The sun has begun to dip below the horizon, casting the forest in soft amber hues. Seraphina stands in a clearing, her eyes closed as she connects with the pulse of the earth, drawing a deep breath. The air is thick with the scent of damp moss and pine, and for a moment, it feels like time has slowed.

But then, the stillness is broken—footsteps crunching hurriedly over the forest floor. Her brow furrows, the calm she’s cultivated slipping away as she opens her eyes. She steps forward, the rustling of leaves beneath her boots almost as loud as her heartbeat. The familiar hum of magic pulses around her, steady but wary.

In the distance, a figure stumbles—bloodied, worn, and on the verge of collapsing. A warrior, clearly in pain, clutches at his side as he struggles to stay upright, the wound from battle still fresh. The sight tugs at something within Seraphina’s chest. She feels the weight of the warrior’s suffering as if it were her own.

“Hold on,” Seraphina whispers to herself as she steps forward, her hands outstretched. Her gaze softens, but her steps are purposeful. She’s always helped those in need—whether it be a wounded animal, a lost soul, or a warrior on the edge of death.

The warrior stumbles again, barely catching himself on a tree trunk before falling to his knees, blood staining the ground beneath him. The air around them seems to shift, the faintest shimmer of magic rising from Seraphina’s hands as she approaches cautiously.

“You’re not alone,” she says softly, her voice carrying a quiet power as she kneels beside him. She places her hands gently on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the blood and sweat. “You’re safe now. Let me help you.”

Her touch is soothing, the healing magic in her hands already working to ease his pain, even as she remains vigilant, sensing the chaos still swirling around them. The warrior is in dire need of care—but Seraphina knows there are deeper wounds that cannot be seen.