The next morning began with tension. The village square buzzed with whispers. Children pointed at Emily, and women crossed the street when she passed. She tried to focus on work, cleaning wounds and boiling water, but she felt the weight of eyes following her.

Thomas noticed. “Don’t mind them,” he said quietly. “People fear what they don’t understand.”

Emily sighed. “I just want to help.”

“Then keep doing that. Let the rest talk themselves tired.”

But by afternoon, things got worse. A wounded man began to convulse from infection. Emily grabbed a bottle of alcohol and a clean cloth, doing what she could. She cooled his forehead and whispered encouragement. When he finally stopped shaking, his breathing steady again, a small group of villagers at the door gasped.

“She touched him and he lived,” one said. “No prayer, no doctor, just her hands.”

“It’s not magic,” Emily said firmly. “It’s medicine.”

They didn’t listen. One woman crossed herself. Another whispered, “Witch.”

Nathan entered then, sensing trouble. “What’s going on here?”

“She’s unnatural,” a man shouted. “No woman can heal like that.”

Nathan stepped forward, his voice cold. “She’s saved dozens of our men. That’s not witchcraft. That’s courage.”

The crowd hesitated but didn’t leave. Emily’s stomach twisted. She had seen fear before in patients, but this was different. This was hatred looking for a target.

That night, the wind howled outside the church. Emily sat near the fire, staring at the brass key again. The glow was gone now, dull and silent. She whispered, “Why did you bring me here?”

Thomas came in, his face pale. “Emily, one of the barns is on fire. Villagers say it’s a sign, that God’s angry. They’re blaming you.”

Her heart sank. “What? Why me?”

“Because you came from nowhere, and things started changing.”

Outside, flames painted the night sky orange. Villagers shouted, forming a crowd near the burning barn. When Emily and Thomas arrived, people turned on her instantly.

“There she is!” someone yelled. “The witch!”

“I’m not—” she started, but a rock hit the ground near her feet.

Nathan pushed through the crowd, sword drawn. “Enough! Anyone who touches her answers to me.” His voice thundered over the crackling fire.

The villagers fell silent. Emily stood behind him, her heart pounding.

Nathan glared at the crowd. “She’s under my protection. She’s a nurse, not a witch. You want to blame someone for your misfortune, blame the war.”

Slowly, the people backed away. The fire burned itself out as soldiers doused it with water.

When the crowd finally dispersed, Nathan turned to her. “You can’t stay here long. They’ll come again.”

Emily nodded, tears threatening to fall. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“I know,” he said gently. “But fate doesn’t ask permission.”

As they walked back to the church, she looked at him in the dim light. For the first time, she saw not just a soldier but a man burdened by the same kind of loneliness she carried. And deep inside, a quiet bond began to form, fragile but undeniable, born from fire and fear.