He sat up with a jerk, as if something jolted up inside of him. Waves tore through him in his body: agony. All the world, however, seemed dull. Every little bit would just seem vague, broken images in his swim of mind. It was the impression of an entity that swam close but just above physical form and then suspended in something between two worlds. The ache did not go away-but instead, a dull, queer feeling took all of its place.
He lay feeling thuddingly awake, conscious through the haze of his sleepy head, that something was wrong. His lids fluttered open, although harsh lights above brought a squint to his eyelids. Pungent and no mercy asked, it was at once piercing with its surgical cut-smell of the hospital room. It seemed as though there hung not a whisper of breeze. Magic medical instruments buzzed through this still air. He raised his head a bit of a fraction to have looked at one of the multiple brilliant hands manipulating his procedure.
Pure white coats, on which intricate, winding runes shone embroidered, donned the robes of the magi; even by a little gesture of her wrists, a scattering of floating medical implements was somehow choreographed within exacting balance. Scalpel-like instruments delicately pierced into his skin, guided by strands of mana as thin as a spider's web. A ball of light hovered above the body of Larin, pulsed softly with power, infusing the wounds with regenerative energies. How unexpressive mechanical and artistic care that was lavished on attaching the amputated arm and leg, during the battle had left in the doctors' hands.
He could see behind the glass partition of the far end of the room, slightly familiar figures. Myrith watched the activity being done by crossing her arms across the chest. Lysara leaned forward at the edge of the chair, the worried set determined face on her haggling with some questions. Close to them there stood Venolium, whose great and squid-like mass had almost filled the room. His tentacles swayed a little as if he watched their work.
It longed to tell them, scream at them-but his words would not go down. His very body had broken against him as he lay too weak and debilitated. In all his head went spinning with a Dryad like the one an hour before on that night so dark. Now he stood stock-still amidst the surgery done by the hands of masterfully weaving magi, binding threads of mana about his body.
It had been four long hours; the magi stepped back and their tools were withdrawn into the cabinet near at hand. Surgical lights dimmed, and containment field surrounding the operating table with a faint humming noise deactivated. Larin's body screamed in agony; the pain had receded into some distant corner, but he relaxed into unconsciousness, too spent to resist anymore.
When Larin next opened his eyes, he saw himself in a very white medical cabin. One bed, one table, a little closet full of his belongings, and then nothing more to the point - the room seemed to be spare. And the air would always somehow smell sanitized, acridly so, reminding him that he had a long, long way yet to go back home. Barely glowing runes adorned the walls. Their meanings flooded in impossible, maddening patterns to decipher.
They are encoded, the deep resonant voice broke silence. Larin moved his head to look and see Venolium standing at the corner. His bulk filled the small room. "You will not decipher those unless you crack the code, or of course, shatter it in place.".
Larin's lips curled in a small, thin smile, but he was talking before he looked to see where his attention led him. For two more men sat by the bedside. In Myrith and Lysara, serious eyes watched, though their stance was loose-the weight of such concern was marked there.
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He tried to lift himself up with the intention of greeting them when Lysara raised a hand stopping him from going up. "Don't overexert, he said to her sternly. "You just underwent an operation that would have killed a normal human. Rest. Your body isn't ready for this yet."
She smiled at him, and in a voice still laced with warmth he hadn't expected, said, "You're not invincible, Larin. Not yet. You haven't transcended your mortal shell, and we need you whole for the challenges ahead. Don't risk undoing everything we've worked to save."
Larin let out a sigh and leaned against the bed. "How bad was it?"
"Worse than what most would've been abandoned." Venolium said bluntly. "But you've survived, that means you had the potential that we believed in."
Myrith nodded, "You do need some recovery time. We've arranged half a year off for you, and you decide where you go: either back to Xiaxo or at our capital, Monarek."
Larin wasn't going to take long time to think, "Xiaxo," he said. "I want to be home".
Lysara smiled weakly. "A good choice. But before you go, you'll spend a month at the planetary station. There is so much that you have to learn.".
The planetary station was a marvel of Auquan engineering, an orbital construct sprawling and colossal, seeming to silently keep watch over Sinlung. Corridors were abuzz with beings from worlds upon worlds—races Larin had never laid eyes on. There were the Auquans, fluid in their movements, lit up with bioluminescent hues that ran through their forms, but other subspecies integrated into the system were free to mingle with their kind, their forms as varied as the stars.
In one of the station's thronging atriums, Larin confronted an Ithari-an almost ethereal bird creature, thin and wingy, whose feathers fluttered like emeralds over her shoulder as she moved. It had a gentle voice that bubbled up as it spoke; each word finished with a sharp trill: "You are Seafoam's new protégé, aren't you?"
"I guess," Larin hesitated.
"Ithari laughed. "Word of mouth flutter around for rumor- mongers these days. Everyone is interested in your loyalties. "
The station housed many houses of the Auquans, who competed with one another to influence the complex hierarchy. Larin was introduced to some allies of House Seafoam, such as House Crestwave, famous for their magic of summoning and House Stormtide, whose warriors were feared to be unmatched in the sky.
Not all the meetings were sweet. In one formal meeting, Larin faced some of the members of Pyrestone House. They radiated a fiery aura, and their smoldering glances did not pass undetected. Among them was a tall figure with molten eyes who sneered at him. "So this is the one Seafoam has put their money on? A child hanging onto borrowed strength."
He looked up into the Pyrestone's stare. "Better strength borrowed than that which is stoked on burning ruin."
The Pyrestone laughed, its voice a screeching grating sound. "We shall see how far your borrowed strength will carry you when the tide rises.".
It was a tense month at the station, but one which for Larin proved transformative, as magic defied everything she knew. A Crystali mage could make light they wove into solid structures that shimmered like rainbows over crystalline bridges, while a Nomidian healer could mend broken bones by using sound waves to mend their resonant hums in rhythm with the natural rhythms of the body.
He also learned of the bigger politics involved. The relationships of House Seafoam are delicate; foes abound. The Pyrestones were but one of several houses attempting to establish superiority in this disordered galaxy.
On his last day at the station, Venolium visited Larin, since he would take the shuttle down to Xiaxo. "Remember everything you have seen here," he said. "The galaxy is vast, and its dangers are greater than what you have or can imagine. You do, however, possess something precious few others: the mark of Sinlung. Use it wisely."
"I will," Larin promised.
As the shuttle sped toward Xiaxo, Larin looked out on the surface. A month in the station opened his eyes to a universe that was both a wonder and peril. Now he wanted to get back home - to land shaped him and given him strength - people who did.
The rest of the galaxy would wait. This backwater of the galaxy for now. This was where the story of Larin would take its course, within Xiaxo.