Chapter 120 TREATING THE HIDDEN SON

Chapter 120 TREATING THE HIDDEN SON
Celestia's Pov

The water purification ritual required me to spend several hours each day at the river performing the cleansing ceremony. But that still left me with plenty of time to accomplish other tasks while in Brazen Pack territory.

One morning I asked Raphael if I could visit the pack clinic to see how the sick pack members were doing. I told him I wanted to help where I could since I had some medical knowledge from my time with the rogues.

"That is very kind of you Celestia. The doctors would appreciate any help you can offer. Some of the patients are children and it breaks my heart to see them suffering," Raphael said.

"I have always had a soft spot for children. I would like to do what I can to ease their pain while the ritual works to cure them," I said.

Raphael arranged for me to visit the clinic that afternoon. When I arrived, the doctors were surprised but grateful to have an extra pair of hands. The clinic was overcrowded with sick patients, and the staff was exhausted.

Cots lined the hallways, every available surface pressed into service. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic, sweat, and fear. Some patients lay motionless, eyes glassy with fever, while others coughed weakly or clutched at their chests, skin marked with the same unmistakable patterns I had seen in the reports.

I didn’t hesitate.

I rolled up my sleeves, washed my hands, and moved where I was needed—checking pulses, stabilizing breathing, murmuring reassurance where I could. At first, the staff watched me cautiously, uncertain of what to expect. But hesitation faded quickly. There was no room for politics here. Only survival.

By the time the sun dipped low, no one questioned why I was there.

They just handed me another patient.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt something steady beneath the chaos.

Purpose.

"Lady Celestia thank you for coming. We can use all the help we can get," Dr Stevens said.

"What can I do? I am not a trained doctor but I know some healing techniques," I said.

"Mostly the patients need comfort and monitoring. If you can sit with the children and keep them calm that would be incredibly helpful. They are scared and in pain," Dr Stevens explained.

I spent the afternoon moving between beds talking to sick children and offering what comfort I could. I used some of the healing techniques my blessed wolf gave me to ease their pain without being too obvious about it.

One little girl who reminded me of Asher at that age grabbed my hand and would not let go.

"Will you stay with me? I am scared," the girl said.

"Of course sweetie. I will stay right here until you fall asleep," I said.

I sat with her for over an hour, holding her hand and singing soft songs until she finally drifted off. When I stood to leave, I noticed the nurse watching me with tears in her eyes.

She quickly looked away, embarrassed, wiping at her cheek as if she’d been caught doing something improper. But her voice was thick when she spoke. “She hasn’t slept like that since she was admitted,” she said softly. “She’s been terrified.”

I nodded, suddenly unsure what to say. Compassion felt simple in the moment, but its weight lingered long after.

As I stepped into the corridor, the noise of the clinic rushed back in—coughing, murmured instructions, hurried footsteps. Yet something had shifted. Not in the illness. Not in the danger pressing in on the pack.

In the way people looked at me…

Not with suspicion but with trust.

"That was beautiful. You are very good with children," the nurse said.

"I have a son of my own. I know how scary it is when children are sick and suffering," I said.

As I was leaving the clinic I passed by the records room and saw the door was open. On impulse I walked in and started looking through the filing cabinets. I told myself I was just curious but really I was searching for something specific.

I found Asher's medical file and pulled it out. Inside were years of records documenting his treatments and care. As I read through them I felt my anger growing.

The records showed that Asher had been consistently undertreated. His blood transfusions were often delayed. His medications were sometimes given at incorrect doses. His follow up appointments were frequently canceled or rescheduled.

There were notes from doctors recommending more aggressive treatment but those recommendations were often ignored. There were also notes indicating that Luna Medea rarely visited Asher and when she did visit she seemed uncomfortable and eager to leave.

The picture that emerged was clear. Asher had been neglected. He was given the bare minimum care necessary to keep him alive but nothing more. Nobody had advocated for him or pushed for better treatment.

I felt sick reading through the records. My poor baby had suffered because the people who were supposed to care for him did not actually care at all.

I made copies of the most damning pages and tucked them into my bag. This was evidence I could use later if needed.

As I was putting the file back I heard voices in the hallway. I quickly closed the cabinet and pretended to be looking for the bathroom.

"Lady Celestia can I help you find something?" a nurse asked.

"Oh I was just looking for the restroom. I seem to have gotten turned around," I said with an embarrassed smile.

"The restroom is down the hall to the left. Are you feeling alright? You look upset," the nurse said.

"I am fine. Just tired from spending time with the sick children. It is emotionally draining to see them suffer," I said.

The nurse nodded sympathetically and directed me to the restroom. I took a moment to compose myself before leaving the clinic.

Over the next few days I continued visiting the clinic and helping where I could. The staff grew comfortable with me and started talking freely when I was around.

One afternoon I overheard two nurses gossiping in the break room. I was in the hallway just outside and they did not realize I could hear them.

"Have you seen Luna Medea lately? She looks terrible," one nurse said.

"I know. And have you noticed she is not showing at all? She claims to be six months pregnant but there is no belly," the other nurse replied.

"I thought that was strange too. She wears these loose flowing dresses but even with those you should be able to see something by now. My sister was six months pregnant and she was huge," the first nurse said.

"Do you think she is lying about being pregnant? Why would she do that?" the second nurse asked.

“I do not know, but something is definitely wrong. And did you hear that Elder Janice refused to do another examination? She said she was too busy, but I think she just does not want to get involved,” the first nurse said.

The second nurse hesitated, lowering her voice. “She examined Medea once already. After that, she told us not to document anything further unless it came directly from her.”

“That’s… not normal,” the first murmured.

“No,” the other agreed. “And now she won’t even come near the ward.”

They fell silent as footsteps approached, both of them suddenly busy with their tasks. But the damage was already done. Doubt had slipped into the cracks, quiet and persistent.

Whatever Elder Janice was avoiding, it wasn’t just extra work.

It was the truth.

I filed that information away. So other people were starting to notice that Medea's pregnancy did not seem real. That was useful to know.

I also made a point of asking casual questions to pack members about Medea's pregnancy. I framed it as friendly curiosity from someone who did not remember the details.

"I heard Luna Medea is expecting. How exciting. When is she due?" I would ask.

Most people would give vague answers about how the pregnancy was troubled and Medea was on bed rest. But a few people admitted they had not actually seen any medical confirmation of the pregnancy.

Those were the answers that mattered.

The others repeated the same phrases, as if rehearsed—concerned looks, lowered voices, carefully chosen words meant to discourage further questions. It was a story that relied on discretion and discomfort to survive. No one wanted to pry into something so personal.

But silence wasn’t proof.

And the more I listened, the clearer it became: the pregnancy had existed only in whispers and assumptions. No scans. No documented examinations. No healer willing to swear they had felt a heartbeat.

Just Medea’s word.

And in a pack that valued truth and strength above all else, that absence spoke louder than any lie.

"Luna Medea announced it at a ceremony but I do not think she has had any public medical examinations. Elder Janice said the pregnancy was troubled during the blessing ceremony and that was the last official word we got," one pack member told me.

"That is concerning. I hope everything is alright with the baby," I said.

"We all do. But Luna Medea has been very private about the whole thing. She stays in her chambers most of the time and does not let anyone see her," the pack member said.

The more I learned the more convinced I became that Medea's pregnancy was completely fake. She had announced it to gain sympathy and avoid consequences after I was vindicated. Now she was trapped in the lie and trying to figure out how to get out of it.