, reaching out to take her hand. "I'm just glad you're back and safe.”

With some effort, and Anora's help, Mikhail managed to maneuver himself into a sitting position, leaning back against the wagon. Anora settled beside him, her body pressed close as if afraid he might disappear if she let go.

Kaelith watched the scene unfold, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Young love," he scoffed good-naturedly, shaking his head.

Calista approached her husband, linking her arm through his. "Leave them be," she said softly, a fond look in her eyes. "They've been through a lot."

Together, Kaelith and Calista turned away, returning to the grim but necessary task of disposing of the bodies from the earlier attack. As they walked, Kaelith glanced back one last time at Mikhail and Anora, their heads close together as they spoke in hushed tones.

"To be young again," he mused to Calista, who nodded in agreement.

As the older couple resumed their work, Mikhail and Anora remained by the wagon.

As the adrenaline of their reunion faded, exhaustion began to overtake Mikhail. His eyelids grew heavy, and he fought to keep them open. "I might as well sleep," he mumbled, his voice thick with fatigue. "Can't do much else right now anyway." His hand remained intertwined with Anora's as he drifted off, finding comfort in her presence.

Anora stayed vigilant by Mikhail's side throughout the day, her orange eyes rarely leaving his face. She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, finding reassurance in each breath he took.

An hour passed, the sun slowly descending towards the horizon, casting long shadows across the campsite. Calista approached Mikhail's resting place, her face etched with concern. In the distance, Kaelith worked grimly, using the attackers' horses to drag the lifeless bodies away from their temporary home. The sound of hooves and the creak of rope occasionally broke the tense silence.

Calista knelt beside Mikhail, her experienced hands gently peeling back the makeshift bandage. The wound, an angry red gash along his left side, looked worse than before. Inflammation had set in, the skin around the injury swollen and hot to the touch. She prodded the area carefully, her fingers testing the extent of the swelling.

"It looks worse than I'd like," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her brow furrowed deeply as she continued her examination. "The redness has spread... but the edges aren't blackened. That's something, at least. It shouldn't be too bad if we can bring down the inflammation quickly."

As the evening approached, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Mikhail stirred. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. His face was ashen, cheekbones standing out sharply against his pallid skin. A thin sheen of sweat covered his brow, plastering strands of hair to his forehead.

Calista reached for a bowl of broth she had prepared earlier. "Mikhail," she said softly, "you need to eat something. It'll help you regain your strength."

But Mikhail turned his head away weakly, his lips pressed into a thin line. He seemed to lack even the energy to speak, his rejection of the food evident in the slight shake of his head.

Worry etched deeper lines into Calista's face as she set the bowl aside. She pressed the back of her hand to Mikhail's forehead, then to his cheeks. The heat radiating from his skin confirmed her fears.

"He's burning up," she said, her voice tight with concern. She looked up at Anora, who hovered nearby, anxiety clear in her orange eyes. "It's a fever. The wound must have become infected despite our efforts."

Calista took a deep breath, steeling herself. She turned to Anora, her tone shifting to one of gentle instruction. "Come here," she said, beckoning the goblin woman closer. "I'll show you how to care for him. It's important to keep his fever down and make sure he doesn't become dehydrated."

She demonstrated how to soak a cloth in cool water, wringing it out before placing it gently on Mikhail's forehead. "Like this," she explained. "We need to keep him cool. Change the cloth often, and don't forget his neck and wrists - they help cool the blood."

Calista then showed Anora how to prop Mikhail up slightly, supporting his head as she brought a cup of water to his lips. "Small sips," she instructed. "Too much at once and he might choke. But it's crucial to keep him hydrated."

Anora watched intently, absorbing every detail. Her hands mimicked Calista's movements, eager to learn and help. As Calista finished her instructions, Anora's face lit up with an idea.

"Should I go get some herbs for a poultice?" she asked, hope evident in her voice. "I know of some that might help bring down the fever."

Calista's expression softened, a mix of appreciation for Anora's eagerness and sadness for the reality of their situation. She shook her head slowly. "I'm afraid it would do no good now, dear. The infection has already taken hold. At this point, we can only manage the symptoms and hope his body is strong enough to fight it off."

