My brother's legs haven't moved on their own in over three years. From a wheelchair to his bed, to the sofa, or a dining chair, they dangle mercilessly. He manages to put on his own shoes every morning with little assistance from our adoptive father, Theoden, and those shoes, whether boots or slippers, always prove to be a hindrance.

They're a heavier weight than we'd like to carry from one seat to another.

I place my hand on the back of my brother's knee. From the moment the Void Queen broke his spine, his muscles weakened and left brittle bone behind. Castiel lost a large amount of mass that he had built from a few years of working at the docks to load ships and move crates of shipments onto Rivian soil. The foremen cherished his ability to maintain a strong workload at such a young age; my brother's efforts were only beginning.

Until that night, he had more to give. Now, as I grip the back of his knee and trace the innards of his body with my power, I can't find any shred of strength left behind. Bone, the shriveled remnant of muscle, useless blood flowing through his veins. He can't feel my fingers wrapping around but a shrivel of me hopes he will someday.

The fabric of his pants hangs too loose around his skin for my liking. Through no fault of his own, Castiel's body has turned against him and uttered a new change. A darker dawn that he can't repair. So we find ourselves here, seemingly above the world itself.

In the capital, towards the northern region of the bustling city, three towers composed mostly of glass domes and spiraling staircases stretch taller than many of the businesses, residences, and mansions belonging to those of the queen's court. Those three towers swallow every sunrise and sunset, basking warmth to the streets below, arching towards the Void Territory and Winter's Past. Both territories disappear into a shroud of fog and low clouds that move fast enough for the ordinary eye to detect.

Those three towers huddle together, unbreakable in their form, and crane their heights to different reaches. The tower in the middle, home to the wisest and oldest healers, reaches the highest. The tower closer to the east is the shortest of the three and holds the inner workings of the long-term patients and healer residences. If they don't live in the city itself, that is.

Having to look out to the northern territories tightens my chest. I involuntarily wrap my hand tighter around the back of Castiel's knee while he fiddles with his hands, trying to ignore the inevitable. The Void Territory will haunt us for the remainder of our days; the jagged rocks outside the city make for difficult travel, a physical barricade against the Void Queen and all her forces. At least they're building a wall. From my view in the eastern tower, I spot the workings of stone, the ant-sized slaves constructing a tall and impenetrable barrier to keep Wyetta Terravale away from the throne.

I look back over my shoulder at the land stretching beyond, the imminent threat, when the metal door on the other side of the room opens. The healer that has taken on Castiel's case strides into the room, studying previous notes in a leather-bound journal that has seen better days. Reseda Averon is her name. She can't be much younger than myself or Castiel, but her correct background eludes me. What she has shared with my brother in their spare time alone is not for my ears.

All healers serving in the Towers of Light must adhere to the proper uniform. A long-sleeved, handwoven dress that cinches at the waist, cascading into a deep brown apron to hide stains of blood and other bodily fluids. The ill-fitting skirt falls to her ankles, exposing black slippers that twinkle from a recent polish.

Her slow steps are near silent before she stops in the middle of the room and chews on her fingernail, scrunching black brows together in confusion. Castiel raises his head, watching her carefully, and I exchange a glance with Setsuko standing off to the side of the room, her arms crossed over her chest. She shrugs, unknowing of the healer's need to examine every page of notes before she begins the assessment.

The last person in the room, a recent friend of Castiel's, is too busy staring out the window to notice someone else has arrived in this round room, a single reclining chair in the middle for the patient, and a wall of supplies and cabinets near the door. Mutes has hardly moved since we arrived. The queen's lover doesn't get out much but Castiel's arrival in the city has given him something else to look forward to on these days that eventually lead to night. When his workday starts.

A longing sorrow hangs over Mutes's features. He stares out to the Void Territory, and the dark clouds reflect in his stare. We came here together with Setsuko's company, but I still find it strange to see him outside royal grounds and away from the Raven Queen. He walks at her shoulder without a word shared, an expression managed. He's as soulless as the queen's lover should be. Anyone with that profession would see no hope for having another life; getting him out of the palace is largely at that hand. Spending time with Castiel, his first real friend, is another.

Reseda finally shuts the journal, turning her abnormal pink stare towards my brother in the middle of the room. Years of training gifted her the ability to approach a patient with understanding—a smile and a clear voice. "Castiel, how are you today?" she questions while stepping forward and forcing out her palms towards my brother's spine.

He rests his chin on his fist. "I'm fine, Reseda."

