Eldritch Guidance

Alan sat stiffly on the plush, overstuffed couch in the home of Steven Crowley, the former Hand of Light. The room was warm and inviting, yet the atmosphere was tinged with an air of quiet tension. Beside him, Sere carefully unwrapped the bandages from his right arm, her hands moving with practiced precision. Crowley stood nearby, his eyes watching every movement with the trained attentiveness of someone long accustomed to tending wounds and offering aid.

As the last layer of bandages came away, Alan’s arm was fully exposed to the open air, and he grimaced slightly as a faint sting spread across his skin. Crowley’s brows furrowed as he stepped closer, his expression softening with both concern and calculation. Alan’s arm was an angry shade of red, the skin raw and irritated, with patches beginning to peel. It had the unmistakable look of an acid induced burn.

He couldn’t help but wince inwardly at the state of Alan’s arm. While the injury looked painful and unsightly, his years of experience with healing magic and treating wounds told him it wasn’t as bad as it appeared. As a former priest who had worked side-by-side with other healers at the local hospital, Crowley had seen far worse—grievous injuries from accidents, burns from uncontrolled spellcasting, and scars left by the recklessness of youth. Compared to those, this was manageable.

Crowley: “By the light. Boy, what did you do to your arm? Did you stick it in a vat of acid?”

Alan: “Kinda? Um, I’m not sure if I can say exactly what happened.”

Crowley: “Ugh, you university wizards and your secrets. Never want to reveal your experiments you’ve been working to your doctors or healers. Even though it makes it harder to treat you.”

Alan: “I, um, already got treated by the doctor at the hospital.”

Sere: “The doctor recommended regular application of healing to help speed up the recovery process. I’ve been applying it to my friend for a few days now. I was hoping you could tell me if I have been going about this right.”

Crowley: “Well, how about you start applying some healing magic to the wound and we’ll go from there.”

Sere gave Crowley a quiet nod, her expression shifting into one of focused determination. She raised both hands, bringing them close to Alan’s injured arm. Her hands hovered just above the inflamed, peeling skin, and after a moment’s pause and a quiet mutter of a spell, a warm, golden glow began to emanate from her palms—the unmistakable radiance of Vitos-infused energy.

The light wasn’t harsh or blinding but soft and inviting, like sunlight breaking through morning clouds. Tiny particles of golden energy shimmered into existence, swirling gently before drifting downward into Alan’s arm. Each mote of light seemed to carry a soothing warmth, sinking into his skin with an almost tender touch.

As the healing energy flowed into him, Alan’s pained expression began to ease. The sharp stinging sensation that had come from his raw skin being exposed to the air slowly dulled, replaced by a cool, calming relief. He exhaled softly, his shoulders relaxing for the first time since the bandages had come off.

Crowley observed intently, his keen eye catching the way Sere directed the flow of energy with precision and care. Her control was steady. It was clear that her training at Silverwing College had honed her natural talent into something refined and purposeful.

Crowley: "Good. You’ve got the balance of Vitos energy right. Too much force, and you’d risk overwhelming the tissue; too little, and it wouldn’t penetrate deep enough. This… this is just right. Well done. You’ve improved a lot since I wrote that recommendation letter."

Sere: “Really? Thank you! I’m glad to hear I’ve improved.” she said while turning her head toward Crowley with a smile.

As Sere turned her head briefly, her concentration wavered for just a moment—a minor lapse, but enough to disrupt the delicate balance of her spell. The golden glow around her hands flickered and then surged unexpectedly, pushing a sudden rush of energy into Alan’s arm.

Alan: “Ahhh!” he yelped out in pain.

The unintentional surge jolted through the inflamed tissue, overstimulating the irritated nerve endings. Alan's arm tensed involuntarily, as a wave of intense pain shot through him, the nerve signals firing off in chaotic bursts. His fingers clenched tightly, and his posture stiffened, his face contorting with discomfort.

Crowley: “Sere! Focus!”

Sere’s eyes widened in alarm, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she quickly returned her attention to Alan’s arm. She adjusted her breathing, forcing herself to calm down, and the glow of her magic began to stabilize once more. The energy flowing from her hands softened, returning to its measured rhythm as the flare subsided. ŕаΝОʙĘṥ

Alan drew in a slow, measured breath, his chest rising and falling as the sharp sting of pain began to subside. The tension in his muscles eased slightly, though a faint sheen of sweat lingered on his brow.

