The weeks passed in a comfortable rhythm. Each morning, Elaine opened her clinic to a small but steady stream of villagers seeking help for everything from minor cuts to chronic ailments. Sarah had appointed herself permanent apprentice, arriving before dawn to sweep the floors and organize supplies, her questions about healing as endless as her energy.

  "Why does this herb help bones?" Sarah asked one morning. "And if you can heal with your hands, why do we need herbs at all?"

  Elaine smiled, measuring dried herbs with practiced precision. "Different tools for different purposes. My healing works best for injuries and acute conditions. Plants offer gentler, sustained support." She was finding that teaching traditional medicine helped her connect with the villagers in ways that her more dramatic healings couldn't.

  "But you could just fix everything with your powers, right?"

  "I could," Elaine acknowledged, "but there's value in different approaches. Some people find comfort in familiar remedies."

  Their conversation was interrupted by shouting outside. Two farmers burst through the door carrying a third between them, blood soaking through a makeshift bandage on his right hand.

  "Threshing accident," one gasped. "The blade went right through Martyn's hand."

  They laid the injured man on the examination table. Elaine quickly unwrapped the blood-soaked cloth, revealing a catastrophic injury. The threshing blade had completely severed two fingers and nearly cut the hand in half diagonally. Even in her previous life as a conventional doctor, this would have meant amputation.

  "Sarah, please wait outside," Elaine said calmly.

  The girl hesitated, clearly torn between curiosity and obedience.

  "Now, Sarah."

  Once the door closed behind her, Elaine turned to the farmers. "This will look unusual," she warned. "Are you prepared for that?"

  They nodded, desperation in their eyes. Elaine placed both hands around the mangled flesh. Golden light emanated from her palms, illuminating the small room. The farmers stepped back, eyes wide as they watched tendons reconnect, blood vessels seal, and bones knit together. The severed fingers reattached themselves seamlessly. Within minutes, the hand was whole again, not even a scar remaining to evidence the devastating injury.

  "Try moving your fingers," Elaine instructed.

  Martyn stared in disbelief, then slowly flexed his hand. "It's... perfect," he whispered, turning his hand over to examine both sides. "Better than before. The old ache from that break three winters ago is gone too."

  The farmers looked at Elaine with a mixture of awe and unease that had become familiar to her. News of Martyn's restored hand spread through Riverside before sunset, adding to her growing reputation.

  That evening, during the harvest celebration, Elaine sat with Mary's family at one of the long tables set up in the village square. Lanterns cast a warm glow over the festivities as villagers shared food, music, and dance to celebrate the season's bounty.

  "To Riverside's miracle healer," James said, raising his cup in Elaine's direction. Others nearby echoed the toast.

  Later, as the celebration continued around them, Mary and Elaine found a quiet moment.

  "You've changed this village," Mary said, watching children running with sparklers through the square. "Not just the healings, though those are remarkable enough. There's hope here now that wasn't before."

  Elaine smiled, her gaze drifting over the familiar faces she'd come to care for. "It's so different from my... travels," she said carefully. "I spent a long time alone, focused only on developing my skills. I'd forgotten what it means to be part of something."

  Mary studied her face. "You never talk much about before."

  "There's not much to tell that would make sense," Elaine replied honestly. "But this—" she gestured to the celebration around them, "—this is what matters now."

  * * *

  By the second month, Elaine noticed a change in the visitors coming to Riverside. Previously, merchants had passed through on established routes, staying only long enough to trade before continuing their journey. Now, travelers arrived specifically asking about the healer, some bringing ailing family members from villages a day's journey away.

  "Another three came asking for you this morning," Clarence told Elaine as they watched a group of strangers in the market. "Good for business, I suppose. I've sold more metalwork this month than in the previous three combined."

  "I never intended to draw attention to Riverside," Elaine said.

  Clarence shrugged his broad shoulders. "Attention isn't always bad. Though I wonder what the royal officials will make of it when word reaches them."

  "Would they care about a village healer?"

  "They care about anything unusual," Clarence said, his tone suggesting personal experience. "Especially if it might benefit the crown."

  Their conversation ended as Sarah came running toward them, face flushed with urgency.

