<h4>Chapter 591: Third Divine Healer</h4>


    <strong>Evaline:</strong>


    The moment my fingers brushed against the worn leather cover of the record book, that familiar sensation washed over me again.


    It was subtle yet unmistakable... like a soft pulse beneath my skin, a quiet recognition that hummed through my veins. The same feeling I had experienced the very first time I touched this book. As if it knew me. As if it had been waiting.


    I drew a slow breath and opened it.


    I was sitting on my bed, my back restingfortably against the pillows and the headboard, my legs stretched out beneath the thick nket. The book’s weight settled heavily on myp, grounding me as I carefully turned to the page where I had stopped readingst time.


    The room was quiet, wrapped in a gentle stillness that only camete at night. Dinner was long over, my hair still faintly damp from my shower, the scent ofvender lingering in the air.


    Academy had been unbearably hectictely, and I hadn’t even dared to touch the record book again the past few days. It felt too important to be handled carelessly, too heavy with history to be skimmed through in stolen minutes.


    But tonight was different as I finally had time to read it again.


    So I lowered my gaze to the page and began reading.


    Healer Aurelion’s handwriting was steady and precise, though there was an unmistakable intensity to it... sharp strokes, deliberate spacing, as if every word had been carefully weighed before being written. The next several pages detailed his decision to create this record book in the first ce.


    Since he personally went through so much because Caelum hadn’t left behind anything to pass down his legacy and help the next divine healer, Aurelion didn’t want to make the same mistake.


    He didn’t wish this struggle upon those whoe after him, and that was why he decided to write this book.


    Not as a record of glory or reverence... but as a guide. A lifeline.


    He detailed everything he learned - how divine healing responded to emotion, how intent mattered just as much as focus, how exhaustion crept in faster when healing wounds born of dark magic or curses. He even documented his failures with brutal honesty.


    And then I reached the part that made my breath hitch.


    Aurelion wrote how it was hard to heal people without revealing his power. So he experimented.


    Instead of channeling his healing directly into another living being, he tried weaving it into objects. Stones failed. Water dispersed it too quickly. Metals rejected it entirely.


    But herbs...


    Herbs epted it.


    Pills. Potions. Tonics.


    By carefully infusing his healing power into medicines, he discovered that the effect remained long after his touch was gone. The potions he created were stronger than anything healers or witches could brew. They were able to elerate recovery, purge poisons, mend internal injuries that would otherwise be fatal.


    <i>They carry my healing, but they do not reveal me</i>, he wrote.


    I swallowed.


    My fingers tightened slightly on the page as realization settled deep in my chest.


    So this was it.


    This was the foundation.


    Herbs and Potions hadn’t just been a subject for me... it had been instinct. Intuition. Something that came naturally, effortlessly, as if my hands already knew what to do before my mind caught up.


    I flipped through more pages, my heart racing now.


    The rest of Aurelion’s section was filled with forms,binations, warnings, and annotations. He detailed which herbs bonded best with his healing power, which mixtures amplified healing, and which ones dulled it. There were margins filled with small notes... too vtile, stable if cooled slowly, do notbine under a full moon.


    But there was nothing more about the healing power itself.


    Just its application.


    Just its containment.


    I knew better than to rush through this part, but my mind was already spinning. I needed time... real time... to study this properly. To understand it.


    So, reluctantly, I skimmed ahead.


    Page after page passed beneath my fingers until... suddenly... I stopped at a nk page.


    I frowned, running my hand over it. It was untouched, pristine, as if deliberately left empty.


    My pulse quickened as I turned the page.


    Written in the center of the next page, in a different handwriting, was a date from four centuries ago.


    And beneath it, a name.


    <i>Lyssara Vale.</i>


    A woman.


    I inhaled sharply and began to read.


    Lyssara wrote differently from Aurelion. Her handwriting was softer, slightly uneven, as if she hadn’t been ustomed to writing for long periods. There was emotion in her words... raw, unfiltered.


    She began by describing the night her divine healing power awakened.


    She had been an orphan.


    Wolfless.


    Bullied since as long as she could remember.


    First for having no parents. Then for not awakening her wolf like the others. For her entire life, she had endured whispers, cruelty, and istion.


    But then her power awakened identally.


    Because of a stray cat... half-dead, crushed beneath a fallen cart wheel. She hadn’t meant to touch it, hadn’t meant to do anything at all. She had just... panicked. Cried. Begged the Moon Goddess for help as she held the poor little thing.


    And the cat had lived.


    Not only lived... but jumped from her arms momentster, whole and uninjured.


    And a girl who saw her bringing the cat to life had screamed, calling her a monster.


    Lyssara wrote about how she was dragged before the Alpha that very night. How she had been convinced she was about to be punished... or worse, exiled for being a monster. She wrote about trembling so badly she could barely stand, about expecting chains, judgment.


    Instead, she was led into the infirmary where injured warriors were waiting to be treated by the pack’ healer.


    And then the Alpha ordered her to heal them.


    She didn’t know how.


    She didn’t even know why he asked something like that from her. She’s no healer.


    Panic swallowed her whole.


    Lyssara described standing frozen, unable to move, as the weight of confusion and fear crushed her.


    The Alpha told her she might have healing power and to confirm it she needed to try to heal the injured warriors. But no matter how much she tried, nothing happened.


    When she kept failing miserably, everyone around her started losing faith. They all finally realized she was no healer. Even the Alpha looked lost.


    But then one of the elders stepped forward.


    He was kind. Patient.


    He didn’t yell. Didn’t demand.


    He sat beside her and spoke gently, guiding her through each breath, each attempt. He told her it was alright to fail. That power like this didn’t bow to fear... it responded to trust.


    It took nearly two hours.


    Countless failed attempts.


    And just when everyone... including the alpha and the elder... had given up, Lyssara seeded.


    She healed one warrior’s wound.


    Notpletely. Not perfectly.


    But enough.


    Enough to prove that the power was real.


    Enough to change everything.


    And just like that, she was dered the new divine healer of the Silver Wolf Pack.


    Born nearly a century after the one before her.