Jack and Petros lay hogtied in the dirt, their faces pressed into the rough ground. The three highwaymen loomed over them, rifling through their belongings with rough, impatient hands. One of the thugs, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, yanked Jack’s pouch free and shook it upside down, expecting coins or valuables to spill out. Instead, the pouch remained stubbornly empty.
“What kind of trick is this?” the man snarled, tossing the pouch aside in frustration. He kicked Jack in the ribs for good measure, eliciting a pained grunt.
“Check the other one,” another thug barked, his voice gravelly and impatient. He grabbed Petros by the collar, shaking him roughly. “Where’s your gold, boy? Don’t tell me you’re traveling empty-handed.”
Petros winced, his voice trembling. “We don’t have anything! Please, just let us go!”
The third thug, a wiry man with a sneer, crouched beside Jack and began patting him down. “They’re lying,” he muttered. “No one travels these roads without coin. Keep looking.”
From his hidden vantage point, the old man watched with a furrowed brow. His grip tightened on his walking stick, and for a moment, it seemed he might step forward. But before he could move, a small hand tugged at the hem of his cloak.
“Don’t,” a child’s voice whispered, soft but firm.
The old man glanced down to see a little girl standing beside him, no more than eight or nine years old. She had pigtails tied with frayed ribbons and wore a simple dress that might have once been bright but was now faded and patched. Her wide, innocent eyes belied the sharpness of her tone.
“They’re not your concern,” the girl said, her voice carrying an odd weight for someone so young. “Let the thieves have their fun.”
The old man hesitated, his gaze flickering back to Jack and Petros. “They’re just boys,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “They don’t deserve this.”
The girl tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “Deserve has nothing to do with it. This is their path. Interfering would only… complicate things.”
The old man’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His eyes lingered on Jack and Petros, a flicker of sympathy in their depths. The girl, meanwhile, watched the scene with a faint smile, as if amused by the desperation of the bound travelers and the frustration of the thieves.
On the road, the thugs finally gave up, tossing the pouches aside in disgust. “Waste of time,” the scarred man spat, delivering one last kick to Jack’s side before turning away. “Let’s go. These two aren’t worth the trouble.”
The trio disappeared into the shadows, their laughter fading into the night. Jack and Petros were left alone, bound and helpless in the middle of the road. The old man exhaled softly, his shoulders slumping as if burdened by the weight of what he’d just witnessed.
The girl patted his arm, her touch oddly reassuring. “Come,” she said. “There’s nothing more to see here.”
The old man cast one last glance at the bound figures before turning away, his footsteps silent as he followed the girl deeper into the forest. Their presence faded like a wisp of smoke, leaving no trace behind.
Back on the road, Jack groaned, his face pressed into the dirt. “Petros,” he mumbled, his voice muffled. “You okay?”
“No,” Petros replied, his voice strained. “I think they dislocated my shoulder. And these ropes are cutting into my wrists.”
Jack shifted, trying to ease the pressure on his bound arms. “We need to get out of this. Think you can reach your magic?”
Petros closed his eyes, focusing. He tried to summon the healing glow that had come so easily before, but nothing happened. “I… I can’t. It’s like it’s blocked or something.”
“Same here,” Jack muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. He strained against the ropes, but they held fast. “This is ridiculous. We’ve fought goblins and boars, and now we’re getting mugged by a bunch of simple thugs?”
Petros wriggled, trying to loosen the bonds. “Maybe if I can just… twist my hands…” He gritted his teeth, his face contorted with effort. After a few agonizing minutes, he managed to slip one hand free. “Got it!” he whispered triumphantly.
Petros quickly untied the rest of the ropes, binding him, then moved to free Jack. The older man groaned as the pressure on his arms was relieved, rubbing his wrists to restore circulation.
“Thanks,” Jack said, his voice tinged with relief. “Now, let’s see if we can get our magic working.”
They sat in the middle of the road, focusing intently. Jack held out his hand, trying to summon a spark of lightning. At first, nothing happened. Then, with a faint crackle, a small arc of electricity danced between his fingers.
“Yes!” Jack exclaimed, his face lighting up. “It’s weak, but it’s there.”
Petros, meanwhile, managed to summon a faint glow in his palms. He pressed his hands to Jack’s side, where the thug’s kick had left a bruise. The glow intensified, and Jack felt the pain ebb away.
