Tresta’s calloused fingers moved slowly, pulling the needle through the thin, faded cloth. She was mending one of her daughter’s old shifts again, the same tear near the shoulder that kept coming back no matter how many times she fixed it. Her hands were no longer the strong, steady ones that once drew a war bow in the dungeons. They looked thinner now, veins more visible, knuckles rough from years of work.

She paused and reached over to press the back of her hand against her daughter’s forehead.

The skin was still burning hot. The girl’s breathing was shallow, small whimpers slipping out between dry lips. Tresta dipped the rag into the bowl of cool water, wrung it out gently, and laid it across the fevered brow. That familiar motion dragged her back again in her memories of her glorious days, before she used to be someone else entirely.

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Back then, her brown hair was usually braided tight for battle, loose strands rarely daring to escape. Her green eyes were sharp and fearless. Freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks, standing out against skin flushed from exertion rather than exhaustion.

Even in the entire capital, she had been a rare sight, a beautiful woman who could also fight. Leather armor used to hug her athletic frame, bow in hand.

She used to clear floors of the great dungeon in the capital with confidence, unlike other adventurers around her. Even after her husband had died early from the curse, she raised her daughter alone and kept their life together through skill and sheer will.

Until she crossed the wrong woman.

It was a small, stupid argument over loot rights on the third floor. The other woman was one of Count Vellor’s favored harem members. That was all it took. The ban started as a few days, then stretched into weeks, and finally became permanent.

Tresta appealed to the royal court. She stood tall in that cold hall, documents in hand, voice steady. The Count appeared himself. He waited until the others left before stepping close.

"Join my harem, Tresta. Your daughter will never want for anything. Refuse... and this ends badly for you."

She looked him in the eyes and said no.

And just like that, the verdict came the next day. Everything had been arranged long before she ever entered the courtroom. She was banned from the great dungeon. Then the order expanded to every dungeon in the kingdom.

The harassment from Count and his followers followed her daughter next. It started with small things at first, ignored in training, whispers in the market. Then rocks through their window at night.

Not being able to cope with all that, Tresta sold everything she could, packed their belongings, and left the capital. They settled in a small outer settlement near a quiet countryside village. She told herself distance would bring safety.

But she was wrong. It didn’t.

The enchanted curse on her bow found her anyway. She never learned exactly who placed it, the Count’s woman, the Count himself, or someone they hired. But even learning all of that wouldn’t matter, as this curse was absolute, as far as she knew from experience.

The curse itself was cruel and slow. Her muscles began shrinking piece by piece. The strong arms that once held a heavy bow now trembled while just carrying a bucket of water. The legs that once sprinted through dungeon halls struggled after a short walk with simple firewood.

She was not dying. She was simply being made less than she was, day by day.

She spent every last coin searching for a cure. But nothing worked.

And before she could find any solution, her daughter caught the Rorok fever.

In the capital, it would have been nothing; the cure herb was common and cheap. But out here, it might as well have been on another continent.

Tresta sold her husband’s last ring, the final valuable thing she owned, to find a cure for her daughter. But nothing was found. Everyone she knew refused to go into the Gaiya forest to find the herbs needed for the cure of Rorok fever. She herself would have gone into the forest if not for this curse making her useless.

Just when she thought every hope was lost, then she heard it. Inside the Beuna village, a new guild branch has opened.

Just as she heard it, she walked into the neighboring village, somehow with the help of someone she knew. She placed the quest quietly, even after knowing that outsiders from the settlement rarely got real help from legit citizens.

One full day passed. No one took her quest as far as she heard.

The next morning, she returned to the village gate. A different guard blocked her path with some ridiculous excuse about her papers. He made her stand in the sun for over an hour before trying to send her away. It was like the entire universe was playing a pure, petty cruelty trick on her. That’s how she felt at that moment.

Still, Tresta held her ground and stood there at the gate, fists tight at her sides, staring at the dirt.

Then she saw the boy.

Young, maybe eighteen, holding her quest paper. He was heading toward the forest.

The boy assured her. His gaze was steady, unlike anyone she had ever seen. "I’ll get it for you. I promise I’ll bring it back as fast as I can."

She searched his face and believed him enough to walk home and wait.

But night fell with no sign of him.

And she couldn’t stay still, with her daughter’s condition getting worse by the second.

She slipped into the village through the back gate and went straight to the guild. The woman in charge there, Vessa, listened to her saying the boy who was supposed to bring back her herbs never came and went pale.

"It was Lys who took the quest; I gave it to him," Vessa told her. "If what you are saying is true, then he still hasn’t returned from the forest yet. That boy!!....You don’t have to worry, I’ll head into the forest myself to find him and send the herbs the moment we find him."

Hearing another one reassuring her once again, Tresta walked home through the dark.

Her daughter was already vomiting heavily when she arrived. The girl’s words made no sense anymore. The fever had climbed even higher.

Tresta stayed up through the night, wiping her small body with cool rags, whispering to her long after the girl stopped responding.

The said herbs never arrived that night.

And when it arrived, it was already morning, too late.

Because her daughter had already taken her last breath before dawn.

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Tresta finished the last stitch and folded the cloth neatly. She set it down on the edge of the cot, her daughter’s cot. She hadn’t moved it. Hadn’t taken apart the blankets. The small space still carried the faint scent of the herbs she used to burn to ease the fever a little.

She wasn’t crying now. She had cried enough last night until there was nothing left. Now there was only this heavy, exhausted weight pressing down on her chest.

Her green eyes looked tired, the freckles across her cheeks and nose standing out more against pale skin. Her brown hair hung in a loose braid down her back, messy strands framing her face. Even now, weakened by the curse, traces of the warrior she used to be remained in the set of her jaw and the quiet strength in her posture.

Waking her up from her thoughts, a sudden knock sounded at the door.

Tresta lifted her head sharply. The sound pulled her fully out of the memories. She stared at the wooden door for a moment, then pushed herself up slowly. Her legs ached as she crossed the small room.

She lifted the latch and opened the door.

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