The sun slowly crept from behind the hills and tall trees, the sunlight reaching to illuminate the darker corners of Earth the night before had left. The warm caress tickled my soared skin and I stirred on my straw bed, looking for the cool shade. I look up at the ceiling made from bamboo sticks bonded together with hemp; through the small gaps the sunrays were making their vehement approach. I battled no longer as I slowly rose to a sitting position, when my feet touched the cold ground the chills from the nightmare returned to haunt me. Instinctively, my left hand covered my right wrist; my fingertips were tracing the shape of the healed wrist. The pain was no longer physical but what remain were psychological pieces of the terrible night.
I pulled on me my burgundy dress and brushed the expression of pain from my features as I was heading to meet my grandfather. I poked my head through the door leading into the round living room furnish with two wooden chairs and a table. He was nowhere to be seen, I proceed to cross the threshold and find myself staring blankly at the beautiful scenery of trees before me. I breathed in their fresh odor, watching drops of dew fall playfully from their leaf. The inhabitants of Gaesnia had no respect no admiration for the evergreen forest that surrounded them and most of the time takes its beauty for granted. The fools! If only they knew how many storms and raids these foliage had shielded them from, but nobody acknowledges the beings living in silent harmony.
A stick breaks under pressure to my left; I turned around quickly to face the source of the sound. Before me, I saw the wiry figure of my grandfather, Necradar. His white beard was moist with dew and mist, probably after his morning strolls around the forest every day. He enjoyed watching the forest come to life to face the new day; it gave him energy and peace. A white mage always drew inspiration and strength from nature.
“I see your healing spells are getting better and better,” he said in a raspy and disapproving voice. “Your hands reacted with a greater velocity… even though it got shattered last night.”
I balled my hand into a fist, stifling the faint traces of the cerulean wormhole. My heart skipped a beat when he mentioned about my hand and face his censorious stare. “You knew?”
“I am your grandfather and master, of course I knew,” he said matter-of-factly. He advance to me and asked for my hand, reluctantly I showed it to him. Although the bones were healed completely, there were signs of imperfect magic. My spells weren’t strong enough to hide the bruises and marks imprinted on it. He pressed his fingers painfully on my flesh, white light bathed the bruises, I winced once and my skin returned to its clear and even color and texture. “Did you catch him?” He dropped my hand and walked around me, the answer was written in his grim face.
“No,” I answered, casting down my eyes. Even though he knew the answer he still wanted me to renew the humiliation.
“But he is dead.”
“Shatlard killed him,” I whispered, “I was unable to overpower him on time, not before Shatlard came in…”
Necradar snorted, “He saved your life, if he hadn’t arrived on time you would’ve been only dust.”
I cast my eyes down once again, feeling my wrist. “A lesson,” I murmured resentfully.
He nodded once and walked inside the house, leaving me alone to enjoy the bittersweet taste of loneliness. Necradar was my only living relative, a white mage who retired from the battle fields and public scrutiny to adopt the life of a peaceful dweller in the forest. His days were filled with pleasure and duty teaching his art to his granddaughter, I gave him another reason to live. He never did approve of the adventurous ways of her reckless granddaughter nor did he support her decision of becoming more than a white mage. But that wasn’t his decision, it was mine.
Slowly and with much diligence, I learn how to create wormholes but nothing came from them. I learned to channelize them through objects to get better results by making the material malleable to my wishes. My wormholes were not big enough nor powerful enough, and I could only cast one at a time, but they served me to improve and persist my multiple, clandestine battles against apprentice wizards from Shatlard’s guild.
Two days before last night, I was caught in a fight for my life when two apprentice wizards joined forces to duel me. After the extensive battle, I was able to declare myself victorious, but great energy was put into the fight. For the next days, my wormholes had decreased in size and power, but my healing spells were stronger.
I turn my gaze to the azure sky, with broken clouds spreading in it. I inhaled deep and gave one last look at the broken sky before starting with my chores. In that moment, I wished I could repair something else, like nature and human souls, other than my body. I wanted to repair my own heart and soul.