As night fell, Anora kept a constant vigil over Mikhail. His fever worsened, causing him to toss and turn in his fitful sleep. She diligently applied the damp cloth to his forehead, dipping it in the water bucket whenever it grew warm.

The night passed slowly, with Anora refusing to leave Mikhail's side and as dawn broke, Calista returned to check on him. Her face grew more concerned as she felt his forehead, now burning hotter than before.

Calista and Kaelith stepped away to discuss the situation in hushed tones. Anora could see the worry etched on their faces as they debated what to do.

Finally, Kaelith's voice carried over to where Anora sat. "We need to take him to Cedarcrest," he said firmly. "There's a healer there who might be able to help."

Calista's face contorted with worry as she glanced back at Mikhail. "He's burning up," she said, her voice tight with concern. "I don't think he'll make it to Cedarcrest in this condition. That’s four days away."

She hesitated for a moment before continuing, "There's another option. The Moonwell in the beast men ruins of Aur'Thala. It's just a day's ride southwest of here, and it's said to have powerful healing properties."

Kaelith's expression darkened at the suggestion. "No. There's a reason those ruins have been left alone all these years," he warned. "Some things are best left undisturbed."

As Calista and Kaelith began to argue about the merits and risks of seeking out the Moonwell, Anora looked down at Mikhail's feverish face. His skin was pale and clammy, his breathing labored. In that moment, she made a decision.

"Bakule!" she called out, her voice stronger than she felt.

To her surprise, the massive elk responded immediately, trotting over and lowering his head to place his muzzle in her hands. Anora stroked his nose gently, then guided him to lie down.

With determination in her eyes, Anora began tugging at Mikhail's shirt, trying to drag him towards Bakule. Her small frame struggled with Mikhail's weight, but she persevered, inching him across the ground.

Calista and Kaelith's argument died on their lips as they noticed Anora's efforts. They watched in stunned silence as she stubbornly pulled Mikhail towards the elk.

Kaelith sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Since she's so determined, I suppose it's worth a try," he conceded.

Together, Calista and Kaelith cleared a space for Mikhail to lay, moving baby Malric carefully. As they prepared to set off, Kaelith approached Bakule, intending to ride him.

However, the elk had other ideas. Each time Kaelith got close, Bakule would dance just out of reach. After several frustrating minutes of chasing the animal, Kaelith threw up his hands in exasperation.

"If he gets lost, it's not my fault," he grumbled, adding under his breath, "Stupid animal."

As Kaelith climbed into the wagon's driver's seat, Bakule trotted over to Anora and laid down, clearly offering her a ride. Anora hesitated, torn between riding Bakule and staying with Mikhail.

"Thank you," she said softly to the elk, "but I'll ride with Mikhail."

Bakule seemed to understand and he stood, nodding his massive head, his antlers dipping low. Anora reached out to pat his muzzle affectionately. To her surprise, Bakule nudged her hand towards his antlers. Unsure but trusting the elk, Anora grasped them.

In one smooth motion, Bakule lifted his head, easily hoisting Anora into the air. She let out a startled yelp as he gently deposited her in the back of the wagon beside Mikhail. Looking surprised, her orange eyes meeting a large brown eye as Bakule snorted and shook his antlered head.

With everyone settled, they set off towards the ruins of Aur'Thala, the wagon creaking softly as it rolled down the rough road. Bakule trotted alongside, keeping pace effortlessly.

Anora settled next to Mikhail, taking his hand in hers. His skin was hot to the touch, his face contorted in discomfort even in sleep. She looked ahead, anxiety and hope warring in her heart.

Hours passed as the wagon rolled on, the landscape remaining largely unchanged until they crested a hill. Before them stretched a vast expanse of forest, its edge a wall of green that seemed to touch the blue sky.

As they entered the forested area of Aur'Thala, the air grew cooler and filled with the scent of pine and ancient earth. Anora continued to tend to Mikhail, gently dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth. His skin burned beneath her touch, and he tossed restlessly in his fever-induced sleep. Alarmed by the intensity of his fever, Anora's face creased with worry.

Kaelith glanced back, catching sight of Anora's concerned expression. He shared a wordless look with Calista, who cradled baby Malric in her arms. Understanding passed between them, and Kaelith turned his attention to Anora.

