After a somber breakfast, she visited Old Sage for a follow-up appointment. The quiet, dimly lit room felt heavy with unspoken words. Sage, absorbed in his notes, finally looked up, his eyes piercing into hers.
"I'll be straight to the point. I want you to become my apprentice, Celes," he said, his voice steady and deliberate.
Celes was taken aback. "I'm sorry?"
Sage's gaze was resolute.
"Why me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
The honor of the offer, knowing Sage’s esteemed reputation as a healer both within and beyond the pack, was overwhelming. To work under him and learn from him would be a privilege beyond measure. But of all healers, why her?
Sage’s gaze softened. "I see your potential," he replied simply, not elaborating further. "You have a natural talent in healing." His words, though few, held weight.
For the first time that week, Celes felt a flicker of happiness. But it was instantly crushed when Andros’s face popped into her mind. Her momentary joy was overshadowed by the thought of Andros’s likely disapproval. She was all too familiar with his tendency to belittle her aspirations, making her doubt herself at every turn.