The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 105

I turned back to Toren, the glow from my hands dimming as exhaustion clawed at me. My limbs trembled, every nerve alight with pain that wasn’t mine anymore but still felt like it.

“Almost there,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Just a little more.”

The world tilted, my vision tunneling. Every drop of strength I had left poured into the healing—closing what was left, mending what I could. The air shimmered faintly around us, like heat rising from desert sand.

And then, finally, his breathing evened out.

The bond between us pulsed strong again.

I sagged forward, catching myself with trembling arms. My body felt hollowed out, drained, but beneath my palm, Toren’s heartbeat was steady.

He’s alive.

That was all that mattered.

The smell of smoke still clung to everything—the air, the dirt, my skin. My vision blurred, sweat mixing with soot as I knelt beside Toren’s still form. His pulse was strong now, steady beneath my hand. Relief hit me like a wave, but it didn’t last.

“Luna!” Tyson’s voice cracked through the chaos, breathless.

He was dragging a warrior with Jake’s help, one arm slung over his shoulder, the man barely conscious. The warrior’s shirt was soaked red, shards of glass jutting from his stomach and ribs like jagged crystal.

“Got hit by the blast—window must’ve shattered on impact,” Tyson grunted, lowering him carefully to the ground.

I forced myself upright on trembling legs and dropped to my knees beside the wounded warrior. My hands hovered over the damage, unsure where to start.

“Hold him,” I said quietly.

Tyson braced the man’s shoulders while Jake pinned his legs. I met the warrior’s glassy eyes for a moment. “This is going to hurt.”

He nodded weakly. “Do it, Luna.”

I swallowed hard and took a steadying breath. With one hand, I gripped the largest shard of glass and pulled. The sound it made leaving his flesh made my stomach turn—wet, sharp, wrong. He groaned in pain, his body jerking. I worked quickly, pulling one after another until the last piece clattered to the ground beside me.

“Tyson—pressure,” I said, voice raw.

He pressed his hand over the wound as I covered it with mine, channeling what little energy I could muster. The glow returned, faint but alive, spreading through my fingertips.

Every tear, every slice, every ripped vessel screamed through me as I worked. I could feel the blood sealing, the skin weaving itself whole again. My head throbbed, my chest aching from the strain.

The warrior gasped sharply, color rushing back into his cheeks. His breathing steadied.

“It’s done,” I murmured, pulling my hands back slowly.

Tyson exhaled in relief. “That’s two down.”

Jake stood, wiping sweat and ash from his brow. “We’ll get the next one.”

Talon appeared moments later, half-carrying another warrior—a younger man this time, his mouth bleeding, his skin pale and clammy.

“He won’t stop coughing up blood,” Talon said urgently. “Can you—”

I didn’t let him finish. I was already reaching out, fingers pressing against the man’s throat and chest. The second my energy touched him, I felt the damage—the shredded lung, the ruptured blood vessels.

“Hold him still,” I whispered.

Talon knelt beside me, hands gripping the warrior’s shoulders as I poured what was left of my strength into the healing. The pain was almost unbearable now—it felt like my ribs were cracking open, like I was the one drowning from the inside.

“Come on, come on,” I breathed through gritted teeth.

The glow spread wider this time, flickering violently. The man’s breathing hitched, then steadied, his chest rising fully for the first time since the explosion.

Talon let out a shaky exhale. “You did it.”

“Not done yet,” I rasped. My voice sounded foreign, strained, half-broken.

Tyson was already there again, another wounded packmate slung over his arm. “Tracker—broken arm,” he said. “He’s stable, but in a lot of pain.”

I could barely lift my hands now, but I forced them to move. My fingers brushed the tracker’s skin, and a sharp jolt of agony raced up my arm—his pain mixing with mine until I couldn’t tell where it ended.

My magic was slower now, weaker. It crawled along the bone, coaxing it back into alignment. I could feel the bone fragments grind and shift, could feel the muscle thread itself back together, slow and stubborn.

By the time it was done, my entire body was shaking.

“Kira,” Tyson said quietly, his voice thick with concern. “You need to stop.”

“I can’t,” I said softly, my hands falling limp to my sides. “They need me.”

“Kira,” Talon said again, sharper this time, kneeling in front of me. “You’ve done enough—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Because behind him, I heard a low, familiar groan.

Toren.

My head snapped toward the sound. He was sitting up slowly, one hand pressed to his temple, his golden eyes half-open but focused.

The sight of him breathing—awake—stole the breath from my lungs.

“Thank the Goddess,” I whispered.

Talon helped steady him, but Toren waved him off, his gaze locking on me. “What did you do?” he asked, his voice hoarse but alive.

Before I could answer, my vision blurred at the edges. The world tilted, spinning slowly out of focus. I swayed forward, catching myself on my hands.

“I healed you,” I managed to say. “And them.”

His eyes widened, horror and awe mixing together. “You shouldn’t have been able to—”

But I didn’t hear the rest. The last thing I saw before darkness closed in was Toren reaching for me, his face carved in panic.

Every step toward Toren felt like walking through fire. My entire body screamed in protest, every muscle trembling under the weight of borrowed agony. The pain wasn’t mine—but it might as well have been. Every cut I’d closed, every bone I’d mended, every drop of blood I’d stopped still burned beneath my skin, echoing through my veins like lightning. It was the price of healing—taking on their pain so they didn’t have to—and now it consumed me whole.

Then everything went black.