Damned Healer

Darian was pulled by his sister through the small, rundown house until they reached the old wooden table in the middle of the room.

There, two dark pairs of eyes stared at him. He stopped, feeling like a thunderbolt had shot through his body under that woman's steady gaze.

She was still really young — his mom had her first kid before turning twenty. She was beautiful and slender, with long black hair tied into a single braid that hung down her back. Her big, watchful eyes missed nothing.

She smiled when she saw him, but Darian knew — there was a lot of pain behind that smile. And a deep, quiet exhaustion he knew all too well.

He was the oldest. He knew more than the others.

There were so many nights he'd wake up and find her standing silently at the window, staring at the stars while crying. She never complained. Never said a word. She lived for her kids — alone, without family, without the husband she loved, who had died.

And Darian, because he knew the future, also knew the other reasons behind her suffering. She worked for a powerful family, and the young bastard heir of that house was probably trying to harass her all the time.

She was stunning, but she would never bend. His mother was stubborn as stone, strong as steel. She always told him:

"Live for what's sacred to you. The things no one can take away. Your honor, your dignity. Doesn't matter what others think or say — without that... you're nothing but a mediocre person."

Darian knew that if one day she were cornered, she'd rather die than submit.

And in the end... that's exactly what happened.