“Good job,” Jack said, clapping Petros on the shoulder. “Now, let’s see if we can find our pouches.”
They scanned the road, their eyes adjusting to the dim moonlight. To their surprise, the pouches lay a few feet away, seemingly untouched. Jack picked his up, opening it to find all its contents intact.
“What the…?” Jack muttered, his brow furrowing. “They took these. I saw them.”
Petros checked his own pouch, his expression equally baffled. “Mine’s fine too. Everything’s here.”
They exchanged a puzzled look, the strangeness of the situation sinking in. “This doesn’t make sense,” Jack said slowly. “Unless… unless they didn’t actually take them?”
Petros shook his head. “I don’t know. But I’m not complaining.”
Jack slung his pouch over his shoulder, his expression grim. “Come on. Let’s get back to town. We’ve had enough excitement for one night.”
As they walked, the weight of their recent failure hung heavy in the air. Jack glanced at Petros, his voice quiet. “We’re not invincible, are we?”
Petros shook his head. “No. And I guess not every battle is going to be a win.”
Jack nodded, his jaw tightening. “Then we’ll just have to get stronger. Smarter. Because if this is what we’re up against, we can’t afford to lose again.”
The road stretched ahead, dark and uncertain. But as they walked, the faint glow of Pendle Village’s lights appeared in the distance, a small beacon of hope in the otherwise bleak night.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over Pendle Village as Jack and Petros dragged themselves back toward the Boar & Brew. Each step felt heavier than the last; the weight of humiliation pressed down on their shoulders, mingling with the ache of bruises and rope burns. The memory of being hogtied by common thugs gnawed at them, a stark reminder that raw power alone wouldn’t guarantee victory in this world.
When the tavern came into view, Jack raised a cautious hand.
“Wait,” he whispered, voice tense. “Let’s make sure it’s safe.”
They ducked into the shadows beside a small, shuttered bakery, scanning the silent street. Pendle was almost asleep—only a distant owl hooted in the moonlit outskirts. No sign of the highwaymen who had ambushed them. After a few heartbeats, Jack exhaled, nodding for Petros to follow.
“Clear,” he muttered, stepping out. “Let’s get inside before someone else decides to rob us.”
They slipped through a side door of the Boar & Brew, taking care not to slam it. Inside, the common room lay draped in shadows, the hearth reduced to glowing embers. A couple of patrons snoozed at their tables, clutching half-empty mugs. Trevor was nowhere in sight, nor was Raven. The only sounds were the soft crackle of dying coals and the gentle snores of the sleeping customers.
Moving quickly, they crept past the dozing drinkers and ascended the creaking staircase to their rented room. The floorboards groaned in protest, but no one stirred below. Once they were inside, Jack shut the door and slid the simple bolt into place. He let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“That was… humiliating,” Petros muttered, collapsing onto the edge of the narrow bed. The flicker of the moonlight through a small window revealed the tension etched on his face. “We froze up—like total amateurs.”
Jack crossed the space in two weary strides and sank onto the floor, leaning his back against the wall. “It’s not just that we froze… it’s that we—I—couldn’t cast anything, not even a spark.” His voice was subdued, laced with frustration. “I thought maybe there was some weird interference or the thugs had magic of their own. But… no. It was all us.”
Petros nodded grimly, fingers knotting together in his lap. “We panicked. Got so scared we couldn’t concentrate. That’s what blocked our magic.”
Jack winced at the memory of lying helpless, arms pinned behind him. “Hard to believe a bunch of low-level crooks did that. We’ve dealt with goblins and boars, for crying out loud.”
Petros rubbed his shoulder, still tender from the earlier manhandling. “We forgot how to fight without spells. And when magic failed—because we failed ourselves—there was nothing left.”
Jack forced a wry smile. “Not that I had real combat skills in the real—uh, the real world—before this. I always joked about wanting to level up my swordsmanship… guess I got my chance.”
Silence settled like a shroud. Finally, Jack pushed himself upright and plopped onto the bed beside Petros. “First things first,” he said, extending his hand. “We need to patch ourselves up.”