Sere’s expression remained etched with concern, her brows furrowed as she continued channeling her healing magic with meticulous care. The golden glow from her hands had steadied again, casting a warm light over Alan’s injured arm. Despite her regained focus, there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes—a quiet fear that she might hurt him again.

Alan caught the look on her face, and his lips curved into a faint, reassuring smile.

Alan: “It’s ok. It wasn't that bad. Just… Please try not to do that again.”

Sere gave a quick, resolute nod, her expression sharpening with focus as she continued to channel her healing magic into Alan’s injured arm. The golden light emanating from her hands pulsed gently, infusing the raw, inflamed skin with its restorative warmth. Her movements were steady now, her earlier lapse replaced by a determined rhythm.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sounds in the room the soft hum of magical energy from Sere’s spell. Crowley stood nearby, his gaze fixed intently on Sere’s work. He watched every subtle shift of her hands, every flicker of the golden glow, but this time, he held his tongue. He knew the value of unbroken concentration and chose not to intervene, trusting her to find her balance.

Eventually, Sere’s energy waned, and the golden glow around her hands began to fade. With a soft exhale, she withdrew her hands from Alan’s arm. Though the surface of his skin still appeared much the same—red, raw, and peeling—the effects of her healing magic were evident in more subtle ways.

The persistent sting that had plagued Alan earlier had dulled to a faint, bearable discomfort. Beneath the surface, the magic had already begun accelerating the natural healing process, soothing the inflamed tissue and easing the strain on his irritated nerves. Alan flexed his fingers cautiously, testing the arm, and found the movement slightly less painful than before.

Sere then began the process of helping Alan wrap his arm up. While this was happening, Crowley chimed in.

Crowley: “I’m sorry, Alan. Your sudden bout of discomfort was because of me distracting Sere.”

Alan: “It's OK, father. I’ve experienced worst,” he shuddered as he was reminded of Mitra's training.

Crowley: “I forget that Sere is still technically in training. When you become a veteran healer, it becomes like second nature to apply a steady flow of healing energy, almost like breathing. It seems like there is still much you need to learn. But regardless, your progress is still fantastic.”

Sere: “Thank you, father. Do you perchance know any method that I could apply to avoid causing my friend any pain when I'm healing him?”

Crowley: “Practice, unfortunately. The pain is caused by an unsteady flow of Vitos energy and the only way to correct that is stabilizing the flow. So, you have to get skilled enough to not create an unsteady flow of energy in the first place. Don’t worry. One day you’ll get so good at it that it will be harder for you to mess that up than not.”

Alan: “It’s a good thing I got some pain killers from the doctor.”

Crowley: “UnIronically, that might be helpful. I’m sure Sure doesn't want to hurt you. But, if you want to let her continue to practice her healing magic on you, taking precautions like pain killers would be a good idea.”

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Alan: “Yeah. I know she would never… intentionally hurt me,” he said as he recalled the violent outbursts of Sere when he made her mad.

Sere: “Um, can you tell how long it will take to heal Alan with magic? The doctor said it would speed it up, but not by how much,” she asked as she finished wrapping Alan’s arm.

Crowley paused. He took a few seconds to organize his thoughts before he began to explain.

Crowley: “It’s hard to say. Most healing magic works by stimulating the already natural regenerative abilities everyone has. It ultimately depends on the skill of the healer, the regenerative abilities of the individuals, and the amount of aether the person being healed poses to determine the speed of recovery. But, your doctor is right. Any amount of healing magic applied would speed up the recovery process.”

Alan: “Hang on. This might be stupid question.”

Crowley: “There are no foolish questions.”

Alan: “Right… um, why does the amount of aether I have matter to the healing process? Shouldn’t it be the amount of aether Sere has? “

Crowley: “Oh, that's simple. Healing magic uses the aether in your own body along with the aether of the mage healing you. Why don’t concentrate for a little bit on the aether in your own body for a little bit right now.”

