Lysara didn’t stop at the bank.
She moved along it until the ground sloped shallow and the current narrowed, stones breaking the surface just enough to fracture flow. Cold bit through the soles of her boots as she knelt, hands already moving.
Satchel open.
No vials left. No seals intact. She exhaled once through her nose and reached for what remained.
Glass fragments. A stopper cracked but usable. Powdered binder wrapped in oilskin. Five leaves she hadn’t meant to need today.
Enough.
She rinsed the container first—twice—letting the current scour away residue and blood. The water here was clean, fast-moving, cold enough to slow reaction if she needed it to. Good.
She worked without hesitation.
Leaves crushed between stone and palm, bitter sap staining her skin. Binder added by feel, not measure. A splash of river water—no more than necessary—then the stopper pressed in and tied down hard.
She pressed the rune scar in her palm to the glass and angled it in the current.
The seal took.
The mixture frothed once, sharp and unstable, as the river current answered the mark.
She submerged it immediately, anchoring it between stones where the current ran strongest. The flow caught and carried the reaction forward without her.
Counted by breath. One. Two. Three.
The reaction settled.
Not perfect. Not safe to store.
But it would work.
She pulled it free, shook off the excess water, and tucked it deep into her satchel alongside four more she assembled just as fast—pain suppression, clot-binding. Field-grade. Temporary.
Her fingers ached from the cold by the time she finished.
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She didn’t pause to warm them.
Behind her, the forest roared—magic, steel, bodies colliding. The sound pressed closer now, urgency threading through it.
She ran directly to the closest injured body. In front of her Garland raised the flare and snapped it skyward.
The signal burned sharp and steady as it climbed.
The fight didn’t stop. It tightened.
He was already issuing orders as the flare burned out, redistributing bodies, shortening the line, buying time until Vern arrived with the remaining teams.
Lysara kept working.
Hands moved. Pressure. Seal. Bind. Release.
She used her hastily made potions sparingly, choosing life over perfection. Pain was ignored unless it threatened shock. Anything that could walk was sent back into rotation or toward evacuation.
She didn’t ask how many were dead.
That number would come later.
Someone staggered into her space and collapsed hard, armor clattering. She knelt, checked, worked, flagged him for carry. Another followed. Then another.
By the time she straightened again, her arms were trembling from effort she refused to acknowledge.
“Lifeward,” someone called. “We’ve got it from here.”
She looked up.
Two others had taken position behind her—steady, competent, already moving. She nodded once and stepped back, letting the flow pass her without interruption.
The fires were already being raised—low, controlled, shielded from the wind. Armor was coming off in pieces. Voices stayed clipped. Efficient. Too efficient for the cost they’d just paid.
She hadn’t gone far when Xyrion’s voice cut across the space.
“Lysara.”
She stopped.
He stood near the command marker, posture settled, armor still on. Kayden was a few paces back, silent. Tessa leaned against a tree, lightning residue still crawling faintly along her forearms, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the firelight.
Xyrion looked at Lysara the way he always did in the field.
Direct. Assessing. Unmoved.
“You left the injured.”
“Yes.”
“That can not happen,” he said. “Not in this unit.”
“You are removed from X-17 effective immediately. Pending review.”
The night seemed to go very quiet around them.
She nodded once.
“Yes, sir.”
Kayden shifted, a fraction too fast. Tessa straightened, jaw tightening.
Xyrion didn’t look at either of them.
“You will remain on medical standby until further assignment,” he said. “You will report to command when called. You will not operate independently.”
“Yes, sir.”
Another pause.
This one held something else.
“You will not justify your absence now,” Xyrion added. “That conversation does not happen in the aftermath.”
Lysara met his eyes.
“I understand.”
He studied her for a heartbeat longer, then inclined his head once.
She turned and walked away.
Each step steady, even as the noise of camp pressed back in around her—voices, metal, the crackle of fire. She found an open space near the outer edge and sat, back against a tree, dagger still at her hip.
Her hands shook now that she let them.
She folded them together and waited.
Somewhere beyond the firelight, reinforcements were arriving. Somewhere beyond that, command would reassess. Somewhere beyond that, questions would be asked that no one was ready to hear yet.
For now, she stayed where she was told.
Lysara closed her eyes and breathed.