"Have you ever heard of Aur'Thala?" he asked, his voice cutting through the rhythmic creaking of the wagon wheels. "Or of the towering spruce trees that surround it?"

Anora looked up, her orange eyes wide with wonder as she took in the massive trees around them. "No," she replied softly. "I didn't know there were trees this tall."

A smile played on Kaelith's lips as he began to recount the history of the forest and its ruins. "These trees have stood for thousands of years," he explained. "They've witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations, the passage of countless seasons."

As Kaelith spoke, Anora found herself captivated by the giant spruces. Their trunks were wider than any tree she'd ever seen, their branches reaching impossibly high into the sky. The forest seemed alive with an ancient, palpable energy.

"Long ago," Kaelith continued, his voice taking on a storyteller's cadence, "this forest was home to the beast men. They built a great city here, Aur'Thala, living in harmony with the forest and its magic."

Anora listened intently, her eyes darting between Kaelith and the towering trees. The forest seemed to close in around them, its shadows deepening as they ventured further in.

"But the city fell," Kaelith's voice dropped to a near-whisper. "And now, they say the forest is haunted by the souls of the dead beast men. On quiet nights, some claim to hear their mournful cries echoing through the trees."

Calista punched Kaelith's arm, causing him to wince and laugh. "Stop trying to scare her," she chided, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice. “She’s dealt with enough trouble already.”

Kaelith rubbed his arm, still chuckling. "I'm not trying to scare anyone," he protested. "It's true! Ask anyone who's ventured this deep into the forest."

As they continued their journey deeper into the ancient woods, Anora found herself both awed and slightly unnerved by their surroundings. The massive trees seemed to watch their passage, their branches creaking softly in the breeze. She tightened her grip on Mikhail's hand, drawing comfort from his presence even in his fevered state.

The wagon trundled on, carrying them further into the heart of Aur'Thala, towards the promise of healing and the unknown dangers that might await them in the ruins of the beast men's city.

Kaelith's voice took on a more serious tone as he continued his tale. "My grandfather used to tell me that thousands of years ago, an Ancient King of Greland led his army here. I forget which one it was.” He added nonchalantly then continued “They drove the beast men out of Aur'Thala, forcing them to abandon their city and flee into the wilds."

Anora's brow furrowed with concern. "But why?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with curiosity.

Kaelith shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "I'm not entirely clear on the reason," he admitted. "The old stories don't always explain everything."

Anora fell silent, pondering his words. In her heart, she suspected she knew the answer - the beast men were too different from the humans. The thought stirred uncomfortable feelings within her, and she found herself looking down at Mikhail's fevered face. Were they too different to be together? Would the world always try to tear them apart? As it seemed to have been doing as of late.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Mikhail stirred, mumbling incoherently. She caught fragments about his sister and some sort of incident, but none of it made sense to her. She gently stroked his forehead, trying to soothe him back into a more peaceful sleep.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, they came upon a section of the road marked by two enormous statues. The figures, carved from a curious grey-green stone, towered above them on either side of the path. Each statue depicted a beast man warrior, holding a spear in one hand and a shield in the other.

Anora stared up at them in awe, their imposing presence sending a shiver down her spine. To her, they seemed to stand as silent guardians, warning outsiders not to venture further into their domain. The craftsmanship was exquisite, every detail of fur, muscle, and armor rendered with incredible precision.

As the wagon turned onto the path between the statues, Anora's gaze was drawn to the eyes of one of the figures. In the fading light, she could have sworn the statue's eyes followed their movement. A chill ran through her as she watched it, unable to shake the feeling that the stone warrior was watching her back.

The wagon creaked as it passed between the silent sentinels, the sound seeming unnaturally loud in the hushed forest. Anora found herself holding her breath, half-expecting the statues to come to life and bar their path. But they remained still, allowing the group to pass unhindered into Aur'Thala's territory.

As they moved deeper into the ancient realm of the beast men, Anora couldn't help but feel they had crossed some invisible threshold. The air seemed thicker, charged with an energy she couldn't quite explain. She tightened her hold on Mikhail's hand, drawing comfort from his presence even as worry for his condition gnawed at her heart.