With a faint nod, Petros clasped Jack’s hand, closing his eyes. He could almost feel the coiling fear threatening to unravel his concentration. Push past it, he told himself. A soft glow flickered between their palms, warmth seeping into Jack’s bruised ribs. The pain receded like a tide, leaving only a dull ache. Petros then turned the healing toward his own shoulder, relieving the lingering strain of a near-dislocation.
“Feels better,” Petros said, flexing his arm. A thin sheen of sweat dotted his brow; his magic felt more draining than usual.
Jack sighed in relief, leaning his head against the wall. “We’ll get there,” he affirmed quietly. “It’ll take time, but it’s a start.”
Petros fiddled with the band of rope burns around his wrist, his expression pensive. “What if we can’t get past this? What if we freeze up again next time?”
Jack met his gaze, resolve flickering in his eyes. “Then we keep practicing until we don’t. Fear was the real enemy. We got spooked, thought we might actually die… and everything crumbled.” He grimaced, recalling the terrifying moment of panic. “But the more we treat this like a game—like we can learn from each defeat—the less we’ll freeze.”
A smile flickered at Petros’s lips, though sorrow still clung at the edges. “A game. Right.” He hesitated, then forced a nod. “We need to level ourselves up. No more half-measures.”
Jack nodded with renewed conviction. “Exactly. This world might be insanely realistic, but deep down, I’m sure we can push through if we keep that ‘player’ mindset. We’ll systematically train. We’ll figure out non-magical fighting, too.”
Petros’s lips twitched with the ghost of a grin. “What, like practicing bo staff spins or knife throws behind the tavern?”
“Why not?” Jack said, straightening, a spark of enthusiasm returning. “Better that than relying solely on lightning and healing. Because if we choke on casting again, we won’t be so defenseless.”
The room was still as they paused, letting the tension drain. Rain-scented wind seeped through a gap in the shutters, rattling them gently. Outside, the hush of midnight reigned, broken only by distant scuffling or a stray cat in the alley.
“Starting tomorrow,” Jack declared, exhaling slowly. “We train every day. Physical drills, mental focus, everything. We can’t afford another fiasco like tonight.”
“Agreed,” Petros said firmly. “No more illusions of invincibility. No more easy defeats.”
They prepared for bed in hushed movements, unlacing boots and checking their pouches to confirm no items were missing. Amazingly, everything remained intact—the highwaymen had learned nothing of the pouches’ hidden properties.
“We got lucky,” Jack murmured, sliding under the threadbare blanket. “Next time, we might not. I don’t want to test the respawn system in the beta game; they may only give us one life.”
Petros blew out a small candle on the table, enveloping the room in near darkness. “Then we make sure there isn’t a next time.”
The silent weight of his words lingered in the gloom. Despite the fatigue gnawing at them, sleep came slowly, haunted by images of ropes, mocking laughter, and the cold flash of moonlight on steel. But beneath those fears lay a flicker of hope: they had survived. And survival meant another chance to grow stronger.
The morning sun had just peeked above the rooftops when Jack and Petros made their way down the narrow street, the faint aroma of woodsmoke and fresh baking bread drifting through Pendle Village. The Boar & Brew was already abuzz with early risers—a mix of farmers, travelers, and a few bleary-eyed patrons still nursing last night’s ale. Their low chatter mingled with the clink of mugs and rattling plates.
At a corner table, Gondel lounged, steaming mug in hand. His tattered robes looked even worse than the night before—like he’d spent hours pacing, picking at frayed edges. Yet the old wizard’s eyes brightened at the sight of Jack and Petros, though whether from genuine warmth or eagerness for company, Jack couldn’t tell.
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
Petros, sporting a small, hopeful smile, waved as they slid into chairs across from Gondel.
“Morning,” Jack said, nodding toward the wizard’s mug. “Tea, I hope?”
Gondel chuckled, tapping the rim. “Tea for me, yes.”
Jack caught Petros’s eye, relief passing between them as they recalled last night’s fiasco. Just then, Raven approached, an apron dusted with flour hanging from her waist and the same no-nonsense expression etched on her features.
“Tea and breakfast?” she asked, her tone brisk.
“Please,” Jack said. “And, um, something hearty if you have it.”
