The Healer's Apprentice

Isolde stood before the weathered door, waiting for an answer as the freezing winter wind pulled at her coarse linen dress. Dark memories of her past life crashed over her like a tidal wave while she stood on the snow-covered step. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the bitter sting of regret. In her previous life, she had possessed unrestricted access to Garrick Vance’s priceless, painstakingly crafted remedies. But instead of honoring the old healer’s generosity, she had foolishly and desperately squandered every single drop on her second brother, Sylvan. It had all been a pathetic bid to win back the Lockhart family's shifting affection.

Sylvan had callously taken her massive sacrifices for granted. He never once thanked her. Instead, he used her stolen elixirs to rapidly rise in power, securing his prestigious position as the head of the Grand Clinic. While Cecily flourished under Sylvan’s newfound power and protection, Isolde had been ruthlessly cast out into the biting cold. The very brother she had elevated had reviled her, leaving her to rot in the streets.

Looking back at her own blind humility and pathetic desperation, a deep cringe rippled through her shivering body. The mere thought of her past foolishness made her stomach churn with disgust. Never again, she vowed, her jaw tightening. She pushed the weathered door open and stepped out of the harsh winter elements into the warmth of the modest courtyard.

"Well, look who it is," a familiar, teasing voice immediately greeted her from across the room.

Garrick stood near his workbench, his wiry frame relaxed. The seasoned healer took one look at her scratchy, roughspun garments and arched a silver brow. A look of gentle, knowing mischief danced in his sharp eyes.

"What is all this about?" he asked playfully, stepping closer to inspect her threadbare appearance. "With the deep bond we share, you certainly don't need to dress up like a starving pauper just to tug at my heartstrings for a free potion."

Isolde’s chest tightened. A sudden, overwhelming wave of guilt washed over her for how she had used his kindness in her past life. Without a word of hesitation, she sank directly to her knees on the hard, wooden floor.

Garrick’s playful smile vanished.

Looking up at him with fierce determination, she shook her head. "I am not here to beg for potions this time," she declared, her voice steady. "I came here for two specific things. First, my body is plagued by rheumatism from my recent abuse. I desperately need your legendary skill with the silver needles to ease this freezing pain in my joints."

She took a breath. "Second, and most importantly, I formally request to become your full-time apprentice. I vow to dedicate myself to learning the true art of healing and the rigorous ways of combat. And I swear, as your student, I will care for you properly in your later years."

Garrick's weathered face visibly softened at her passionate plea. He studied her upturned face, noting the hard resolve replacing her former desperate need for her family's validation. He realized she had finally opened her eyes to the toxic nature of her bloodline.

Reaching out, his strong, calloused hands grasped her arms and gently lifted her to her feet.

"The dual path of advanced medicine and martial combat is no child's play," he sternly warned her, his tone turning uncompromising. "It will take immense grit, blood, and tears."

Isolde’s posture remained resolute. She held his gaze without flinching. "I am fiercely determined to forge an independent life. I will be permanently free from my family's shadow."

Nodding in proud approval, Garrick immediately began her intense medical treatment. "Take off your outer coat and lie face down. We need to drive that frost out of your veins."

Isolde did as instructed, settling onto the narrow wooden cot. Garrick retrieved a leather roll from his cabinet. With practiced precision, he expertly inserted fourteen long, silver needles into specific pressure points along her shivering body. He worked to drive the deep, agonizing cold out from her very bones.

"Pay attention," he instructed rigorously as his fingers found each mark. "Your first lesson starts right now. Memorize these complex acupuncture points."

Isolde gritted her teeth through the initial sting, focusing all her mental energy on cataloging the exact location of the fourteen points.

After the grueling session, the biting chill that had settled deep in her joints was replaced by a soothing warmth. Isolde sat up, wrapping her garments back around her shoulders. Garrick handed her a steaming cup of sweet honeyed water.

Sitting on a stool across from her, his sharp eyes once again dropped to her homespun gown.

"The Viceroy's grand recognition feast is the loudest talk of the entire city tonight," he mentioned, his voice casual but his gaze piercing. Seeing her dressed so plainly, he astutely deduced the situation. "You were deeply slighted at the event, weren't you? You want to cut your familial ties for good."

Isolde nodded softly into her cup, quietly admitting her goal. "I seek total freedom. But I acknowledge I must tread very carefully and slowly against my powerful family."

Garrick agreed with her cautious strategy, but his brow furrowed deeply as he examined her battered physical condition. "What did that old fox Darius actually do to you?" he asked bluntly.

Shocked for a moment by his casual disrespect for her powerful father, the Viceroy, Isolde hesitated before briefly sharing the horrific events of the past few days. When she finished, she looked up, her eyes searching his.

"I didn't push Cecily down that hill," she stated plainly. "Do you believe me?"

Garrick responded without hesitation. "If you say you didn't do it, I trust you." He sighed. "I know your true heart, Isolde. But Darius... that man has grown blind."

Isolde's heart swelled at his unwavering faith, especially when her own flesh and blood had instantly doubted and condemned her. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. But fear quickly crept in. "Do not cross my powerful, vindictive father on my behalf. I fear for your safety."

Garrick let out a loud, dismissive snort. "Darius may be high and mighty in this city, but I am no pushover. Let him try me. I promise the Viceroy will deeply regret it."

Comforted by his fierce protection, Isolde settled warmly by the crackling hearth to begin studying the intricate acupuncture charts he provided. Yet, as she observed his vast knowledge and humble living conditions, a lingering, burning question surfaced in her mind.

She looked up from the parchment, noting that his healing skills were unmatched in the kingdom. "Why do you choose to live so humbly?" she asked. "Why don't you just open a grand, lucrative medical practice?"

Garrick let out a hearty, booming chuckle, waving the idea away. "A practice? I have no time for a practice."

Isolde blinked. "No time? What keeps you so busy?"