In a distant cathedral, high within the spire where the light of the moon filtered through stained-glass windows, a lone figure knelt before a glowing scrying pool. The man, dressed in ceremonial robes of the Church, muttered a series of incantations under his breath. His hands hovered over the pool, his fingers trembling as the ripples in the water began to settle.
For weeks, he had been searching for the source of an unusual energy. A chaotic disturbance that surged and faded, disrupting the natural flow of the world’s ley lines. Tonight, however, the disturbance had vanished entirely.
The priest furrowed his brow, his voice tense.
"This cannot be right," he whispered to himself.
His hands moved faster, tracing symbols in the air, and the pool glowed faintly in response. Yet no trace of the energy remained. It was as though a thread had been cut from the great tapestry of the world.
“Impossible,” he muttered, his frustration mounting.
The distortion had been consistent until now, a beacon of untamed power drawing his attention. And now it was gone.
He leaned closer, staring into the shimmering surface of the scrying pool. The chaotic flow he had been tracking for weeks should have been unmistakable, but now there was only silence. It was not a natural disappearance; someone had masked it.
Rising to his feet, the priest turned sharply toward the ornate door of the chamber.
“Summon the Inquisitors,” he commanded to the acolyte standing outside.
“There is something… or someone… powerful enough to disrupt the flow of the ley lines. This disruption—it reeks of witchcraft. A disgrace to the purity of Goddess Drita’s creation," the priest declared, his voice filled with righteous fury.
"Some vile practitioner of dark magic dares to contaminate the sacred balance of this world. We must uncover who, or what, is responsible and cleanse this blight from existence.”
The acolyte bowed and hurried away as the priest turned back to the pool. His eyes burned with determination, the faint glow of the scrying water reflected in his steely gaze.
"No one hides from the light of Drita, for her divine radiance will uncover all secrets and lay bare all darkness." he vowed.
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Leon, ever energetic and eager, had thrown himself into his training with the zeal of a young knight. Despite his tender age, he mimicked the drills of seasoned warriors, practicing clumsy but determined sword swings with a wooden stick. He often sprinted across the fields near the Grewe household, imagining himself charging into battle. His small frame wasn’t built for such intense activity, but his spirit burned brightly.
“Watch me, Mr. Grewe!” he’d shout, his voice filled with excitement as he swung his makeshift weapon in wide arcs.
“I’m going to be a real knight one day!”
Old Man Grewe, observing from the shade of the house, would often shake his head with a mixture of amusement and concern.
“Slow down, boy,” he’d call. “Knighthood isn’t about flailing a stick until you collapse.”
But Leon rarely heeded such advice. He would push himself beyond his limits, running laps until his legs wobbled and practicing strikes until his small hands blistered. Mrs. Grewe, watching from the window, often fretted.
“That child is going to work himself into the ground,” she’d mutter, wringing her hands.
And indeed, Leon’s relentless training took its toll. His cheeks flushed with exertion, his breaths coming in short gasps as he refused to stop. The determination in his eyes was admirable, but it blinded him to his own physical limits. One particular day, his training led him to a daring challenge: practicing under the cold stream of a nearby waterfall. With the icy water crashing down over his small frame, Leon stood firm, gripping his wooden stick as if it were a knight’s blade. The force of the water made every movement a struggle, yet he pressed on, swinging and thrusting as if battling an unseen foe.
“Leon, that’s enough! You’ll catch your death!” Old Man Grewe had called from the edge of the stream, his voice tinged with both anger and worry.
But Leon shook his head, his teeth chattering as he replied,
“Knights don’t stop when it’s hard! They protect everyone, no matter what!”
Mrs. Grewe, watching from the distance, clutched her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
“That boy’s going to freeze himself solid one day,” she murmured, half in exasperation, half in admiration of his sheer willpower.
By the time Leon finally stumbled out of the freezing water, his lips were blue, and his body trembled uncontrollably. Still, he managed a weak smile, proud of his accomplishment.
"See? I told you I could do it," he said, his voice hoarse but determined.
Old Man Grewe draped a blanket over him, muttering under his breath.
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“You’ve got the spirit of a knight, lad, but if you don’t learn to rest, you won’t live long enough to become one, you know?”
By the evening, Leon was feverish and shivering, his small body unable to cope with the strain. His breathing was labored, shallow, and accompanied by faint wheezing sounds. A persistent cough racked his chest, each spasm leaving him more exhausted. His skin was pale, with a bluish tint around his lips, and beads of sweat clung to his forehead despite the chill that made him shiver uncontrollably. Mrs. Grewe stayed by his bedside, dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth, her face lined with worry. She muttered soft prayers under her breath, asking the spirits for protection.
"Stay strong, little one," she whispered, her hands trembling as she adjusted his blankets.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Old Man Grewe worked hurriedly, grinding herbs into a fine paste.
"The fever’s too high," he muttered, frustration evident in his tone. "This concoction will help bring it down, but we need more than just herbs."
Leon, despite his fever, managed to murmur faintly,
"I… I’m okay… don’t… worry.” His words, though weak, carried the stubbornness of a child determined not to trouble others.
"Hush now," Mrs. Grewe said gently, smoothing his hair. "Just rest. Let us take care of you."
As they bustled to help Leon, the air in the house grew heavy with tension. Jul, lying quietly in his cradle, stirred. His usually calm demeanor gave way to a focused intensity as he observed the scene. The faint glow of his silver aura began to brighten, unnoticed by the adults until the room seemed to shimmer with warmth.