Born a healer, Reseda is near perfect. A muddled breed of immortal, she carries the gene of pointed ears and fangs, but nothing else signifies her as one beast over the next. Her skin, like the golden-brown crust of a freshly baked pie, doused in caramel and dusted with glitter, glows underneath the pink beacon of her healing abilities.

My hand slides from Castiel's knee and I take a step back to allow her easier access to the examination. Mutes comes to my side, watching her two palms hover over my brother's wound. Reseda's face scrunches in concentration, long lashes fluttering. "Nothing has changed," she mutters. Taking her hands away, she scribbles that note down in her journal. To me, she changes course. "We've tried different treatments over the last few weeks, each consisting of focusing our strengths on his spine. Long-lasting holds, our latest attempt, has not worked to remove what ails him."

I cross my arms over my chest. "You're attempting to remove something, rather than repair what is broken," I manage to get out in a tone that sounds more professional that I wanted it to be. Reseda's wide eyes glisten. "Can my brother's wounds not be healed without premeditated efforts?"

She shakes her head. The black braids, tight to her scalp and transcending down to the middle of her back, hardly move. Tipped with beads, they craft a jolly tune of their own design. "Each of our healers has come through here, attempting to pick apart what has happened to his spine. Like a snake coils around prey, the Void Queen's dark power continues to hold around the break, preventing access."

"Are there any other options that you've considered? Something you haven't tried?" I ask. Castiel and I share a wary look.

If the strongest healers in the kingdom can't get through the Void Queen's power, my brother may have to live like this his entire life. Coming to the capital, moving away from Gudgeon, was supposed to grant my brother the chance to walk again. The healers in the Towers of Light, other than the Void Queen herself, are our only shot.

"It is difficult for us to access his injuries through the skin. There is a certain barrier in there we must fight through to understand, and without visualizing it ourselves, it is unlikely we'll break through the hold your brother is fighting." For emphasis, Reseda drifts her palm over the wound in his spine once more, and with the other hand, she pulls upward, clenching her hand into a fist.

A purple smoke lifts from Castiel's back, pulled by the healer, and remains taut the higher she lifts, the harder she tugs. Reseda's fist unclenches and her fingers slay wide. The purple smoke snaps back down and disappears underneath. The embodiment of the Void Queen's hold. I swallow a dry lump in my throat, straying a hand to my neck to remind myself she isn't choking the air from my lungs.

"There are...risky steps we can take in this," Reseda continues. "Surgery is common in the Towers of Light and I believe your brother would be a strong candidate to undergo a procedure."

"Surgery?" Castiel squeaks. His cheeks redden when the healer nods. She hasn't quite mastered the ability to reassure her patients.

Mutes shoots me a knowing look and a thick tension floods the air. I look away, back to my brother's wound, and try to imagine a day where I didn't have to worry about this. I didn't train for this, nor do I possess the knowledge of a healer. Either way, surgery can take my brother's life and the healers won't have a chance to save him.

Reseda furthers my nerves when she speaks again. "For the surgery, we would have to open him up. We—"

A croaked laugh escapes Castiel's throat, and he shakes his head. "That is not happening. Of all things, I think I'd rather have someone push me around in a wheelchair for the rest of my life than someone take a knife to my spine." The normally dark freckles on his cheeks pale in comparison to the lack of blood flowing to his face.

Each of us feels a similar sinking sensation in our stomachs. This was a mistake—turning to the strongest healers in the kingdom. Castiel never argued about the potions and never asked for anything further. I won't dare force him into a surgery he's too frightened to have.

Reseda places her arm on my brother's shoulder. That reassuring touch falls far enough away from his wound that he doesn't flinch. "I understand your fear, Castiel, but you wouldn't be awake for the procedure. Along with our esteemed healers, we have certified Luminaries doing what we can't. The first step would be to slow your heart rate enough to calm you, enough that you'd be able to ingest a potion without trouble."

"And what would this potion do?" He raises his eyes to her as she walks around to stand at his front.

Reseda's crooked lips, uneven after an older man sliced into her face because she refused to go back to his cottage with him, crinkle up into a smile. "That potion would put you into a deep slumber for hours on end. Like the potion you ingested to remove your pain, this one is also derived of magical properties."

The queen's lover shifts uncomfortably at my side. "What would occur during the surgery other than opening him up and examining the Void Queen's barrier? Would the healers monitor his system to ensure everything works smoothly?"