She gave a curt nod, disappearing into the kitchen. Jack leaned forward, elbows on the table. “We’ve decided we want to start training our magic today,” he said, voice dropping slightly. “We, uh, had an… incident last night that brought us down a peg. We realized we’re not as prepared as we thought.”
Petros bobbed his head, expression earnest. “We need more than spells, too—some melee training, physical drills, that sort of thing.” He demonstrated a few half-hearted chopping motions in the air, prompting a raised eyebrow from Gondel.
Gondel stroked his tangled beard, gaze distant. “Before the Great Cutoff, Aerothane was rife with monsters and magical creatures,” he said, voice carrying a wistful tinge. “The land was teeming with spells and arcane secrets. But when we severed ourselves from the Source, it all but vanished. Some claim creatures still lurk in the Dark Woods, but few dare to go there—and fewer return.”
Jack exchanged a look with Petros. “We ran into some goblins on the road in. Do those count as… monsters?”
At this, Gondel froze, mug hovering near his lips. His fingers clenched around the handle, knuckles whitening. “Are you certain?” he asked, a tremor underlying the low tone.
“Pretty sure,” Jack replied, trying for nonchalance. “We took them out. No big deal, right?” He decided not to mention the nearly dying several times part.
The wizard set his mug down with a clink, lines of worry etching his face. “By the gods,” he murmured. “First two newcomers wielding magic, and now rumors of goblins returning… This is troubling.”
Petros shifted uncomfortably, about to speak when Raven returned, balancing two steaming bowls of meat and fresh mugs of tea. She set them down with practiced ease. Her eyes flicked to Petros, and for a fleeting moment, a trace of softness touched her otherwise stern face. Petros quickly looked away, cheeks warming, as Jack smothered a grin.
The momentary distraction pulled Gondel from his reverie. He exhaled, focusing on Jack and Petros again. “Yes, yes. We’ll need to train you both properly. I tried… well, I was up most of the night attempting to reconnect with my own magic.” His voice dropped. “No luck, of course. The Source is still beyond my grasp.”
An awkward silence lingered. Jack and Petros dug into their breakfast, minds spinning with half-formed words of sympathy. Finally, Jack cleared his throat. “We need more gear too. We’re picking up new clothes from the tailor, but we’ll need a staff or knives for close combat.”
Gondel twirled a frayed thread from his robe, face thoughtful. “Henry at the blacksmith can sell you some blades. As for a staff…” He paused, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smile. “We’ll gather materials ourselves in the woods. Better to create your own staff, one that resonates with your magic and style.”
Jack found himself genuinely intrigued. “A custom staff, huh?”
“Precisely,” Gondel confirmed. “We’ll head out after you finish your errands. Meet me outside the tavern by midmorning.”
Draining the last of his tea, Jack rose, motioning for Petros to follow. “C’mon, kid. We’ve got a date with the tailor.”
Petros practically jumped to his feet, a wave of enthusiasm shining in his eyes—though he still cast a shy glance toward Raven before trailing after Jack. The morning sunshine greeted them as they stepped outside, the village streets gradually coming alive. Clanging metal from the blacksmith, merchants calling out prices for produce—Pendle bustled with its own brand of quiet energy.
Despite the lingering sting from last night’s defeat, Jack felt a spark of optimism. They had a plan: get better gear, train with Gondel, and refine their magic so it wouldn’t fail them again. Perhaps that would be enough.
“You feeling okay?” Jack asked gently, noticing Petros rubbing his shoulder.
The boy offered a small smile. “Better than last night, that’s for sure. We can do this, right?”
Jack nodded, steeling himself against the uncertainty of a world that kept proving more real than he wanted to admit. “We can. One step at a time.”
With that, they headed toward the tailor’s shop, the morning sun bright on their faces, each footstep carrying them closer to the next phase of their journey—a path that promised challenges, but also the potential for them to truly come into their own.
The morning light was soft, painting the narrow streets of Pendle Village in gentle gold as Jack and Petros stepped out of the Boar & Brew. A faint coolness lingered in the air, accompanied by the warm, yeasty aroma of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery. Merchants bustled about, setting up stalls for the day’s trade, while townsfolk emerged from their homes, yawning off the last of the night.