Mrs. Grewe turned toward the cradle, her eyes widening.
"Osric!" she called, her voice filled with both awe and alarm.
Old Man Grewe rushed in, his sharp gaze landing on the infant glowing with an otherworldly light.
"What’s he doing?" she asked, clutching Leon’s hand protectively.
"Let him be," Osric said firmly, his tone cautious yet curious. "This might be exactly what we need."
Jul, lying quietly in his cradle, suddenly stirred. His small hands twitched, and his usually calm breathing grew deep and deliberate. The silver threads of light around him began to brighten, swirling in a slow, deliberate pattern.
Mrs. Grewe, busy at Leon’s bedside, didn’t notice at first. But when the room grew inexplicably warm, she turned toward the cradle. Her eyes widened as she saw the silver light coalescing, its glow illuminating the room.
“Osric!” she called, her voice a mix of fear and awe.
Old Man Grewe rushed in, nearly dropping the bowl of herbs in his hands. His sharp eyes took in the scene instantly.
“Stay back,” he warned, his voice steady but firm. “Let’s see what he’s doing.”
The silver light extended from Jul’s small form, reaching toward Leon like tendrils of mist.
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In his mind, Jul focused intently. Though his infant body was weak, his thoughts were clear.
“Hmmm. It's look like pneumonia,” he thought, recalling his past life as a medicine student.
“The fever, the shallow breathing, the strain on his chest… it’s all there. His lungs are struggling.”
He could feel the chaotic energy within Leon’s body, like a storm raging in his small chest. In his mind, Jul recalled the basics of treating pneumonia from his past life as a medicine student.
"Increase air circulation, reduce inflammation, and drain the fluids," he thought.
"I need to mimic what the medicine would do. Support the lungs, calm the fever, and stabilize his breathing."
Jul closed his eyes and focused on the delicate energy pathways within Leon’s chest. He could feel the inflamed tissue constricting the boy’s lungs, like taut strings pulling tighter with every shallow breath.
“The inflammation is everywhere,” Jul thought, as if he were staring directly at the affected tissue.
“Have to ease the tension first.”
Carefully, he visualized his energy flowing in waves, loosening the tightness as though unraveling tangled threads.
His mind returned briefly to his old training: “Keep the airflow steady. Clear the buildup.” With deliberate precision, the flow of energy sweeping through the lungs like a cool breeze clearing a congested passageway.
“This should help with the breathing,” he thought, then shifted his focus. The pockets of fluid trapped within Leon’s lungs felt like heavy, stagnant pools. Jul directed his energy into gentle pulses, nudging the fluid to disperse and reintegrate safely into the boy’s system.
“Every move matters,” Jul reminded himself. “Too much, and I’ll cause harm. Absorbing the fluid too quickly could overwhelm the tissue, leading to ruptures or internal damage. The delicate lung walls might collapse under the sudden pressure, causing more harm than the illness itself. I need to balance this perfectly. Too little, and it won’t be enough. If the pressure isn’t enough to push the fluid to be absorbed back into the body, it could stagnate, creating a breeding ground for further infection. The lungs would struggle to expel the fluid, leading to worsening inflammation and potentially permanent damage to the delicate tissue."
Jul knew he had to balance it perfectly, neither rushing nor holding back too much. He felt his energy threads working in harmony, a mix of his past-world knowledge and the natural forces of this one blending seamlessly.
“If this succeeds,” Jul thought, determination sharpening his focus,
“I’ll know just how far I can push this power. This energy—it’s like something out of modern physics. It’s kinetic when it moves through me, potential when it pools in my core. Even the act of drawing it in feels measurable, like counting joules in a laboratory experiment. If I can control it as precisely as I would, like a chemical reaction, there’s no telling how much I can achieve.”
Carefully, Jul directed his energy to flow like a cooling stream over the affected areas, reducing the heat and swelling.
He sensed the buildup of fluid pressing against the fragile lung walls, threatening to drown the boy from within. Adjusting the flow, he created gentle pulses of energy, mimicking the rhythm of steady breaths, coaxing the fluid to disperse and be absorbed by the body naturally. It was a meticulous process—each adjustment requiring precision and patience.
As the energy spread, Jul noted the improvement: the tissue softened, the airflow widened, and Leon’s breathing grew deeper and steadier. Despite his infant body, Jul felt a deep satisfaction; he was applying what he knew, blending his past life’s medical knowledge with the mystical energy of this world. “It’s working,” he thought, the faintest glimmer of pride flickering in his mind."
Slowly, Jul directed his own energy, steady and deliberate, letting the silver light flow gently into the boy’s form. The energy wrapped around Leon’s lungs, soothing the inflamed tissue and dispersing the congestion that had built up over the day.
Leon let out a soft sigh, his shivering ceasing almost immediately. The room’s temperature stabilized, the oppressive heat giving way to a soothing warmth. Jul continued to focus, ensuring every trace of the fever was driven out, every fragment of imbalance corrected.
Within moments, Leon’s fever was gone. His breathing evened out, and his face, once flushed and strained, returned to its normal hue. As the last threads of silver light faded, retracting into Jul’s tiny body, he felt a wave of exhaustion but also satisfaction. It had worked.
Old Man Grewe approached the cradle cautiously, peering down at the infant. Jul’s eyes met his, calm and unblinking, but behind them was a depth of knowledge that no baby should possess.
“This child…” Grewe whispered, his voice filled with both awe and fear.
“He’s something else entirely.”