Jiwoo’s Pov:
Ariem pushed the wheelchair from behind, as we entered behind Ramus Silverlight.
The doors creaked open as a study revealed itself to us.
Walls lined with towering shelves cradled countless books—leather-bound tomes with gilded spines, the small of old parchment lingering in the air.
Sunlight poured in through tall, arched windows, illuminating dust motes that drifted lazily in the air. The windows were slightly ajar, letting in a mild breeze that carried the scent of fresh blossoms from outside, blending with the faint trace of floral incense curling up from a delicate burner on the coffee table.
Two couches were arranged opposite each other, upholstered in dark green velvet, their corners flanked by armchairs. A polished mahogany coffee table sat between them, its surface pristine save for a silver tea set and a single unlit candle.
Mordian sat on one couch, his tall frame upright yet relaxed, exuding a calm authority that seemed almost at odds with the tension in his golden eyes. Across from him sat Camus—this elder both Ariem and Ramus had just spoken of outside the door.
His posture was nonchalant, his body leaning slightly back, but there was an undeniable tension in how his fingers rested against the armrest of his seat. His long silver hair, streaked with the vicissitudes of years, fell in soft bangs that obscured most of his face, covering his eyes, as I saw a scar running along his face and touching his brows from the gaps of his hair.
Wrinkles lining his features told of age, but the subtle firmness in his posture hinted at a presence that could not be overlooked, even in Mordian’s company.
He was respectful of the dragon, but remained in his element. From what I saw of his face, he looked identical to Ramus to a certain degree, but older.
Ramus stopped only a few steps from the couches, greeting Mordian first, Ariem was next who did the same as they both respectfully greeted my bond.
I almost smirked at him, trying to convey my thoughts through our link, but the connection still seemed weak.
Mordian’s head turned to me immediately, his expression softening into something almost fragile for a moment as he looked at me sitting in a wheelchair. It was a rare sight honestly, and it didn’t suit him truthfully.
He was a dragon who looked mean at most times to the outsiders, and yet, right now, guilt flickered across his face so palpably that anyone could figure.
“Jiwoo, how are you feeling?” Mordian’s deep voice carried a weight that made the words feel heavier than they needed to be, as if each word scrapped at the memories of what had happened inside that void.
There was no mistaking the concern in his tone, and that faint trace of guilt lingered in his expression, as he rose and approached me.
I made a smirk, leaning casually against the wheelchair as I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “Nothing could kill me, you know. Not even a Seraphim. What makes you think a stray blast could do?”
Mordian’s lips pressed into a thin line at my sarcasm, but before he could reply, I let my gaze sweep down to him. My smirk deepened. “What about the hole in your abdomen? You took a similar blast like me?”
He placed a hand near his abdomen as he looked back at me. “It wasn’t as severe you think. I’ve already recovered. But...” the pause in his voice made me feel unsure, as he gazed down at me, as if he could peer right under my flesh and at my mana channels.
It wasn’t himself that he was concerned about, it was for what had happened to me.
“If you are worried about my channels, then we can figure something out right now, like we always do.” My smirked widened as if to assure Mordian, and my bond seem to believe me, as I felt our connection stabilising, a little.
But from the side, my attention went to Ramus and Ariem greeting Camus. Ramus seemed emotional, his expression seemed of yearning, as if seeing someone after years, yet Ariem at the other hand seemed hesitant.
“How long has it been since we last met, brother?” Ramus said as Camus rose and they both held each other by their forearms in a form greeting.
“I think, the last time I visited was when Aurora was born.” Camus said in passing as he looked at Ramus with a nonchalant grin, as if the time apart hadn’t been that only . “Sixteen years maybe,” his brow perked, as his smirk widened in mischief.
“Come on, we aren’t like the ash’ari, but we elves still get to live for a handful of centuries, some even make it close to a few millennials if they are lucky.”
Ramus seemed unbothered by his humour as he pulled away and Ariem approached, her face looked reluctant as she looked at Camus.
“I didn’t think you would be coming after I requested. I mean, you hardly were step foot into the castle. And after ‘that’, we did fall out.” She said, her tone dry, but thick with emotions of guilt and relief.
“Come one, Ariem. It’s been so long since our fight, I already told you I don’t blame you both for any of that, it was just meant to be, and I couldn’t stop it no matter how much I tried.” Camus said, but this time his smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes, as I clearly felt his tone waver.
With a shrug, he immediately shifted the topic, leaning closer to Ramus. “But if it hadn’t been for my adorable granddaughter’s request, I wouldn’t have stepped foot inside this place for another ten years at most.” He said, crossing his arms.
“If that is the case, would you have accepted if I were the one to come personally?” Ramus said, his voice was heavy, but smooth, each word seem to hold good humour, as he suggested, but with a dry chuckle, Camus held his shoulder.