Just as they were about to set off toward the tailor’s shop, both felt a synchronized vibration emanate from their respective journals. Exchanging a curious glance, Jack retrieved his, flipping through the pages until he found the latest update:
Quest Updated: “Sober Up the Wizard”
New Objective: Train with Gondel to hone your magical abilities and prepare for the challenges ahead.
Reward: Increased proficiency in magic, potential new skills.
Petros glanced at his own, a smile tugging at his lips. “Looks like we’re on track,” he said, sliding the journal safely into his pouch.
“Yeah,” Jack replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Let’s just hope Gondel’s as good a teacher as he is a drinker.”
They headed deeper into the village, the cobblestone underfoot still damp with morning dew. Before long, they arrived at a modest building marked by a faded sign of a spool of thread. The wooden sign creaked as it swayed in a light breeze.
Inside, the air smelled of fresh fabric and dye. Bolts of cloth lined the walls, and several mannequins displayed finished garments—tunics, cloaks, and trousers of varying styles. A woman in her late thirties, her auburn hair pulled into a practical braid, paused her measuring of a deep blue cloth to greet them.
“Morning,” she said with a polite nod. “I’m Mara. Can I help you?”
Jack offered a friendly grin. “We’re here for the clothes we ordered yesterday—my name’s Jack, this is Petros.”
Recognition brightened Mara’s eyes, and she set aside the cloth. “Ah, yes. One moment.” She disappeared into a back room, returning shortly with two neatly bundled stacks of clothing. “New trousers and tunics, as requested,” she announced, holding them out. “And a pair of boots for the master.” She finished looking down on Jack’s sandals.
Jack accepted the bundles and handed Petros his. “Thanks, Mara. They look great,” he said, admiring the sturdy stitching.
Her professional composure softened into a small smile. “If you need boots, cloaks, or custom orders, just let me know.”
After exchanging coins—wincing at the diminishing clink of their purse—they headed out. Petros glanced over his shoulder as they left. “She seemed nice,” he remarked, cradling the folded garments under his arm. “And really good at her work.”
The ring of hammer on steel guided them to a squat building near the edge of town, smoke billowing from a tall chimney. Inside, the heat enveloped them like a furnace, the air thick with the smell of coal and molten metal. A burly man, his face and arms coated in soot, glanced up from the anvil.
“Must be Henry,” Jack surmised, raising his voice over the clang of metal.
The blacksmith set down his hammer, wiping his brow. “Aye, that’s me. Looking for something particular?”
“Daggers,” Jack replied, stepping closer to the racks of finished work. “Light, sturdy, not too expensive.”
Henry’s calloused hands reached for a pair of sleek daggers gleaming in the forge’s glow. “These are balanced and reliable,” he said, pride evident in his tone. “Twenty silver each.”
Petros whistled softly, eyes widening. “That’s, uh, steeper than we expected.”
While Jack tried to haggle, Petros drifted to a nearby weapon rack. A newly forged sword caught his eye—its blade elegantly tapered, the hilt wrapped in dark leather. He trailed a finger along the metal’s flawless surface. “Wow,” he muttered under his breath, transfixed by its craftsmanship.
Henry followed his gaze and nodded. “That one took three days’ hard work. Commissioned by a traveler, so it’s not for sale.”
Petros exhaled, stepping back reluctantly. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured.
Jack appeared, patting Petros’s shoulder. “Maybe someday. Right now, we’ll have to pass on the daggers, Henry. Don’t have enough coin just yet.”
Henry shrugged, a note of sympathy softening his gruff manner. “I’ll keep some aside if you change your mind—but good steel goes fast.” He pointed a thick finger at them. “Don’t wait too long.”
Stepping back into the open air, Jack shifted the bundle of new clothes under one arm. “We’re practically broke,” he admitted. “If we want gear, we need more coin.”
“Maybe we could, I don’t know, hunt monsters for loot?” Petros suggested earnestly, recalling how they’d scored coins and items from goblins. “It’s a risk, but better than letting ourselves get mugged again.”
Jack smirked, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “That’s the spirit: we get paid to rid the land of pests, and we ‘level up’ in the process.” He tapped his temple, eyes gleaming with determination. “It’s a classic win-win scenario.”
Petros nodded, face serious. “And hey, maybe we can find easier beasts than goblins to practice on.” He paused, a hint of nerves creeping into his voice. “But after last night, I realize how shaky our teamwork can be if we panic.”
