The infirmary’s sterile light filtered through gauzy curtains, painting the room in hues of dusty gold. Towan blinked slowly, his vision swimming as the ache in his bones announced itself—a symphony of fractures radiating from his right leg up to his hip. The scent of bitter medicinal herbs clung to the air, mingling with the metallic tang of his own sweat.
“What…?” His voice cracked, dry as sunbaked clay. Memories flickered—Rheon’s indigo Essentia, the deafening crack of the shockwave, then… nothing.
The door creaked open. Elliot stepped inside, shadows pooling under his eyes like he hadn’t slept. In his hands, a steaming mug of bone-mend tea trembled faintly.
“Why am I here?” Towan rasped, pushing upright. Fire lanced through his leg, and he collapsed back with a hiss.
Elliot set the tea on the bedside table, its steam curling into shapes that vaguely resembled fractured Essentia threads. “You collapsed after channeling everything,” he said, voice flat but edged with frustration. “Your body shut down. The healers said your dantian nearly ruptured.”
“Oh.” The fight rushed back—Rheon’s infuriating calm, the silver aura searing his skin, the euphoric terror of unleashing all of it. “But it worked. I hit him.”
“And shattered your fibula, tibia, and three metatarsals,” Elliot snapped, gesturing to Towan’s heavily bandaged leg. “That ‘silver aura’? That was Essentia leaking—raw energy your body couldn’t contain. You’re lucky it didn’t vaporize your channels.”
Stolen story; please report.
Towan winced, fingers brushing the bandages. The skin beneath felt foreign—brittle, like overcooked glass. “I thought… more power meant a better strike.”
“You thought?” Elliot’s composure frayed, a rare crack in his analytical armor. “Master spent years drilling 60% into us for a reason! You can’t just—” He caught himself, exhaling sharply. “You modified the technique. I’ll give you that. But you treated your body like a conduit, not a vessel.”
Towan stared at the ceiling, where hairline cracks mirrored the ones in his bones. “Rheon blocked it. Barely.”
“Because he’s Rheon,” Elliot muttered, though his eyes narrowed—a telltale sign of brewing theories. “His counters… they were too precise. Almost like he—”
“Like he what?”
Elliot shook his head, retreating into logic. “You’re benched for a week. Maybe two.”
“Two weeks?!”
“Your Essentia channels are shredded. Push them, and you’ll cripple yourself.” Elliot’s tone softened. “And… Rheon visited. Left this.”
He tossed Towan a small vial filled with iridescent liquid. Inside, faint streaks of indigo swirled—Rheon’s Essentia.
“Said it’ll speed up healing. ‘A lesson learned is a lesson earned,’ or some cryptic crap.”
Towan rolled the vial between his fingers. The Essentia inside pulsed, cold yet familiar, like a half-remembered dream.
“Elliot… when he blocked my kick—his stance. Did it remind you of…?”
“Don’t.” Elliot cut him off, but his clenched jaw betrayed him. “Rest. We’ll talk when you’re not a walking fracture.”
As the door clicked shut, Towan stared at the vial. The indigo strands shimmered, and for a heartbeat, they flickered silver—the same shade as his master’s Essentia.