Luke Chmilenko
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Starbreaker: Volume 2 - Chapter 23
🕑 Added 2024-12-13 17:00:02 +0000 UTC“Forging a weapon does not only require time with the hammer and flame, but also periods of cooling. Time in which the metal rests and recovers from the changes made to it. So to must it go with mages. The more that things change, the longer stabilization requires. The greater the change, the longer the delay. It is for this reason among others that rapid advancement is rarely advisable. Change heaped upon change can result in unforeseen mutation without time and temperance.”
—The Psychology of the Wizard, Remo Aurea
“What time is it?” Sylvas mumbled. His throat was still sore, which was unusual after a visit to the medical bay.
The half-elf stared down at him with utter dismay. “You lost an arm, and your head, and you are worried about the time?”
He tried to shrug but that set off a load of wards around him beeping. “Hell week.”
The medic pinched the bridge of her nose. “If I ever hear those words again, it will be too soon.”
“Time?” Sylvas tried again.
“It is midway through the day, but… Do not try to get up!” She slammed her hands onto Sylvas’ shoulders before he could budge.
“Is my head going to fall off if I move?” He tried to joke, but judging from the pain he’d just felt…
“The muscles are still stitching.”
He could feel them, it was less like an itch, and more like a massage when muscles were being regenerated, vibrations moving in waves as the tissue reached out to join up with the muscle strands growing from the other side. Strangely gentle until they connected and pulled themselves taut. Letting out a heavy breath, he braced himself for what was about to come.
Sinking into a chair beside his bed, out of sight, the medic spoke. “We had a conversation about what was going to happen the next time I saw you here.”
“You were going to recommend I undergo a psychological evaluation due to the number of times I have been injured.” At least she couldn’t see him rolling his eyes from where she was.
“Correct.”
Resisting the urge to turn and look at her was difficult, but the pain served as an ample reminder that it would be a bad idea. “I’ve already had one, courtesy of Instructor Aurea.”
There was a lull in the conversation that he assumed was surprise, then she asked, “And she found…”
Another inadvertent attempt at a shrug left him aching all the way down to his elbows. “Nothing wrong enough to pull me from duty.”
“That’s…. strange.” Was her rather disjointed observation. He assumed she was looking for the assessment in her files, and had no idea whether Aurea would have actually filed one or not, given how their conversation had ended.
“If it helps, I have reintegrated all the memories that I was repressing and have a better outlook on things after the psychological break that caused.”
“That…” She started in with her usual tone to tell him off then stalled out. “What?”
“Also, if you wanted to make sure that I never ended up injured again, you probably should have informed Instructor Vaelith, since she’s the one who did her best to make me a head shorter.”
Another silence, then the medic grumbled. “You’re still very flippant when you talk about near death experiences.”
It was enough to make Sylvas chuckle despite the pain. “Would you rather I cried?”
“No,” She sighed. “I’m aware that all of you macho soldier types would sooner die than let someone see you shed a tear.”
“Is she alright?”
“Instructor Vaelith underwent surgery for about four of the hours that you’ve been slowly regenerating. The arm was a simple enough fix, whatever you did inside her… that’s a very different matter.” Judging by her tone, it had been a harrowing experience. “Please don’t make me have to untangle anyone else’s spleen again.”
He forced a smile, and wondered just how powerful his newly focused gravity spike would actually turn out to be. “I’ll do my best.”
“I didn’t even know she could be hurt.” She let out a disgusted grunt. “Good job, I guess?”
She was in the Ardent, but didn’t approve of fighting. He wasn’t sure he’d ever understand her. He deflected with the usual casualness. “I still lost.”
She scoffed as she rose from her chair and headed back to her rounds. “To a fifth circle mage with a century of practice.”
“Excuses.” Sylvas wished that they’d propped him up before leaving him to heal, he could only just make out the top of the half-elf’s head now.
“Context.” She replied. “If you could already win every fight, they wouldn’t be training you, would they?”
“I…” Not so long ago he would have argued the point. Quoted some of the inspirational philosophical literature that the recruits were given to absorb about the balance of battle never being truly in your favor, and fighting on in the face of adversity, but he could recognize that not all words of wisdom were equally apt to every situation. “You are correct, of course. As always.”