Jack grimaced, the memory of ropes and mocking laughter still fresh. “We won’t repeat that. We’ll train with Gondel, maybe pick up some close-range combat skills—and then see how we fare against actual monsters.”
They walked toward the village square, passing vendors setting up stalls of produce and trinkets. The hum of commerce filled the air—farmers exchanging coin, children chasing each other in dusty alleyways, traveling peddlers hawking wares from wagons. Amid this bustle, Jack and Petros felt a renewed sense of purpose.
“At least we have decent clothes now,” Petros said, glancing at the newly purchased tunics folded under his arm. “No more looking like ragtag refugees.”
Jack chuckled. “We might still be ragtag, but at least we’ll look the part of adventurers.” He flexed an arm playfully. “We’ll make do until we can afford actual armor and daggers.”
They paused for a moment by a notice board, scanning for bounties or jobs that might lead to quick coin. Most were mundane tasks—hauling supplies, escorting a merchant, or picking up farmland chores. Nothing overtly related to monster hunting, but it gave them ideas.
“We’ll figure something out,” Jack said, turning away from the board. “Let’s meet Gondel at midmorning, see what he’s got in mind for training.”
Petros nodded, clutching his new clothes a bit tighter. “Yeah. Feels good to be… you know, proactive.”
Jack’s grin grew, stepping forward with renewed energy. “Proactive. I like it.” His gaze flicked briefly across the tavern’s sign in the distance. “And with any luck, we’ll soon graduate from novices who get tied up by random thugs to real adventurers.”
Though the path ahead was uncertain, the weight of their plan—train harder, gather resources, learn from Gondel—kept them moving forward. And for Jack, at least, the day’s fresh start felt brimming with possibility… no matter how dangerous the next challenge might prove to be.
Jack and Petros returned to their tiny rented room at the Boar & Brew, new garments tucked under their arms. The warmth of midday light streamed through the single window, illuminating the humble space with soft gold. Dropping their recent purchases on the bed, they examined each piece like eager kids on Christmas morning.
Jack lifted a sturdy pair of reinforced trousers, running his hand over the thick seams at the knees. “Now this is an upgrade,” he remarked with a grin. “Mara really outdid herself.”
Petros, meanwhile, laid out his own set—a pair of trousers, tunics, and a neatly woven belt. He gave the belt an experimental tug, pleased with its durability. “Way better than wearing ragged scraps,” he agreed, smiling appreciatively.
They changed into their new outfits, each piece fitting snugly but comfortably. Jack pulled on new boots, stomping them against the floorboards to break in the soles. “Feels good to not be half-barefoot,” he joked, flexing his toes.
Petros admired the tunic, which draped perfectly over his leaner frame. “You think we look like real adventurers yet?” he asked a playful note in his voice.
Jack glanced at his reflection in the room’s small, dusty mirror. “We’re one step closer, I guess.” He leaned over, rummaging in his pouch. Amazingly, it still held all their gear—journals, coins, and the worn skill book—despite its modest size. “These bag-of-holding deals are a lifesaver,” he muttered.
Exiting their room, they found Gondel waiting by the tavern entrance, walking stick in hand. He gave them an approving once-over, eyes lingering on Jack’s polished boots and Petros’s well-fitted tunic.
“Well, don’t you both look proper now?” the wizard said, voice laced with dry amusement. “Ready to begin?”
Jack and Petros exchanged nods, each brimming with a cautious determination. “Lead the way,” Jack said.
They followed Gondel beyond the village gates, the morning sun casting long shadows along the dirt road. Once they were a fair distance from Pendle, Gondel halted and turned to them. “Jack, I want you to venture into the woods and find a branch suitable for a staff. About your height, sturdy, straight. You’ll know it when you hold it.”
Jack frowned slightly. “We’re splitting up?”
Gondel nodded. “Petros has another task. Trust me; it’s necessary.” He stabbed the base of his walking stick against the dirt. “Go on. We’ll regroup here when you’re done.”
Though reluctant, Jack sighed. “Alright, just… don’t get into trouble without me.” He cast Petros a brief grin, then vanished among the trees, footsteps crunching over fallen leaves.