“Sure, why wouldn’t I do it for my adorable little brother. But, you already know the price you have to pay.” Camus mused as he creased his jaw like some devious plan was brewing inside his mind.
“Yeah, a fool like you would come here for something like this. Didn’t you say you were retiring or something...or what you said, something along the lines of: ‘I have now become a pacifist. I no longer walk the path of aggression or war’. Can you believe his crap?” Ariem chimed in from the side.
“Anyways, enough of us. You called me here for him, right?” Camus pointed at me, as everyone turned to me as he took a seat.
“I was discussing his condition with Lord Astrionyx; he told me what happened and we seemed to have diagnosed what he is suffering from.” Camus said, his tone serious, undercutting the humour and nonchalance he showcased.
“And like you said, the blast didn’t do much, that’s an understatement, kid. What is did is something almost extraordinary.” Camus chummed in after a second, his voice seemed almost excited, as if having fun.
I looked at him, confused, but before I could ask, Ariem elaborated for him.
“That stray blast did do something, Jiwoo.” From the side Ariem said. “It damaged your mana channels, hindering you from using your mana.” She added for more clarity, as she took a seat beside Ramus who sat beside Camus.
Finally, Camus’s gaze turned toward me. His bangs didn’t fully hide his eyes, though they were closed, despite the gaps revealing little. But despite that, it was like being measured and dissected with a look—a tired but sharp gaze that seemed to gauge me, as if peering directly into my soul.
“But hard to believe he’s the kid who saved the orcs. Doesn’t look much to me right now. Perhaps, even a kid could beat him in this state.” Camus said, his words filled with measured mockery and sarcasm.
I looked back at him, glaring him dead in the eye. “I can still sweep the floor with you.” I said back, no taunt in my words, as he rose a brow in expectance.
“Well, right now you are nothing but a helpless kid in a wheelchair to me. And I might be the last chance you have of recovery.” He smirked, as his finger tapped his thigh in rhythm. “Aurora was the one that begged everyone to help you, or you would've been just lying, waiting for your own demise kid.”
Camus leaned back in the couch, the ancient wood creaking under his weight, though he looked as timeless as the trees outside the window his words didn’t. He finally opened his eyes, the grey in them scanned me like he was appraising a particularly disappointing piece of fruit. “Well, congratulations, Jiwoo,” he began, his voice dripping with mock celebration. “You’ve managed to do what no one in recorded history has ever done. You’ve turned your mana channels into a battlefield. Bravo.”
I frowned. “Is that sarcasm?”
“Is it sarcasm if it’s also true?” He shot back, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re like a riverbed after a hurricane—cracked, uneven, and not entirely sure where the water’s supposed to go anymore. And, judging by your expression, I’m guessing no one’s told you what that means yet?”
I shook my head, feeling the weight of his words sinking in.
His gaze went to Ariem for a passing second and she seemed hesitant, almost reluctant as she turned to look at me, but for a moment I tried to feel my mana again, trying to circulate the purified mana through my streams, but they refused.
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I pulled my concentration back as I decided to ask her.
“What does that mean, Ariem? What exactly happened to me; I’m aware the blast was excessive enough to affect my mana channels, but I want to know what exactly is it I’m going through.” I asked, straightening.
“Of course not,” Camus said right away rolling his eyes, as Ariem took time. “As your doctor, it was her job to tell you what is happening to you; her patient, without missing out any critical details. Let me break it down for you: mana channels are the veins of a mage’s way of absorbing and purifying the mana inside their body, carrying the filtered and pure mana, circulated through their body through those same roots—in short, their channels are through which they use magic. When they’re whole, mana flows smoothly, like a serene river. But yours?” He gestured vaguely at me, his fingers curling like claws. “Yours are a mess. Picture a river trying to flow uphill while dodging landmines. That’s your mana flow right now.”
Ramus nodded as if acknowledging Camus’s words. Ariem turned her gaze from me, as if feeling guilty for her inability to fix what I’d done.
“That sounds bad,” I muttered, finally feeling the severity of my situation.
“Oh, it’s worse than bad. It’s fascinating,” he replied, leaning forward as if he had found something new to keep himself busy with now. “Do you know how hard it is to damage mana channels? They’re designed to endure everything short of divine intervention. Whatever you went through to end up like this, well, it wasn’t a stroll in the park. And now, every time you try to cast, your mana is either going to splatter like spilled ink or explode like a firework. Which, if I’m honest, sounds entertaining. Just...not for you.”
He tilted his head back, his fingers mimicking an explosion, whistling sharply, as if urging the chaos to continue. The sharp sound sliced through the air, adding to the tension of the moment.
Ramus hit him with his knee as Camus interjected.
