The road stretched before Eleanor like a black river, her car bouncing along the uneven dirt path. Every rattle of the engine, every creak of the chassis felt like a cruel reminder of how little time she had left. The vial of nightpoison sat on the passenger seat, its dark leaves seeming to pulse with an ominous glow under the dim interior light.


    Her hands gripped the wheel, her knuckles white as her thoughts spiraled. Please, let me be in time. Please, let them hold on.


    When her house finally came into view, she barely slowed down, the car skidding to a halt in the driveway. The porch light flickered weakly, casting eerie shadows on the worn wood. The door was slightly ajar, swaying gently in the breeze.


    Panic gripped her. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The air was thick with the acrid scent of sweat and sickness, mingled with the faint metallic tang of blood. Shadows danced across the walls, thrown by a single flickering candle on the kitchen table.


    “Boys?” she called, her voice cracking.


    Aiden appeared from the living room doorway, his wounds fully covered by the paste Eleanor had applied before leaving for Amaya’s shop.


    “Mrs. Blackwood,” he choked out, “it’s bad. Xander and Alden... they’re not waking up. Nyx is barely breathing.”


    Eleanor’s heart sank.


    “Please, Mrs. Blackwood. Don’t let them die.”


    Eleanor strode into the living room. The sight stopped her cold.


    Xander lay sprawled on the couch, his face pale as ash, his chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths. Alden was slumped against the armrest, blood-streaked cloth pressed to his side where the wound from the creature’s claw had festered. Black veins spidered out from the wound, creeping like vines up his neck.


    Nyx, sprawled on the floor nearby, was no better. His normally sharp features were gaunt, his lips tinged with blue. His breathing was so faint she had to lean close to confirm he was alive at all.


    Eleanor’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to move. She pulled the nightpoison vial from her coat pocket and set it on the table. Her hands worked with a desperate urgency, gathering ingredients from the cupboards and shelves. She lit the stove and began boiling water in a dented pot.


    “Hold on,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “Just hold on a little longer.”


    She crushed the nightpoison leaves in a mortar and pestle, the pungent aroma stinging her nostrils. The old book of remedies she’d memorized so long ago echoed in her mind as she added a pinch of ground valerian root, a splash of elderflower tincture, and the powdered bark of a long-forgotten tree.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    The mixture turned an unsettling shade of green as she stirred it into the boiling water. Steam rose in thick, swirling tendrils, carrying a sharp, almost bitter scent.


    She glanced at the clock. Two minutes. That’s how long the potion needed to simmer before it could be used. Two excruciatingly long minutes.


    She turned her attention to the paste. Another handful of nightpoison leaves went into the mortar, crushed into a dark pulp. She mixed it with honey, a few drops of moonflower oil, and a binding agent made from a root she’d dried years ago. Her hands trembled as she worked, but her movements were precise, practiced. There was no room for error.


    The timer went off. She grabbed a ladle and poured the green liquid into three small cups. Kneeling beside Xander first, she lifted his head gently and pressed the cup to his lips. “Drink, baby,” she whispered. “You have to drink.”


    The liquid trickled down his throat, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then his body convulsed, and he let out a strangled gasp. Eleanor held him tightly as black bile spewed from his mouth, staining the floor. His breathing steadied, though his skin remained deathly pale.


    She moved to Alden next, repeating the process. His reaction was even more violent, his body arching off the couch as the poison purged from his system. Eleanor held his head steady, whispering soothing words, tears streaming down her face.


    Finally, she turned to Nyx. His lips barely parted as she poured the potion into his mouth. For a horrifying moment, she thought it wouldn’t work. But then he shuddered, his eyes flying open as he coughed up a thick, black sludge. His breathing steadied, but his gaze remained distant, unfocused.


    With the potion administered, Eleanor began applying the paste to their wounds. The mixture hissed and bubbled on contact, drawing out the dark toxins like ink spreading through water. Xander whimpered as the paste burned his skin, but Eleanor murmured soft reassurances, her hands steady despite her fear.


    It took over an hour to tend to all three boys. By the time she finished, her arms were trembling, and sweat drenched her brow. She slumped back against the wall, exhaustion washing over her in waves.


    Aiden appeared at her side. “Are they... are they going to be okay?” he whispered.


    “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “But I did everything I could.”


    She looked at her sons, their chests rising and falling steadily now, their faces no longer twisted in pain. Relief warred with lingering fear as she held Aiden’s hands tightly, her mind racing with unanswered questions.


    The silence stretched, broken only by the faint crackle of the candle flame. Then, Xander stirred, his fingers twitching as he let out a weak groan. Eleanor’s heart leapt.


    “Mom?” Xander’s voice was barely a whisper, but it was enough.


    She knelt beside him, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.”


    Alden’s eyes fluttered open next, and Nyx’s labored breathing grew steadier. Their color was returning, the black veins receding like shadows chased away by the dawn.


    Eleanor felt a sob rise in her throat, but she swallowed it down, focusing on the moment. They weren’t out of danger yet, but for the first time, hope glimmered on the horizon.


    As she sat with her boys, the candlelight casting a warm glow over their weary faces, she whispered a silent prayer. The fight wasn’t over, but tonight, they had survived. And that, for now, was enough.