As they ventured deeper into the ruined city of Aur'Thala, the wagon rolled past crumbling structures built from the same curious grey-green stone as the guardian statues. Many buildings had collapsed entirely, while others stood in various states of decay, their walls covered in creeping vines and overgrown vegetation. It was as if time had frozen in some areas while relentlessly marching on in others, slowly reclaiming the ancient city.

The eerie silence was broken only by the creaking of the wagon wheels and the occasional mumbling from Mikhail. His feverish ramblings grew more frequent, and suddenly he muttered, "No...can't work...goblin...what would they think?"

Anora's heart clenched at his words, a deep hurt settling in her chest. She tried to convince herself it was just the fever talking, but doubt crept into her mind. She pushed the feelings aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"Look," Calista's voice cut through the gloom, pointing ahead. "I think that's it."

In the distance, a tall structure came into view. Four grey-green stone pillars supported a domed roof, with a base of the same material beneath. At its center sat a shallow pool filled with crystal-clear water. As they drew closer, intricate carvings on the pillars became visible where vines hadn't obscured them.

The last rays of sunlight were fading fast as Kaelith brought the wagon to a halt. "This is where we stop," he announced. "I'll help get him out and then get him to the pool."

After helping Calista and baby Malric down, Kaelith turned his attention to Mikhail. Bakule approached the wagon, lowering his head for Anora. This time, she was prepared as the elk lifted her gently to the ground.

"Thank you," she said softly. Bakule snorted and bowed his head in response.

Calista approached Anora, cradling Malric. "Could you hold him for a moment?" she asked. Anora nodded, carefully taking the baby into her arms. A welcome sensation if her mind was in another place.

Kaelith and Calista worked together to lift Mikhail from the wagon, carrying him to the pool's edge. They gently lowered him into the cool water, causing him to shudder and briefly open his eyes at the shock.

Anora followed, handing Malric back to Calista before stepping into the pool herself. The water was cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the warm evening air.

Kaelith glanced around nervously. "His shirt might need to be off for this to work," he suggested, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Anora felt her cheeks warm at the thought, but she pushed aside her embarrassment and with gentle hands, she began to remove Mikhail's blue tunic, revealing his fevered skin. The wound looked angrier that it had last night, the skin around it pale with red veins.

Settling beside him in the water, Anora grasped Mikhail's hand tightly. She slid her other hand behind his head, supporting it above the water line. The pool began to glow faintly, its soft light reflecting off the surrounding pillars and creating an otherworldly atmosphere.

As they sat in the gently glowing water, Anora's eyes never left Mikhail's face. She searched for any sign of improvement, her heart pounding with a mixture of hope and fear. The ruins of Aur'Thala loomed around them, silent witnesses to this moment of desperation and faith in an ancient magic.

The night deepened around them, but Anora's goblin eyes adjusted easily to the darkness. She remained vigilant, ready to stay in the pool as long as necessary, praying to whatever powers might be listening that the legendary healing properties of the Moonwell would heal Mikhail.

As the first hour passed with no visible change, Anora looked up at Kaelith, her orange eyes filled with unspoken questions. He caught her gaze and seemed to understand her concern.

"I guess it doesn't work until the moon is in the circle," Kaelith explained, pointing upward at the circular opening in the domed roof.

Anora frowned, noticing for the first time how her skin had become wrinkled and prunelike from prolonged exposure to the water. Still, she remained steadfast, unwilling to leave Mikhail's side.

Another hour crawled by. Anora's neck ached from constantly looking up, watching the moon's slow journey across the night sky. Finally, she saw it begin to enter the circular opening above them.

As the moon's light filled the hole completely, the atmosphere in the Moonwell shifted. The water around them began to vibrate, its glow intensifying from a soft shimmer to a bright, pulsing light.

Suddenly, Mikhail grunted in pain. Anora's attention snapped to his face, then to the wound on his left side. Her eyes widened in amazement as she watched the injury begin to heal before her eyes. The torn and melted flesh knitted itself back together, leaving behind smooth, unblemished skin.

Mikhail's face contorted in agony as the healing process accelerated. The pool now radiated an intense, ethereal blue light that seemed to penetrate every corner of the ancient structure.

As the Moonwell's energy coursed through Mikhail, his consciousness plunged into a realm of visions. The world around him dissolved, replaced by a swirling vortex of images and sensations. Suddenly, he felt the presence of a dark, malevolent force. Its intelligence was vast and terrifying, probing at the edges of his mind with tendrils of shadow.