Alan nodded and closed eyes and concentrated. He expanded his senses and focused on the center of his body. At the center of his body was a pool of energy. Like a tank full of fuel for spell casting, except Alan realized it was half depleted.

Alan: “Half my aether is…gone? But, I didn’t use any magic today,” he said while snapping his eyes open in surprise.

Crowley: “But you did have Sere healing you. She pulled from the aether inside your body along with her own aether to help stimulate regenerative abilities. That’s why you're half depleted now.”

Alan: “I have really high aether sensitivity. You would think I’d be able to detect that while I was being healed.”

Crowley: “Even with high sensitivity, it would be hard to notice. People's bodies naturally reject foreign aether, making it difficult for a mage to heal their patient, but if you mix it with the natural aether in their body already—they won’t reject it the same. And, when it’s mixed together like that it’s hard to notice, unless you know and are actively looking.”

Alan: “So, Sere took my aether and mixed it with her own to heal me?” he asked as he turned to Sere.

Sere: “Yup. Sorry for not explaining this to you, I thought I already did.”

Crowley: “It is also why you can’t use healing magic on just anyone. Whoever your healing has to have sufficient aether. It takes a lot of aether for healing magic. That’s also the reason why self healing with magic is not ideal for any serious injury. You just don’t have enough aether by yourself to close a massive wound or reattach severed limbs.”

Alan: “Oh, wow. I didn’t know that. So, hypnotically if I had the aether similar to an archmage, I could get healed really fast.”

Crowley: “My child, if you had the aether of an archmage, it would be possible to regrow your limbs. Not just heal acid burns.”

Alan’s eyes widened, his breath catching as the weight of Crowley’s words settled over him. Regrowing limbs—it was a concept he had only ever heard of in awe-filled whispers. The pinnacle of healing magic, a feat so advanced and so rare that few had seen it. For most healers, it was an unattainable dream, a benchmark of mastery that few could even aspire to reach.

His mind raced as he recalled everything he knew about that level of healing magic. It wasn’t just the sheer difficulty of the process; it required an unparalleled connection to Vitos energy, a profound understanding of the human body, and a depth of magical strength that few ever attained. To regrow a limb was to knit bone, sinew, muscle, and skin seamlessly, restoring what had been lost as if it had never been damaged—a miracle in every sense of the word.

He glanced at Sere, who still looked slightly fatigued from her recent efforts. The idea of someone like her—talented as she was—reaching such heights one day seemed daunting, even to him. Yet he had no doubt that she, like most healers, viewed the ability as the ultimate goal.

Alan: “There are only a handful of people on the entire continent capable of regrowing limbs,” he said softly, his voice tinged with awe and disbelief. “And, they all serve the church. Every one of them holds the title of Saint. Are you saying if I had the aether of an archmage, Sere could regrow my limb like them?”

Crowley: “Well… that’s a little over the top. I might have been a bit too hyperbolic. But, having that amount of aether would make it so much easier to heal oneself. The more aether a patient has to work with, the easier it is to heal them. The amount of aether those archmages have is, frankly—absurd. You really can’t apply normal logic to people with that amount of aether.”

Alan: “I see… I have a long way to go then…” he mumbled to himself.

Crowley: “What do you mean about that?”

Sere: “Alan wants to be an archmage.”

Alan: “Sere! Don’t just say it like that! It’s embarrassing.”

When Sere declared Alan’s grand ambition, Crowley didn’t laugh or scoff at the idea. Such reactions weren’t in his nature, nor had they ever been. Mocking someone's dreams or ambitions, no matter how lofty or improbable, went against everything he stood for. As a priest of the Light, he had spent years as a confidant to countless people, many of whom had come to him burdened with their deepest fears, insecurities, and hopes. Each time, he had listened with unwavering patience and compassion, offering guidance and reassurance when needed.

Crowley: “My son, there is nothing to be embarrassed about wanting to be an archmage. It's good to have a goal, even one as grand as that. Having something meaningful to work towards is important and good for the soul,” he said with a warm smile.

Sere: “Father Crowley is right. Me and Jafar know that’s what you're aiming for, so just be more open about it. Me and everyone that cares about you won’t laugh and will do what we can to help.”