Left behind with Petros, Gondel turned down the main road, ignoring Petros’s questioning look. They walked in silence until the wizard led them onto a barely visible dirt path. Overhanging branches made the trail dim, but after a few minutes, Petros spotted a small, weathered house tucked into a clearing.
“What is this place?” Petros asked, lowering his voice.
Gondel offered no direct answer. He knocked gently on the door. After a moment, it creaked open, revealing an old woman with silver-white hair and eyes brimming with worry. She glanced from Gondel to Petros, hope and dread mingling on her lined face.
“This is Petros,” Gondel said softly. “He’s here to help.”
The old woman nodded, stepping aside. The interior was dim and spare, carrying a faint mustiness of disuse. Petros’s attention snagged on a small side room where three low cots were arranged. On them lay two children and a woman—presumably the old woman’s daughter—but Gondel guided Petros to the smallest figure, a girl of no more than five.
Petros’s stomach clenched at the sight. The child was pale, her tiny form wracked with red sores. Her breathing was so shallow he feared she might have already passed. The old woman’s voice broke as she stood at the threshold, wringing a handkerchief in trembling hands.
“She won’t last the hour,” she choked out. “The illness… it took her father, and now it’s taking them.”
Tears stung the corners of Petros’s eyes as he stepped closer to the cot. He’d never witnessed such a dire condition, and dread pooled in his gut. He turned to Gondel, voice shaking. “What do I do? I’m no master healer—I’m not even sure my magic can fix something like this.”
Gondel placed a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You have a gift, lad—one I’ve never seen before. If anyone can save her, it’s you.”
Petros knelt by the girl’s side, hands hovering over her frail body. Closing his eyes, he reached for the comforting warmth he’d called upon so many times to heal Jack’s bruises or minor scratches. Yet, this time, fear and doubt walled off that power. The soft glow flickered faintly, then faded as the girl’s breathing shuddered—and stopped.
“No!” Petros cried, leaning in. A wave of desperation surged through him. He pressed an ear to her chest, hearing only silence. “Come on!”
Gondel tried to pull him back. “She’s gone, lad. It’s too—”
“No!” Petros roared, jerking away. Without a second thought, he recalled a basic first-aid method from his old life. He positioned his hands on the girl’s chest and began CPR, pushing rhythmically. The old woman let out a startled gasp, and Gondel looked on in stunned disbelief.
“This is madness,” the wizard muttered, but he didn’t stop Petros.
Each compression hammered Petros’s own anxieties, the hush of the room pressing in. “Breathe,” he whispered, eyes stinging with tears. “Come on, breathe.”
Suddenly, the girl’s body spasmed, sucking in a ragged gulp of air. Petros wasted no time—he placed his glowing palms against her chest, ignoring the fatigue that threatened to drag him under. The healing aura blazed brighter than ever before, flooding the cramped space with a near-blinding light. The red sores on the girl’s skin receded, color blooming in her cheeks.
Petros felt his own strength slipping away, as though he were pouring out every last drop of magic he possessed. Yet he refused to stop until he felt the child’s heartbeat steady beneath his touch. Then everything went dark as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him.
When Petros regained consciousness, he found himself laid on a small pile of hay. The old woman hovered over him, pressing a cup of water to his lips. Gondel stood nearby, arms folded, staring at Petros with a mixture of awe and concern.
“You saved her,” the woman whispered, tears shining on her cheeks. “She’s alive. You truly saved my granddaughter.”
Petros struggled to sit up, every muscle aching. He glanced toward the cot, where the little girl now sat upright, bright-eyed and sipping broth from a wooden bowl. Relief surged within him like a tidal wave, and he sagged back in exhaustion.
Gondel stepped forward, voice hushed. “An extraordinary feat, lad. But power like that isn’t free. If you keep giving your all like this, it’ll consume you.”
Petros swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I… I understand,” he said, even though his mind still reeled from what had happened. He’d brought a child back from the brink of death—a feat beyond normal healing spells.
In that moment, he finally comprehended the weight of his abilities. Saving a life felt incredible, yet it reminded him of the fragile line between heroism and self-sacrifice.
Jack’s words echoed in his mind: We need to believe in ourselves, but fear keeps holding us back. Petros realized fear wasn’t just a barrier to magic—it was also a reminder that his gifts, if overused, might destroy him from within.
Congratulations you have leveled up