I glared at him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Anytime kid,” Camus said breezily, waving at me. Then, his tone softened—just a bit. “In all seriousness, Jiwoo, this isn’t just an inconvenience. If you don’t learn to manage it, the backlash could fry you from the inside out. Or worse, you might accidentally take out half a forest trying to light a candle. It’s something really concerning, and if not fixed it might leave you crippled for all life.”
“Great. So what’s the solution?” I asked, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.
Camus tapped his chin thoughtfully, Mordian looking at him, and suddenly I heard his voice in my mind, our connection stabilising.
‘I have discussed certain things with Camus about your condition, there were cases like yours in some ash’ari children, and unborn children who faced difficulties trying to control their mana and form their channels and veins after birth or before it. But in your case, there may be lots of complications—because your case is special.’
He looked back at Camus, and the elf straightened, his posture shifted in my direction as he crossed his legs and leaned back slightly, resting his cheek on his fist.
“Solution? Oh, there’s no solution. Not really. This kind of damage doesn’t just heal. It’s like breaking the unbreakable: you can patch it up, but it’s never quite the same. Like glass, once you break it, you may be able to piece the shards back together, but the cracks will never fade, the damage will remain. Your best bet is to adapt. Learn to work with the chaos instead of against it. Lucky for you, I’m an expert in turning disasters into something...less disastrous.”
He grinned, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if he was mocking me or offering genuine help. Probably both.
“Why do I feel like you’re enjoying this?” I asked, frustration bubbling in the back of my tongue as Ramus and Ariem gave me a look of pity, turning to Camus.
“Because I am,” he admitted without hesitation. “It’s not every day I get to teach someone who’s basically a walking anomaly. You’re like a puzzle that shouldn’t exist. And I do love a good puzzle.” He added with a knowing look, and I swear I held back the urge to punch him in his face right now. I breathed, as I quiled the growing frustration from inside me “Now, should we get started before you accidentally set your own hair on fire.” she said as he creased his beard with his fingers.
Right now, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d just signed up for the most infuriating lesson of my life. I had endured far worse ordeals than this, tolerating an old man wouldn’t be as hard as I think.
But one thing was clear—Camus was right about one thing: I’d have to learn to work with the chaos inside me. Because the alternative? That wasn’t an option.
What had happened to me appeared irreversible, but perhaps with Camus’s help, I could recover from this.
“But, how sure are you that I can recover from this?” I asked, as Camus leaned back, arms crossed.
“I’m as confident as when I fought my first war.” He said, pride lingering in his tone. “And don’t worry, I picked up a few things from the hamadryades when I was taught by them.” He stated as I felt my brows knit.
“Wait, you were taught by the hamadryades?” I asked in surprise as Ramus nodded in his stead.
“When we were younger and far bolder, Camus and I stumbled upon an elder hamadryade during one of our reckless adventures. He was visiting the elven world for some kind of research, though at the time, we didn’t care about the details—we were simply fascinated by him. There was an air of quiet wisdom around him, a kind of stillness that made the world seem calmer just by his presence. Wherever he walked, whatever he touched, it seemed to breathe with renewed life—leaves turned greener, flowers bloomed brighter, even the air itself felt...fuller.” The elder said, as if reminiscing those memories. “His magic was unlike anything we had ever seen, gentle yet overwhelmingly potent. We couldn’t help but follow him, our curiosity as relentless as our questions.”
I saw a smile tugging at his lips as he continued after a pause. “He must have found our persistence amusing, or perhaps tolerable, because instead of shooing us away, he let us tag along. Day after day, we pestered him, asking him about his spells, his people, his purpose—anything we could think of, really—to him we are really just curious children, whom have found something amusing.”
“I think we wore him down, because by the end of his stay, he offered to take both us as his disciples. It wasn’t a formal thing; he never demanded obedience or submission, just curiosity and effort, he was kind to us, like a friendly mentor.” Ramus paused for a moment. “But then came the real dilemma—when his time in our world ended, he presented us with a choice. He asked if we wanted to leave everything behind and follow him back to his homeland, where he could teach us the true depths of hamadryade magic."
Ramus shifted to his brother, his smile seemed to widen as he spoke. “Truthfully, I was tempted. But the weight of my responsibilities kept me anchored here. Camus, though? He didn’t hesitate. With his trademark grin, he gave me a pat on the back and said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll bring back all the secrets.’ And then he left.” He looked at him again, as they shared some silent understanding.
“For over a year, he lived in that otherworldly realm, training under the elder and immersing himself in their ancient knowledge. When he finally returned, he wasn’t the same Camus who had left. His magic had transformed—stronger, more refined, like it belonged to someone who understood the world in a way most of us couldn’t even fathom. And his mind? Sharp as ever, but now with a depth that was almost intimidating.”
I couldn’t help but stare at him after Ramus told me about their past.
He may have learned from hamadryades, but he still lacks common manners.