  "Healer Elaine! Come quick! It's the Miller's children—they're burning with fever!"

  Elaine moved immediately, following Sarah through the village at a pace the girl struggled to match. They arrived at the miller's home to find chaos—three children lay on pallets in the main room, their small bodies wracked with fever. Their skin burned hot and dry to the touch, faces flushed crimson. Their breathing came in labored gasps.

  Martha greeted Elaine, "Elaine, bless you, please help my grandkids" as Elaine entered, hope and desperation mingling in her exhausted eyes. "They worsened so quickly," she whispered. "Started with just a warm forehead this morning."

  Elaine placed her hand on the forehead of the youngest child, a girl no more than four. The heat radiating from her skin would have alarmed even a novice healer. But it was the pattern beneath that confirmed Elaine's suspicions—the distinctive signature of inflammation spreading through the child's blood.

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  "Red fever," she said quietly.

  Emily, their mother, stifled a sob. "The next village lost six children to it last winter."

  "Not this time," Elaine said with quiet certainty.

  She placed one hand on the child's forehead and the other over her heart. Golden light emanated from her palms, sinking beneath the skin. The child's labored breathing eased almost immediately. The angry flush receded from her cheeks as the fever broke, not gradually but completely in the span of seconds.

  Emily gasped as her daughter's eyes fluttered open, clear and alert where moments before they had been glazed with delirium.

  Without pause, Elaine moved to the next child, a boy of seven. Again, the golden light flowed, and again, the fever vanished completely. The boy sat up, blinking in confusion, as if waking from a deep sleep rather than a potentially fatal illness.

  "Water," Elaine instructed the astonished mother. "They'll be thirsty."

  As she healed the third child with the same swift efficiency, a neighbor burst through the door.

  "Martha, Emily, my Tomas has started burning up too—" The woman stopped, staring at the three children who had been deathly ill moments ago but now sat drinking water and looking merely tired.

  "Bring him here," Elaine said, rising to her feet. "And spread word—any child showing even slight fever should come immediately."

  Over the next several hours, Elaine worked methodically. Eight more children arrived with various stages of red fever. Each received the same treatment—Elaine's hands glowing with healing energy, the disease vanishing completely from their systems within moments.

  Word spread rapidly through Riverside. Mothers brought children who showed no symptoms yet but had been in contact with the sick. Elaine examined each one, finding traces of the disease in some and eliminating it before symptoms could manifest.

  By nightfall, she had treated twenty-three children. Not one remained ill, not one would suffer the lingering weakness that typically followed red fever—even those who survived. Where other villages might have lost a quarter of their children and seen others weakened for life, Riverside had lost none.

  Villagers gathered outside the miller's home, whispering among themselves as families emerged with children who hours earlier had been fighting for their lives.

  "It's not natural," one old woman muttered, making a sign against evil. "Fever that fast, gone that fast? Not natural at all."

  But others pushed forward with tearful gratitude, pressing small gifts into Elaine's hands—fresh eggs, a loaf of bread, a carved wooden pendant.

  The following morning, Elaine returned to her cottage, satisfied that the threat had been completely eliminated. She found the village council waiting for her—Clarence, James, Gerald the miller, and three other respected residents.

  "We came to thank you," Gerald said, his eyes red from worry and relief. "My grand children would have died without your help."

  "Any healer would have done the same," Elaine replied.

  Clarence's laugh was short and without humor. "Any healer would have lost half those children, and you know it. What you did wasn't just healing—it was something else entirely."

  James leaned forward, his carpenter's hands folded together. "The thing is, Elaine, what you did with the red fever... it's remarkable. Not just saving lives, but saving all of them."

  "You're concerned," Elaine observed.

  "Just cautious," James replied. "Extraordinary things draw attention. And attention isn't always... simple."

  Elaine's gaze moved from face to face around the table. "I don't understand."

  Clarence cleared his throat. "James is being delicate. What he means is that gifts like yours tend to attract those with power. And those with power have their own ideas about how such gifts should be used."

  "I chose Riverside," Elaine said. "This is where I wish to stay."

  The council members exchanged glances, and something in their silence made Elaine realize how young this village was compared to her millennium of existence—and yet how much more they understood about the complexities of their world than she did.