Past the palace walls and whispering voices, everyone knows Mutes's title. Some choose to turn the other cheek, and others watch him like he's a Luminary God that has suddenly descended back onto Rivian's valleys and mountains. Reseda falls in the middle—between respect and caution. Any association with the queen reminds her of what happened to get here, the life she should've had if not for her mother's natural-born ability to heal. A trait passed onto her daughter and the ultimate reason they were separated moments after Reseda's birth.

My brother hasn't told me everything, but enough. "Castiel would not feel any pain if that's what you're wondering," she says. From the side of the room, Setsuko blinks the sleep out of her eyes. "If we go through with this surgery, I would assign the beast healers to Castiel's case to ensure he receives the most-thorough treatment possible." She shifts her pastel eyes to me. I'll never get used to the soft color that doesn't respect her authority. "With this surgery, the healing process will be easier on the healers and your brother. What we're doing right now...isn't working. We're stalling, to say the least."

She wrings her hands. The steadiest fall victim to the nerves of such trials. Castiel's life remains on the line, but in her care, he has a chance. The Towers of Light heal injured soldiers and provide them solutions when they've lost parts of their bodies that won't grow back. Healers bring life into the world and tend to both mother and baby, promising a healthy life for both. What Castiel has, the dark swarm of Terravale buzzing, is foreign to their eyes and ears.

Hundreds of healers have hovered their hands over my brother's back and returned with the same solution. Their power isn't strong enough. United as a team or alone in the fight, nothing works. Wyetta Terravale's hold has yet to weaken.

Setsuko steps forward after remaining silent since arriving. The princess assigned Castiel to Reseda, knowing the young healer would do everything in her power to ensure he received the best treatment possible. She trained and studied for years to reach this point, only stopping to take a breath when they told her she could. From the moment she was born and ripped from her mother's arms, she served the queen.

The world promised her focus was better served on her future than what she left behind, but for fighting for her daughter and attempting to reunite the two, Reseda lost her mother. Hanged for unlawful murder and attempted kidnapping.

Attempted kidnapping of her newborn daughter.

I think of my own mother, how she would've gone through every effort to bring our family back together. Whether climbing mountains or killing her way through, my mother loved her family more than anything in the world and no one, not guards or lying healers, would stand in her way. She birthed us in the privacy of her home, away from prying eyes, and did everything herself. As a healer, Reseda's mother didn't have that luxury.

"I promise the Towers of Light will treat Castiel well," Setsuko consoles. "Even if surgery isn't the perfect choice for treatment, Reseda will confer with the high healers on what is best. Right, Reseda?" She arches a dark brow.

Reseda nods quickly. "The high healers will know what to do. Though I must warn that they may agree to the surgery being the only option."

"If that's the case, then that's what we have to do," Castiel speaks up. "Marie, help me up."

I scramble forward, taking my brother's outstretched arms, and Mutes provides assistance from the back to flip him over. Once he's faced towards the ceiling, we back away, knowing all too well that once he's on a decent position, my brother doesn't require help. Mutes watches my expression to ensure I don't crack under the pressure of viewing Castiel struggle.

He lifts himself by his elbows, prying his palms onto the cushioned chair. Like a master that has attempted this for hundreds of years—or failed that many times—Castiel grabs his legs and swings them over the side. The rest of his body goes with him and that tightening in my chest releases at the sight of him sitting up, like a normal man, the blood returning to his cheeks.

As if for the first time, he smiles at us all. "Reseda and I will continue to discuss my options. I agree that, out of all the healers in the Towers of Light, she is the best to assist me."

The healer stills from where she is taking notes in her journal and smiles involuntarily, shaking her head to hide the heat rising onto her cheeks. I look between the two of them, from my brother's flirty smirk I haven't laid eyes upon in years, to Reseda's best attempts at hiding a terrible secret. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

The last time Castiel flirted with anyone was when he could still walk on his own power. Slinking to the side, I slap him against the arm and he jumps, hissing underneath his breath. Reseda's attention shifts to our muttering and we stop, acting as though I'm complaining about his uneven and messy hairstyle. I yank on a few of his hairs and he bats me away.

After all these years, his confidence has finally reached a stable point after teetering on the edge of a cliff where his legs had fallen. I don't know what to focus on first—the possibility that my brother will undergo a difficult surgery or the goal I have wanted him to reach since the day he tried to hide from a woman that had once wanted to capture all his attention.

Either way, Castiel should be happy. If not for his own sake, then ours. He may not realize it yet, but the world—and Reseda—has bigger plans that a wheelchair and years of doubt.