Camus smirked, his tone cheeky. “Did I really change that much little brother? I still remember you cry when I left for their world.”
After a few more words, Ramus and Camus settled back, Ariem silently sat, as I turned to them.
Camus shifted his tone, his voice carrying a weight of experience and sincerity. “So that’s why I said that. From my experience and knowledge, my master once told me about a young hamadryade child who endured something remarkably similar to what you’re going through. The cause and effect were alike, though not identical.”
His eyes narrowed slightly as he delved deeper into the tale. “The child was attacked by a hydra serpent—nasty creatures, venomous and vile.”
Mordian nodded in acknowledgment, his own memories surfacing. “I’ve heard of such cases. There was once a leviathan child who perished during birth because its mana channels were underdeveloped. The energy flow couldn’t sustain the strain of its birth-right.”
Camus gave a small, solemn nod before continuing, his voice firm. “Exactly. In this case, the serpent’s poison seeped into the ash’ari child’s bloodstream, corrupting its mana. The corruption caused the mana channels inside its body to decay and collapse rapidly. My master said the chances of survival were grim—almost non-existent.”
He paused, his serious expression hardening. “But that child was saved by the previous lordship of the hamadryades, who intervened personally, fixing that child with his magic. Without that intervention, the child wouldn’t have stood a chance. And let’s face it, you’re not likely to find a hamadryade lord willing to lend you their aid.”
I fell silent, unsure of what to do now. Perhaps I might find some solution through the system, and items I had. I still had yet to search my inventory for any items that could help me recover.
Then suddenly Camus stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his robes. “Then, I will be taking your guest with me.”
“Wait,” I said, watching Camus stride toward the door with that irritating air of superiority he seemed to carry. “Where are we going exactly?”
He glanced over his shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “To the blessed springs, of course. That is the only place where I think you can have the slightest chance of recovery.”
“The blessed springs?” I repeated, skeptical. “That’s supposed to help with this...condition?”
Camus stopped, turning to face me fully. “Do you have a better idea, oh prodigy of implosions? Because unless you’ve discovered a miracle elixir hiding in your pockets, I’d suggest you follow me. The springs are your only shot at even a relatively slim chance of recovering. And believe me, I’m being generous with ‘slim.’”
“So, what’s so special about these springs?” I asked, trying to keep my confusion limited .
Reluctantly, I turned to Mordian, then to Ramus and Ariem, and she seem to explain what Camus hadn’t.
“Jiwoo, the Blessed Springs are a mystical relic left behind by the hamadryades—the guardians of nature as you know. It were their mentor who altered a certain part of the elven lands which came to be knowns as the blessed springs, because of its natural rejuvenation and healing properties.”
Camus chimed in a sigh dramatically. “Of course, what would you know. Honestly, hail to blissful ignorance. The hamadryades were beings so in tune with the world’s essence that they could mend the very fabric of nature itself. The springs are one of their last gifts to this realm, imbued with the kind of magic that can patch up broken things. Like you.” He gestured vaguely at me as I turned, as if I were some broken tool in desperate need of repair.
I frowned. “And this...patching...will fix my mana channels?”
“Fix?” Camus snorted, shaking his head. “Oh no, nothing so grand. The springs don’t fix things; they stitch them. They’ll mend the tears in your mana channels, but it’s a slow process. Agonizingly slow. Like watching moss grow slow. By the time it’s done, you might not die of a sudden explosion or implosion, but of boredom.”
“Comforting,” I muttered as I stirred in the wheelchair, taking hold of it as I rose to my feet finally.
My feet felt like jelly for a moment as I almost stumbled but took hold of myself as I saw Mordain about to catch me.
Camus shot me a sly grin. “I do aim to please.”
“And how exactly does it work?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“Simple,” Camus replied. “The magic of the springs seeps into your body and coats your mana channels, like pouring resin into cracks. It doesn’t make them new, but it reinforces what’s there. Over time, the tears will shrink, and the flow of mana will stabilize. Of course, that assumes you don’t overdo it and rip them open again, in which case, you’re right back where you started. Or worse.”
“Sounds...fun. So, when do we start?” I said dryly.
“Oh, it’s not,” he said, his voice taking on a mock-serious tone. “It’s going to be excruciatingly dull. Hours, days, maybe weeks of soaking in magical water, meditating, and doing absolutely nothing interesting. But hey, look on the bright side—you’ll have me for company—and also Lord Astrionyx.”
“Great. Just what I need,” I deadpanned as I looked at Ramus heaving a sigh and Ariem cringing on his words.
He laughed, the sound echoing through the study. “Don’t worry, Jiwoo. If the springs don’t fix you, at least you’ll be able to say you bathed in the legacy of the hamadryades. That’s worth something, isn’t it? For a human.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or relieved, but one thing was clear—Camus wasn’t going to make this easy. Then again, nothing about my life ever was.