Arrowhurt

"I know. The shadows are heavy," Elara agreed, her fingers finally brushing the feathered fletching. "But you are lighter than the dark. On three, I’m going to pull the physical steel. The spiritual hurt... that’s yours to push out."

He tumbled into the damp ferns, the world spinning. The "arrowhurt"—a term the healers used for the lingering, soul-deep ache of an enchanted projectile—blossomed through his chest. These weren't ordinary arrows; the Shadow-cloaks tipped them with essence-draining glass that ate at the spirit as much as the flesh. "Stay down," a voice hissed. arrowhurt

Kaelen tried to focus. The forest around them felt like it was retreating into a gray haze. Every beat of his heart sent a fresh wave of cold fire through his veins. He could see the black veins of the enchantment creeping away from the wound, a dark web against his pale skin. "It’s... it's heavy," Kaelen managed to gasp. "I know

One. The forest held its breath.Two. Kaelen gripped a handful of dirt, feeling the grit and life of the earth.Three. On three, I’m going to pull the physical steel

"Not today," he breathed, sitting up as Elara bandaged the wound. The ache was still there, a dull reminder of how close he’d come, but the arrowhurt was broken.