The Substitute Healer (BL)-Chapter 19: everything changed.

Torin Alderune was born with nothing and expected nothing from the world. A nameless child left at the doorstep of one of the Davenmore-sponsored orphanages, he grew up learning to smile through hunger, cold nights, and hand-me-down clothes.

No one really expected greatness from him until the day his dormant healing abilities manifested and saved a dying caretaker.

That day, word reached the Davenmore household immediately. Recognizing the rarity of such a gift, the Duke personally arranged for Torin to be assessed by the royal mages. His abilities far surpassed expectations, and the king himself granted him a baron’s title as an unprecedented honor for someone who had once been a common orphan.

From that day, Torin Alderune was no longer just a nameless boy from the orphanage but was a young noble healer with a future carved by destiny.

Despite his rank, Torin’s appearance often caused strangers to mistake him for a delicate young noblewoman. He had short, tousled golden hair and bright golden eyes that shimmered warmly whenever he smiled. His build was soft and slender, his complexion smooth and fair, almost ethereal. Some even called him the sunlight in human form and it wasn’t far from the truth.

Torin was older than Alaric by a few years, so when he was brought into the Davenmore household’s martial and magical training and alongside Alaric, the twins, and the young prince Cael—he naturally fell into the role of an older brother.

Alaric adored him from the start. Torin was the type who laughed, cried, and loved easily. His heart was too big for his own good, and perhaps that was why he fit so seamlessly into their tight-knit group. Even the usually aloof twins and the sharp-tongued Cael softened around him.

Despite his noble title, Torin never once forgot where he came from. He visited the orphanage regularly, often bringing food, clothes, books, or whatever he could afford. Nearly all of his salary as a healer quietly returned to the place that had raised him, keeping the children warm and well-fed.

And Alaric grew fond of him not because of his talents or his title but because of that unwavering kindness. Torin brought light into any room he walked into, and even in the harsh, cold world of nobility and political intrigue, he remained a reminder that goodness still existed.

And for everyone around him, especially Alaric, that goodness was irreplaceable.

Torin, who was only seventeen at the time, took it upon himself to guide Alaric and the twins as best as he could. Though he was barely an adult himself, he stepped into the role of an older brother without hesitation. When the Davenmore Duke and Duchess died, Alaric was only thirteen and was still a child, vulnerable and shaken to the core. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

The twins even buried their grief behind stubborn pride, and Cael, though a prince, was far too young to understand how to comfort anyone.

So, Torin became their anchor.

He was the one who made sure Alaric slept when nightmares took his breath away. He was the one who forced the twins to eat when they tried to starve themselves in silent rebellion. He was also the one who sat with Cael in the palace gardens when the young prince cried over losing the only people who treated him as more than royalty.

Torin didn’t scold them, nor did he try to replace the parents they had lost. He simply stayed being gentle, patient, and endlessly dependable. Through those dark years, he guided them toward the right path, shaping them into the young men they would become. Even the Davenmore knights, hardened by battle, saw him as the quiet light of the household.

And just when the children had finally begun to heal and just when laughter started returning to the halls as well as the ache in their chests dulled into something bearable, fate struck again.

An unprecedented accident.

Sudden.

Unforgiving.

A tragedy that none of them were prepared for.

It came like a storm on a clear day, tearing apart the fragile peace they had managed to rebuild and once again, everything changed.

During their visit to the northern border, the peace they expected shattered without warning when a sudden stampede of beasts erupted from the frozen forestsan overwhelming tide of fur, claws, and ice-born monstrosities.

Cael, Alaric, the twins, and Torin were forced into the heart of the battlefield alongside the Davenmore knights, imperial soldiers, and the additional healers Torin had personally gathered from both noble and commoner backgrounds.

Torin commanded the healers with a calm strength that belied the chaos around them, directing organized lines while simultaneously weaving healing magic into the wounded. Cael and Alaric stood at the frontline, blades drawn, fending off the wave after wave of beasts.

But the horde was unlike anything the northern border had faced in years. Grudge Hounds burst from the snow with burning claws, and Cryomaw Bears shattered shield walls with freezing strikes. Frostfang Wargs tore through soldiers in swift lunges while Skin Golems crushed anyone in their path. Rot Fiends spread infection with every bite, and Glacier Serpents erupted from beneath the ice, cracking ribs as they constricted their victims. Blight Yetis hurled frozen boulders across the field, and Hollow Stags charged wildly, impaling anything in their way.

The storm of monsters unleashed every kind of injury imaginable such as deep lacerations, shredded muscles, crushed limbs, torn flesh, frozen wounds, and bone-breaking blunt trauma.

Blood painted the snow red, and the screams of the wounded mingled with the roars of the beasts.

Even with all their combined strength, the battlefield was a nightmare. Every time Torin finished sealing one wound, another soldier collapsed beside him. Every time a healer raised their hands, they were forced to retreat from another charging beast.

And in the middle of that chaos, fate prepared its cruelest blow.

When they could barely hold the line as most of the knights are dead, and Cael, the twins especially Alaric was severely wounded—Torin felt panic for the first time in his life.

With reinforcements were still far off, and the situation was collapsing around them, the healers began to break. The noble healers were even being dragged away by their personal guards, leaving only the commoner healers behind, all trembling and unsure whether to flee or stay. Torin, still desperately healing the fallen, saw their fear and forced himself to shout over the chaos.

"Don’t retreat! Hold your ground! We have to keep doing our duty!" Hearing that, the terrified healers stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

"W–what are you saying? With that horde out there, do you think we’re safe? We need to fall back to the tents or wait for reinforcements!" one yelled, abandoning all formality.

"Please, just give me more time. His Highness, Duke Davenmore, and the young Lords are still out there. If you could at least—"

"Hell no! Are you trying to get us killed? If you want to die, that’s on you, but don’t drag us with you! We have families, unlike you!" Torin flinched, but he didn’t argue, or he just couldn’t though the truth of it hurt more than the words.

Another healer stepped forward, voice shaking. "Sir... he’s right. Even the imperial knights are barely holding on. We have to retreat or pull back before we’re all wiped out."

Torin stood frozen while being caught between duty, fear, and the people he loved bleeding on the battlefield.

In the end, Torin was left completely alone on the battlefield, the only healer still standing. The commoner healers had fled, the noble ones had already been dragged away, and the knights who could still move were forced to keep fighting.

It felt as though, for the first time in his life, he had been abandoned and was left as a sacrifice so the others could run.

By the time the last of the beasts were nearly subdued, Cael, Alaric, and the twins were all gravely wounded.

Alaric, barely conscious, was the first one Torin reached. His back was torn open so deeply that the spine was almost exposed, and a long gash cut across his neck, still bleeding heavily. Sylas had his left eye nearly gouged out and his foot broken at an unnatural angle. Lyric had a hole punched straight through his abdomen, his breathing shallow and ragged. And Cael, Cael was already unconscious, unnervingly pale with his pulse faint and fluttering beneath Torin’s trembling fingers.

Seeing the young prince like that, Torin broke.

He cried openly, like a child with tears falling onto Cael’s blood-stained clothes as he poured every drop of mana he had left into the boy’s failing body. Alaric, still fighting to remain awake, saw it all.

"T-Torin... you’re bleeding..." Alaric whispered, trying to sit up despite his healed mangled back.

Torin didn’t answer. His body just shuddered violently.

"Keugh—!" A mouthful of blood spilled past his lips and that was also the time when the glow around his hands flickered weakly with his mana nearly depleted, burning out like a dying flame.

Still, he didn’t stop.

He didn’t stop.

And by the time Cael opened his eyes,

Torin,

Was no longer there.