A deep, grating voice, like stone grinding against stone, reverberated through his being. "Another soul enters the fray." The words sent icy shards of fear down Mikhail's spine as he felt the entity searching for his location.

"Who are you?" Mikhail shouted into the void. "What do you want?" But his questions echoed unanswered in the darkness.

Before he could muster any resistance, the vision shifted abruptly. Mikhail found himself witnessing glimpses of the past. Devastation covered Velthorn, the landscape scarred and burning. A massive bolt of flaming lightning struck the northern part of the Aran'Shay mountains, surrounding a being he couldn't quite make out.

"What is this? When did this happen?" Mikhail cried out, but the vision paid no heed to his queries.

The scene changed again. Now he saw an older Anora, perhaps in her thirties, holding a small child and smiling. Two other children ran around her, giggling joyfully, their faces blurred and indistinct. A profound sense of peace and happiness washed over Mikhail, even as confusion filled him.

"Is this... our future?" he whispered, reaching out to touch the image, but it slipped away like smoke through his fingers.

Next, he beheld an enormous tree, a curious blend of willow and oak. It towered above all others, reaching thousands of feet into the sky. Its branches seemed to cradle the very heavens.

"What does this mean?" Mikhail shouted, frustration building. "Why are you showing me these things?"

Before he could comprehend its significance, the image dissolved. A kingdom by the sea appeared briefly, its spires gleaming in the sun. Then, the sight of an old, burly man with a grey beard and strong arms hammering on steel. The rhythmic clanging echoed in Mikhail's mind.

"Father?" he called out, but the vision shifted once more.

A man in a white suit stood before a window, holding a cane. Behind him, a woman in a dark dress with silver hair. Evil seemed to radiate from them both, sending a chill through Mikhail. Their eyes, cold and calculating, seemed to look right through him.

"Who are they? What role do they play in all this?" Mikhail demanded, but his words fell on deaf ears.

Finally, Mikhail found himself looking skyward. A figure floated above a city, its gaze fixed upon him. A voice rang out, clear and terrible: "War is coming."

"What war? How can I stop it?" Mikhail pleaded, desperation in his voice.

The figure flew towards him, revealing itself as a beautiful, winged woman radiating pure light. "War is coming," she repeated, her voice both a whisper and a roar.

Suddenly, the angelic being transformed into a flaming skull. Terror gripped Mikhail as he tried to avoid it, but the apparition opened its massive maw and swallowed him whole.

As he fell into the fiery abyss, Mikhail screamed, "What does it all mean? Please, I need answers!"

But his cries were lost in the inferno. The visions swirled around him, a cacophony of images and sounds - the dark entity, the devastated landscape, Anora and the children, the great tree, the kingdom, the old man, the evil couple, and the angelic being turned skull. They merged and separated, each demanding his attention, each holding a piece of a puzzle he couldn't comprehend.

With a final, desperate gasp, Mikhail snapped awake, the pain of healing reaching its peak. His arms flailed wildly in reaction, inadvertently striking Anora on her left cheek. The force of the blow knocked her backwards into the water with a splash and a scream.

Realizing what had happened, Mikhail looked over to Anora in horror. She was holding her left cheek, her orange eyes wide with shock and hurt. The visions still swirled in his mind, leaving him disoriented and confused.

"Anora, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—" Mikhail began, but before he could finish, Anora scrambled to her feet and ran off, tears streaming down her face.

Mikhail stared at his hands in disbelief, then looked up at Kaelith, his eyes silently pleading for an explanation. Kaelith's face was a mixture of concern and confusion, mirroring Mikhail's own bewilderment at the situation.

The Moonwell's glow had faded, leaving them in the dim light of the ruins. The miraculous healing had come at a cost, leaving Mikhail physically healed but emotionally distraught. As the reality of what had just transpired sank in, Mikhail felt a deep sense of guilt and fear, wondering if he had inadvertently damaged the trust between him and Anora.

But beneath it all, a sense of foreboding lingered. The echoes of the visions haunted him, their cryptic messages and ominous warnings weighing heavily on his mind. Mikhail knew, with a certainty that chilled him to his core, that this was only the beginning of something much larger and more terrifying than he could have ever imagined.