Silver Dreams

Chapter 1

The winter of the Death War

8 years ago

"I need a little help here!"

"Get me some hot water quickly!"

Voices rang throughout the entire floor of the hospital as witches struggled to heal each wounded soldier who came through the doors.

"I don't think his arm could be saved."

"Agh! Aaaagh!"

The scene was a portrait of chaos and despair, yet for those who worked there, it had become their every day mornings and evenings.

The once white-tiled floors were now stained and slippery with blood. Old and new bandages lay scattered across the ground. Young witch apprentices struggled as they tried to keep up with their superiors.

In a corner of the room, Luisa tended to a soldier who had a slit stomach which she could confidently tell was caused by a silver sword. For a regular sword would simply cut the flesh but silver burns it.

"Please, make it stop hurting," the soldier weakly cried out, his face contorted in pain.

Luisa softly smiled, unable to make a coherent reply. With practiced hands, she gently adjusted the bandage around the soldier's torso, tightening it just enough to provide support without causing further discomfort. Once satisfied, she leaned back slightly, her hands lingering above his chest.

A soft, warm glow emanated from her palms, a delicate shade of yellow. Her brow furrowed with concentration as she murmured an incantation under her breath.

Slowly, the soldier's pained expression began to ease. His eyelids fluttered closed as his breathing gradually steadied into a more peaceful rhythm.

Luisa sank onto the stool beside the soldier's cot and sighed deeply in exhaustion. Her hands trembled from hours spent tying bandages, wiping blood, and stitching wounds throughout the long night. Each task, each face of the soldiers blurred onto the next as she moved to heal another.

Dark circles formed around her eyes, and her magic was almost spent. Luckily, she had enough to heal the soldier but doubts she'll have enough for the next one.

It seems she is to spend the remainder of her shift in the Spellatorium, cutting bandages and crafting potions, or until her magic reserves replenish.

Bracing herself against the cot, she softly groaned as she rose to her feet, her bones quaking with fatigue. Her footsteps felt heavy the closer she got to the Spellatorium. She reached for the door handle when a familiar voice called out.

"Luisa!? Why the hell are you still here?"

Luisa turned with a sheepish smile and waved. "Good morning to you, too, Sheila."

"Well, at least you know it's already morning."

Luisa threw a pointed look towards the expansive windows to her right that gave an unobstructed view of the bright sky.

Sheila rolled her eyes and remarked dryly, "When was the last time you looked at a clock?"

Spurred into action, hastily searched for a clock and checked the time. 8:30 am, it read. An hour and a half past her scheduled end of shift. She realized with great panic that she was late, horribly late.

"Hmm, that's right," Sheila nodded as she watched Luisa took off in a run. "Tell her a 'happy birthday' for me!"

"I will. Goodbye, Sheila!" Luisa replied as she sprinted, expertly maneuvering through the crowded hallway.