Without hesitation, I reached into my satchel and pulled out a small jar, unscrewing the lid to release the familiar scent of comfrey and honey, bittersweet and strong.“This mends wounds faster than any surgeon’s stitches,” I said with confidence.“Let me show you.”
Before he could reply, a shout rang out from behind him—a sailor staggered forward, his face pale, blood dripping from a gash in his forearm.He clutched at it, trying to stem the flow, pain etched across his features.
The captain’s eyes narrowed, flicking from the injured man back to me.“Very well,” he said.“We’ll talk—if you can fix that without him keeling over.”
I knelt beside the sailor, my hands steady.There was no room for fear now.As I cleaned the wound with seawater and applied the salve, I murmured to the man, wrapping the injury with a clean cloth.His pain eased as the salve worked its way into the gash, his breathing evening out.
When I stood, wiping my hands on my apron, the captain’s eyes had shifted—calculating, impressed.
“You’ve earned your place,” he said with a curt nod.“But mark my words, miss—if you can’t keep up, I’ll leave you at the next port.”
“I won’t disappoint you, Captain,” I replied, my voice unwavering as Roman stirred against me.
I wasn’t just leaving for safety—I was returning to fulfill a promise.My mother’s work—the Noctyss flower alchemy—awaited me in England, a legacy I was determined to perfect.
The creaking of the hull became my constant companion as we crossed the Atlantic.Life aboard was harsh—a rhythm of cold, hunger, and salt, broken only by the shouts of sailors and the roar of the waves.
But in the chaos, Roman was my anchor.
His tiny fingers curled around mine when seasickness tore at me.His rare, precious gurgles soothed my frayed soul.In his scent and warmth, I found the strength to face another day aboard that floating prison of wood and sail.
I would reach England.
For him.For my mother.For the legacy that still burned in my blood—the alchemy of the Noctyss flower, a gift I had vowed to perfect, just as she had once dreamed.Her promise was my compass, even when the world felt hopeless.
And I would not fail.
My skills as a healer were tested more times than I could count.Splintered bones from brutal falls, deep cuts from careless blades, bruises from drunken brawls—night after night, by the flickering glow of a lantern, I stitched and wrapped wounds.My hands remained unwavering as my body begged for rest, weariness clinging to me like a second skin.
Yet amidst the chaos, there was solace.The women aboard—hardened by the sea yet tender in spirit—became a lifeline.They cooed over Roman, their eyes softening as they rocked him to sleep, singing lullabies drowned beneath the ship’s endless groan.When duty called me away, I entrusted him to them—temporary guardian angels in the cramped quarters of our drifting world.
As the ship forged onward, carving white foam trails through dark waters, I clung to the image of England’s shores—a dream I could barely grasp, its edges frayed by fear.What waited there, I did not know.
After eight long weeks, the dock’s wooden planks groaned underfoot as I stepped off the ship, Roman cradled against my chest.The tang of salt and fish filled my nostrils, grounding me in a reality far colder than memory.This was England, yet it felt distant, unfamiliar, like the ghost of a home I no longer belonged to.
I had nothing.No coin.No plan.Only the weight of regret coiled tightly around my shoulders.
“Why did I come here?”I whispered, the words snatched away by the wind—a ghost of a question, unheard and unanswered.
I wandered through the streets, Roman nestled close, each step more aimless than the last.The buildings loomed overhead, their windows dark eyes, watching with indifferent curiosity.My feet carried me to the entrance of a tavern, its weathered sign swinging in the wind.The stench of stale ale and sweat seeped from within, a warning.
I thought of renting a room—just one night, a chance to rest.
Before I could open the door, a man sidled beside me.His breath reeked of drink, his gaze sliding over me and lingering too long on the blanket swaddling Roman.
“You look like you could use some money,” he slurred, a twisted grin on his lips.“Maybe we can… make an arrangement.”
His insinuation sliced through my exhaustion, igniting a rage that snapped me awake.
Without a word, I turned and fled, quickening my pace, my heart pounding as I ducked down narrow streets until I was sure we were alone.
In the silence of a deserted alley, I collapsed against the cold stone, my body trembling.
I sobbed, the tears falling freely, mingling with Roman’s soft whimpers—a mother and child, both lost, both yearning for comfort that would not come.
“I shouldn’t have left,” I choked out, the words scraping like broken glass.The confession fell against the bricks, hollow and broken, swallowed by the silence of the alleyway.
The night pressed in around us, cold and relentless but even in the dark, I clutched Roman tighter, drawing what little strength I had from the warmth of his small, fragile body.
