The greatest of rivers is formed from the smallest of streams.
- A Quassian Aphorism.
Gelgor's eyes narrowed briefly, losing their cordiality before he skillfully masked it again. He likely mistook my response for hesitation, assuming I was a charlatan trying to salvage dignity before my deceptions were exposed as mere lies. I couldn't help but think with a touch of sarcasm, Oh ye of little faith.
I now realized that common human ailments like disease, injury, and frailty no longer concerned me. Why fear broken bones, shattered limbs, or deadly poisons when I could heal with spells? As long as I had enough Mana, I was immune to these troubles. Such mortal concerns of the human condition were beyond me now. It felt liberating and, were it not for the fact that I was trapped on a barbaric world filled with uncultured savages, most welcome. As matters stood, it seemed to be just the bare minimum required for a man such as myself to get by.
But for how long? If Avaria withdrew the last of her Grace from me, Iasis had said as much, would I still be able to cast my healing spells? No matter. I would use what I had for as long as I could. If this world had taught me anything, it was that there was no use in bemoaning one’s lot. It was better to focus on the present.
For the time being, I would start by healing the morbidly obese man in front of me.
Rising with a clear sense of purpose, I approached Gelgor. Zariyah, his attendant, glanced at me, her lovely features tensing as she reached behind her back, only to seem confused moments later. Gelgor, with a dismissive wave of his plump hand, commanded her to be at ease. He adjusted his hefty frame into a semblance of a seated posture as I knelt beside him.
There was a look to him as this fateful moment grew close. Like the first few licks of the flame at a campfire, a desperate need began to grow steadily across his face, eating away at his mask of control. Fear not Gelgor, salvation is at hand.
“What must I do?” he questioned, his voice tight and controlled.
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“Believe,” I commanded simply as I gathered the mystical energy of this world, forming it into the shape of my magic.
Not wanting to be stingy, I elected to go all out with my Greater Heal spell. The familiar song of angels thrummed to a holy cadence, its glory only matched by its divine mystery, threading its golden way through the wagon’s interior. I took a moment to regard the pair’s awestruck faces before I focused completely on Gelgor and laid my hands upon him.
Like a conductor of a most exquisite symphony, I guided the course of the energy through me into him. It filled the man, infusing his very being with the ardent light of the Divine. There was more to its auric majesty now, flecks of silver sparkled here and there among the golds, flashing like fish just beneath the river’s surface. Something resisted me, a stubborn error or flaw within the man that needed to be corrected. I poured more of the energy in, redirecting the flow with a more singular purpose against this aberration.
It dawned on a jealous part of me, the dark part of me, that this magic was doing more than just simply healing Gelgor. How I would have killed for a fraction of this power in my old world. To touch the face of something that was… more. For the tiniest sliver of a moment, I could feel the magic remaking him, bringing him closer to the realm of the sublime.
Zariyah could only look on, her exotic features frozen in wonder as the light of a false dawn shone. Her features looked rapt as she bore witness, like a prophet having a rapturous revelation.
But even the light of the gods will fade eventually, and faster still when channeled by mortal and imperfect hands. The light of Gelgor’s salvation subsided, bringing with it the echo of divine epiphany and leaving behind a lingering regret. The natural light of the soft afternoon sun began to filter through
It was welcome, if not a little anticlimactic, that a notification appeared across my mind’s eye. Acknowledging the boon, I looked to see what my magic had wrought.
You have learned Greater Heal (lvl.3)
The caravan master’s rotund form was wracked by the seizures from the touch of the Divine. It would be almost comical, except that this was the first time my healing had produced such a response. Worrying, indeed.
Zariyah snapped out of it and simply clenched her fists by her side in worry and frustration. Good, she knew better than to intervene. There was, after all, nothing that she could do. The man was quivering like jelly, but on his bed of soft feather pillows, he was no danger to himself. Now, all we could do was wait for his episode to pass.