Crowley: “Seems like you are surrounded by good people. I’ll pray for your success.”

Alan: “Do you think I could do it? You said archmages have a lot of aether. Could I still become one with the amount of aether I have?”

Crowley: “The more you practice and improve your spellcraft, your aether will also naturally increase in response. So, don’t worry about the amount of aether you have now. Just getting better at magic will slowly fix any aether capacity problems you may have. But don’t forget, archmage is also an academic pursuit too. But, I’m sure you know that if you were talented enough to get into the Arcane Eye College.”

Alan inwardly cringed at Father Crowley’s words, though he knew the former Hand of Light hadn’t meant to be harsh. Crowley’s tone was measured and kind, but the weight of his words struck a nerve. He was painfully aware of the reputation of the Arcane Eye College—a place revered as the pinnacle of magical academia, home to prodigies and intellectual giants. The kind of people who made the impossible seem effortless. Alan, by contrast, didn’t see himself as either exceptionally talented or brilliant.

His admission to the Arcane Eye College wasn’t the result of merit in the traditional sense; it had come about through unusual and convoluted circumstances. And, if he was being honest with himself, part of it had been based on a lie. That knowledge lingered in the back of his mind, a constant whisper of doubt that gnawed at his confidence. Guilt swirled in his chest like an unwelcome companion, intertwining with the ever-present self-doubt that seemed to shadow his every step.

But Alan refused to let those feelings take root and grow. He had a reason for being there, a purpose that went far beyond his own insecurities. His best chance at becoming an archmage was through the Arcane Eye College. It wasn’t just a personal ambition; it was a promise he had made—to his friends, to his family, and himself. That promise was what fueled him, what kept him pushing forward even when the odds seemed against him.

Alan: “Right…” he mumbled before pushing for a few seconds to collect his thoughts. “Um, father? There was something else I wanted to ask.”

Crowley: “Please ask away.”

Alan: “Well, Sere told me that you're really good at healing magic. I was wondering if you could give me a little insight into first-aid magic. I’m in the middle of trying to learn how to use Vitos and it was recommended that to get good at that element, I should practice and master that type of magic.”

Crowley: “I can help you out. I used to run a little monthly class at the cathedral teaching able people how to use first-aid magic. The more people that can use healing magic, even the most basic forms like first-aid, is a good thing for everyone. There’s always a need for more healing mages in the world. So, why don’t you show me what you’ve learned so far?”

Alan nodded and carefully began demonstrating what he had learned from the book Mitra had given him about first-aid magic. He extended his hands over an imaginary wound, channeling aether in an attempt to produce the controlled, soothing energy that was the hallmark of healing spells. The effort was earnest, but the results were uneven—his aether fluctuated unpredictably, the energy faltering and dispersing before it could take proper form.

Minutes passed as Crowley observed in silence, his discerning gaze noting every misstep. Crowley demonstrated the proper technique, his hands glowing faintly with golden energy that pulsed gently in a steady, deliberate rhythm.

Sere chimed in, stepping beside Alan with an encouraging smile. She raised her hands and mirrored Crowley’s method, her movements smooth and practiced. The warm glow of her magic radiated evenly, a clear example of what Alan was striving to achieve.

Alan watched intently, nodding as he absorbed their advice. He tried again, his hands hovering as he concentrated on his aether flow. Under Crowley’s watchful eye and Sere’s patient guidance, he began to make small but significant improvements. The wild fluctuations in his energy started to stabilize, and though his spell wasn’t yet perfect, there was progress.

After nearly half an hour of practice, Alan exhaled deeply, a mixture of relief and satisfaction crossing his face. He could feel the difference—he was starting to grasp the control he had struggled with before.

Crowley gave a small nod of approval.

Both Sere and Alan thanked Crowley warmly for his time and guidance before deciding to head out to find something to eat. As they left, the faint sound of their cheerful conversation echoed down the hallway, leaving Crowley alone in the quiet of his home once more.

He returned to his desk, ready to plan out the rest of his day. He knew it was only a matter of time before another visitor from the church inevitably arrived, bringing with them new questions, concerns, or requests. Crowley sighed, bracing himself for the next interruption, but for now, he relished the fleeting moments of peace.

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