She had a tight smile on her face as she left. “Damn right.”
“How much longer am I going to be…” She was already off with another patient.
Sylvas sighed, and went back to looking at the roof. Some tricky work with kinesis got his eye-slate back into place from where it had been left on the heap of other miscellaneous magical knick-knacks so the time wouldn’t be entirely wasted, and he wouldn’t be entirely bored.
There wouldn’t be any visitors today. Not on the last day of Hell Week. Everyone was too wrapped up in their own work to spare a thought for him. He hadn’t spared a thought for any of them either, it was just the nature of the intensity of the training they’d been going through.
After any normal injury Kaya or Gharia would have been there. Without fail. They had become people that he relied upon. Maybe not for help with his new surroundings like Bael, or with his work, but people that he relied on for some sense of stability in his life. Kaya would have cracked a joke, Gharia would have been oddly possessive and passive aggressive, and between the two he’d feel like this was just another normal loss.
The Ardent were not going to get rid of him. They weren’t going to toss him out just because he’d failed a test. He didn’t need to be the best to be safe.
Rationally, he knew all of those things, but it was harder to convince the cold knot in his stomach that it could untangle than it was to tell himself the same rational things again and again. He had failed other tests, he had been ranked as little more than middling since the cull, he had no reason to suspect that this particular failure would be the one too far. Regardless of what else happened, he had his affinity, and his power, and they could not take either from him. Even the artifacts that had been entrusted into his care weren’t outside his capability to reproduce at this point, given resources and time. There was nothing they could take from him that he couldn’t replace. There was a whole universe outside of the Ardent who would love to have him at their beck and call.
But like Kaya and Gharia, even if the Ardent was not always a kind and welcoming family, it was his now, and to be cast out would feel like being orphaned all over again. He had to start moving forward. He had to start pushing to become more powerful again. Everything Hell Week had put him through had honed what he already had at his disposal, but now he needed more.
With a few gentle touches of kinesis, he began searching through information about embodiments and paradigms that the gravity affinity mages of the past had used. What he was looking for may not have been in the archives of the Ardent, but he would go beyond that if he had to. There was something out there that would make him stronger. That would make his fourth circle the one to perfect him. There would be no dalliance with affinity testing this time around, he didn’t want a secondary affinity, and in his deepest places he knew that he wouldn’t find one anyway. His heart was a black hole, and it would have consumed anything else.
He was so focused on his advancement that he didn’t even notice the return of the medic, or the ending of the spell diligently stitching the nerves, arteries and muscles in his neck back together. She loudly cleared her throat, and he startled. “I’m done?”
“Are you seriously working while recovering from being decapitated?!” She didn’t even seem upset any more, just exasperated.
“I don’t like wasting time.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “The regeneration of your arm and… neck are complete. Take it easy on both for the next few days.”
“Yes, boss.” Sylvas sat up tentatively and was delighted to find that his lethal wound was nothing more than a gentle ache. He flexed his newly regrown hand, a little surprised at how different it felt. The old burn scar on his thumb was gone, along with the scratches and callouses he’d built up exercising over the past week. “The arm…”
The medic had already taken a step away but paused at his query. “You want to know if the scars on the other arm could be removed the same way? They can’t. They tried it. The scars there are more than skin deep.”
Sylvas blinked. “What does that mean?”
It was clear that the half-elf didn’t want to be having this conversation, even more than she didn’t want to have most of the conversations that they shared. “They grow back the same.”
Alarms rang in Sylvas’ mind. “Did they cut off my arm while I was sleeping?!”
“Some of it, certainly.” She replied without flinching. “But there wasn’t much left of it that wasn’t burnt up, so you didn’t lose much.”
Sylvas sat still for a moment, staring down at his spell-scarred arm. “Now I’m wondering how many spare limbs I’ve left scattered across the galaxy…”
“We incinerate our medical waste. So none.” The medic drifted off again.
“Strangely, not that comforting.” He called after her.
“You’re in the wrong place for comfort.” She shouted over her shoulder. “Now get out. I need that bed for the next idiot.”
