Amidst the quietest of times, when life seems to progress smoothly and you slowly start to feel a warming sensation in your heart, depicting a change for the better, a quick detour is unkindly tossed in your direction without a single warning. Times like these will hit you when you’re least prepared, when you are at your most vulnerable and at your happiest or content. Omens about numerous awful tragedies have plagued the wild imaginaries of any thinking species, tying it to close relation to gods or a greater power for years uncountable. These can come in many weird symbols or occurrences, some outlandish and others clearly threatening, but what more conflicting omen, than the ravishing beauty and mystery of a black butterfly. Seemingly innocent, yet its appearance, let alone touch, can bring such untold misfortune, you wouldn’t have ever bared to comprehend.

In times like these, where I had gotten too used to a balanced lifestyle…that I forgot the unforgiving nature of this world.

“Do you want some more tea, Eli?” My mother called out to me from her station in the kitchen. A frilly apron hand sewn by her had dawned her appearance today, blessed in a similar white that had frozen over the outside.

“I’m alright, mother. Thank you for the consideration anyway.” I spoke through intervals of the remaining tea that I sipped from my cup. A pleasant and fragrant aftertaste left from the herbal ingredients mixed in with the sourness and acidity of a lemon diffused in my mouth. Roughly another four months have passed since my last great adventure, where I had almost been forced to engage with a serious combatant of the capital. Fortunately, due to my impeccable timing, I managed to break free of her tight grasp before the lid blew off her bottle.

Nevertheless, time glided by and my practice progressed as usual. I tried assimilating the restricted “knowledge” I picked up from the book and attempted to apply it, only to be stuck between a rock and a hard place. And now that winter has taken its course on the environment, I naturally embraced the break this placed on my usual routine, not complaining about the foreseen weather. Hell, if I had time to complain, I’d be out there battling against the fierce conditions.

The wind's frigid breath rattled rhythmically against our tattered windows. Ice added as an extra layer over them, nearly sealing the view as a whole of the ensuing wasteland buried in a blanket of ivory that would freeze all of your limbs off within a few minutes. The trees nakedly stood enduring the pain as their bark cracked and creaked like a poorly oiled machine and the canopy outspread was now solely governed by the resting hail and icicles that served as a security system. Although, it wasn’t perfect, as it would also attack its owners, but they claimed their place, overthrowing the verdant impotent counterparts until it was their time to rise up in revolution again. It was their rightful time for the foreseeable future.

“The weather really is bad. The worst it’s been since I’ve reincarnated, I think.” I muttered nonchalantly, my scarlet eyes bewitched by the unfolding frenzy outside.

My mother stopped to pause near me, sliding her arm across my back amicably and joined my intense gaze projected at the world we sought to seek shelter from in this little house of ours. The only fragment that was missing from this lovely little family portrait was my father who was out hunting for food and money.

*Crumple, crumple, crumple*

Staggered steps revealed to my ears, crushing the snow beneath its ponderous sole that left traces behind, yet not for long as they would be swiftly covered by the sailing wave of the snow. I rose from the chair I sat on and shook off my mothers hand, her eyes searching my face for the reason for my stiffened expression.

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*Bang!*

A vigorous strike reverberated from the front of the house to the kitchen adjacent to it, accompanied by the gradual tumble of another heavier object collapsing on the other, in a louder implosion; like slab of meat thrown onto the butchers chopping board ready to dissect it with its sharpened cleaver you’d thought you would only possibly see in the hands of the devil himself.

Our gazes snapped to each over for a strained silence that extended for shorter than it felt. I rushed out the door, my mother taking refuge behind me, and I turned the corner sharply, flowing a regulated output of mana through my body whilst I simulated the multiple possible scenarios of this possible encounter. My heart rate was calm like the bed of a resting ocean and my figure stood imposingly until the sight at the door unveiled itself to the both of us.

Veronica was the first to react, pushing past me and flying to her knees, not mindful of sullying the apron that reached to her shins. Her nose rubbed a red complexion and tears began amassing at the corner of her deeply vibrant scarlet eyes I inherited from her. On the floor, the person she kneeled next to was bleeding heavily. His fur coat smeared in blood and grim with powdery snow on the occasional patch, his right sleeve missing along with his arm as he cradled himself in the lake of viscous blood spurting from him. His navy blue eyes dimmed from the light and the usually strong but calm ocean settled in his eyes, now frozen over in a glacier decorated with red. His neatly trimmed argent hair now ruffled and soaked, sprawled on the door he fell on.

“Father?” A single breath uttered from my mouth.

A silent breath, in return, was the only response I got out of him.

"Quick, mother, we can still heal him. He's breathing. Faintly, but breathing nonetheless." I instructed her as she sobbed on her knees, tears trickling down her dimples and her sickly skin.

"O-ok!" She sobbed back in response. I inserted myself at the other side of his body and began hoisting him up. His deadweight proved much heavier than I had anticipated, opposing my pushing force alongside the assistance of gravity proving to be quite the challenger.

His flesh came into contact with my bare hand as the smudges of blood dyed my white skin in blemishes of crimson. A sticky sensation rubbed as I attempted to lift him by myself, before asking the assistance of my mother, who briskly reacted with heavy breaths formulating from her lungs and promptly began raising him up. We began dragging his body against the wooden planks beneath our feet, bolstering the cold sensation and lowering his temperature a decent amount. The constant sprawling blood leaked outwardly, even as I pressed on with great force on the severed limb, or where it previously was, leaving a daunting trail to stick to the floorboards, decorating our house in an equally traumatic atmosphere straight out of a battlefield.

“3, 2, 1! Lift!” My instructions filled the bleak silence coming from my father and the absence of words from my mother, the words seemingly wedged in her mouth. Her breath rapidly increased, contrasting my fathers which forlornly faded out.

“The table will have to serve as our operating room. Grab some bandages mother and I’ll begin the restorative mana. Also bring a fresh change of clothes.” I nodded to her and focused on Aldir who bled out. I was surprised to see him still holding out. The wound didn’t look all that fresh, most likely done almost a few hours ago, but surely by then he would have died. It seems he managed to centre most of his mana into the gaping wound and sustain himself until he returned.

“Alright, let’s begin. Hold out, Aldir. Mother will be disappointed if you die…and I have yet to make a connection with you. So live.” I ordered him, my teeth clenched as I riled up the mana, boiling it inside my crux and diverging it into my stained hands, which remained as steady as ever even with a gruesome scene like this.

A soothing parakeet warmth shaded from my hands in a radiant illumination, coiling around the wound in an unyielding strength that surely began patching up his severed arm. Restorative mana would never allow you to regrow limbs, no matter how dire your wish may be, but miraculous wonders could still be performed even without designated healers that have access to restorative mana and state of the art technology and artefacts.

The cells of his body slowly repaired and replaced themselves and began attaching together, like a blanket being rapidly knitted from scratch and plastered over the stump just below his shoulder.

Ronny finally came charging down the stairs with bandages and clothes and handed them off to me. “Lift his back off the table, like he’s in a sitting position, ok?” I asked, opening the packet with my teeth, ripping through and then unravelling it slowly around his stump, going in a circular motion resting his shoulder in a nicely rested knot.

“Alright, now change his clothes and I’ll go get the blanket and some food ready for when he wakes up.”

“Do you know when he’ll wake up for sure?” She asked hesitantly, gripping on to my sleeve. Situations like this felt awfully weird especially with our age gap and the fact she was an adult, my mother at that.

“Soon. The mana I cast not only healed his wounds, but would have recovered his stamina a fair bit. Give it ten to thirty minutes and he should be up.” I gently smiled, to which she breathed a sigh of relief.