  * * *

  The royal courier arrived at Elaine's cottage a week after the red fever crisis had ended. His horse's hooves clattered on the stone path as Sarah looked up from the herbs she was sorting. The man dismounted with practiced ease, his purple and silver uniform marking him as an official messenger rather than a common courier.

  "This is it! This is Healer Elaine's cottage," Sarah announced before Elaine could speak, bouncing to her feet and nearly upsetting the basket of chamomile.

  The courier bowed formally. "Healer Elaine? I bring an official communication from the Royal College of Healing Arts." He produced a scroll sealed with blue wax imprinted with the royal crest—a hand surrounded by rays of light.

  Elaine accepted the scroll, aware of villagers gathering at a respectful distance, drawn by the unusual sight of a royal messenger. She broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, its formal script flowing across the page in elegant curves.

  "What does it say?" Sarah whispered loudly, trying to peer over Elaine's arm.

  "The Royal College of Healing Arts extends greetings to the village of Riverside," Elaine read, translating the formal language. "A delegation will arrive in three days to observe and evaluate medical practices being employed in your community."

  The messenger cleared his throat. "Senior Examiner Thaddeus Merrick himself leads the delegation. This is... unusual for a village assessment."

  Elaine detected the unspoken message. This was no routine inspection. "Thank you for bringing this notice," she said, offering the man a cup of water from her well.

  As the courier refreshed himself before departing, villagers pressed closer, murmuring among themselves.

  "The royal college! Here in Riverside!" Sarah's mother exclaimed.

  "They've heard about our miracle healer," an old farmer said proudly.

  Clarence and James exchanged glances, their expressions confirming the council's earlier concerns. James approached Elaine as the courier mounted his horse.

  "This is what we feared," he said quietly. "They've heard about the red fever."

  "It's an honor for the village," Mary suggested, though her tone held uncertainty.

  "Honor comes with complications," Clarence muttered.

  That evening, Elaine's cottage hosted an impromptu council. Mary stoked the fire while James and Clarence sat at the worn table. Sarah had been sent home despite her protests.

  "Thaddeus Merrick is the second most powerful healer in the kingdom," Clarence explained. "He only leaves the capital for matters of significant interest."

  "What exactly should I expect?" Elaine asked.

  James folded his hands on the table. "They'll want to see your methods, understand your techniques. The question is how much you should show them."

  "My healing isn't secret," Elaine said. "I've treated most of the village by now."

  "There's a difference between healing our villagers and performing for royal examiners," Clarence said. "I spent three years in the capital as a journeyman. I've seen how they operate. Exceptional talent gets 'invited' to serve at court."

  Mary placed a gentle hand on Elaine's shoulder. "We don't want to lose you to some royal appointment."

  "I could refuse such an invitation," Elaine suggested.

  Clarence's laugh held no humor. "Royal invitations aren't typically optional."

  Mary's expression brightened suddenly. "They'll need somewhere to dine. I'll host them at our home—give you a more comfortable setting than a formal examination."

  James nodded. "Good thinking. A friendly meal might remind them there are people behind their assessments."

  "I'll prepare my clinic," Elaine said. "But I won't pretend to be less than I am."

  That evening, Elaine stood at the edge of the village, watching the sun set toward the distant capital. The sky blazed golden and red, reminding her of the void where the luminous being had warned her about the attention her powers would attract.

  "After a thousand years of isolation, your greatest challenge won't be survival or power—it will be connection," the being had said. Now those connections might become complications.

  Elaine flexed her fingers, feeling the power that thrummed through them—power that could mend any wound, cure any disease. Power that had surpassed what this world considered possible.

  In her millennium on the island, she had faced countless challenges, optimized every pattern, defeated the most powerful creatures. Yet none of that had prepared her for navigating the complex web of human relationships and politics.

  She turned back toward the village, lights beginning to glow in cottage windows as families gathered for evening meals. Her village now, her people. Whatever came with the royal delegation, she would face it as she had faced every challenge—with careful assessment, strategic planning, and the strength she had spent a millennium building.

  Three days. Time enough to prepare for whatever the Royal College of Healing might bring to Riverside's door.