Part 1
— Hey, can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?
What happened? Why is everything swimming? I don't know where I am. I feel myself being rushed somewhere, fast, ruthlessly, as if I'm just cargo, not a person. There's something hard and squeaky beneath my body—a gurney—its wheels screeching sharply across the uneven floor. White, blinding ceiling lamps flash above me, blurring into one continuous, cutting streak, as if the world around me is losing its contours.
— Faster! The pressure is dropping! Where is the surgeon?! — I hear quick, sharp commands, voices full of panic and haste. They are muffled, distorted by masks, but there is no shadow of a doubt in them, only cold, professional determination. This is not the quiet, monotonous life I was used to, not the peaceful routine that consumed me for years. This is the chaos of action, a merciless whirlwind of life and death.
My breathing slows, becoming intermittent and shallow; it feels like I'm losing consciousness, slowly sinking into a cotton-like abyss. Is this how it all ends? Is this really the end? My whole life, so boring and predictable, will conclude here, on this squeaky gurney, among these rushing shadows?
— Does he have a ruptured spleen? Abdomen is rigid. Pulse is weak but stable. We need quick stabilization; preparing for the operating room!
I'm starting to remember what happened to me. It occurred instantly, without warning, like a sledgehammer hitting glass. I was sitting in the back seat of a taxi, gazing at the rain-soaked city, at the blurry lights of the streetlamps reflecting in the puddles. I was thinking about how my new book, which I had waited for so long, had finally arrived. About ordering new medication, the usual, daily kind. Ordinary, boring, routine thoughts, predicting nothing. And then—the roar. Not just a sound, but a whole-body tremor, the sensation that the world around me was ripped into pieces like old paper. And how did I not die instantly? Why am I still here, feeling pain, hearing voices?
— Give him the oxygen mask!
— Do you see what I'm showing? Can you speak?
How can I speak? I can't breathe normally; every movement of my chest responds with sharp pain. Words drown in the growing, suffocating drone that fills my consciousness. My vision narrows to a tiny, dark spot, and the world around me shrinks into unbearable nausea. I feel a damp, sticky pain in my side, pulsating in rhythm with my fading heart.
— Do you know where you are?!
Quiet! Why are you shouting so loud? My head is already splitting.
— Pressure is dropping, start the transfusion!
— Can you hear me? Do you remember your name?
In this moment, surrounded by all this furious energy, all this will to save, I feel complete, ironic helplessness. I, who for years dreamed of some kind of happy, full life, but was confined to a wheelchair, am now just a piece of flesh that others are trying to keep in this world, trying to return me to an existence I barely valued. And this ringing finally becomes unbearable, silencing all thoughts, all pain. I fall into the darkness, and this time, it feels final.
The voices recede with every second, becoming more indistinct, drifting away. I can no longer breathe; my lungs feel squeezed, blocking the air. The light drifts further and further from my eyes; I can see nothing but endless blackness. Am I dying? I haven't done so many things, haven't seen, felt, or experienced so much.
—…
— Elvarin, alasse, i'nion athrad ven.
I heard voices again. Quiet, melodic, completely unlike the ones I had heard before. Apparently, it's too early for me to die. Or are these pre-death hallucinations?
— Álavë leryë, menë terevá.
I slowly started to open my eyes. God, it's bright! The light hit my eyes directly, making me squint. Gradually, my vision returned to normal; the world once again took on clear contours. As soon as I opened my eyes, I saw a silver-haired man with a strange, soft smile. His face was pale and severe, with delicate, aristocratic features that seemed carved from stone. He was dressed in a simple but expensive cloak of dark silk, cinched at the waist with a leather belt and an intricate buckle. What was he doing here? This man said something in a melodic, guttural language that I had never known, but which sounded surprisingly pleasant:
— Ila i'hyll, qualta i'galad tîw hen úmienya.
Wait, where am I? I was just in a hospital, and this definitely doesn't look like an operating room. It was a small, dimly lit room made of stone and wood, with rough animal hides hanging on the walls where pictures usually belong. At the far end of the room was a small fireplace, and above it was something like a deer skull with huge, branching antlers. The room looked like it was taken straight from the Middle Ages, and even the wooden crib I was lying in looked like it was carved centuries ago.
So many questions. How did I end up here? Why am I alive if I almost died? Why is this strange man staring at me with such a fatherly smile?
I looked around. I was genuinely transported to another place, or maybe I'm just dreaming this in a death delirium, my brain generating the most unbelievable images. Judging by the surroundings, this is some variant of the Middle Ages, but the air is incredibly clean and smells of fresh wood. Next to me sat a girl. Her hair was the color of moonlight, shining like polished metal, cascading over her shoulders, shimmering in the light coming from a small window. It looked cool to the touch yet was soft and delicate like silk. How beautiful she was. Her eyes were the color of blue sapphire, so deep and bright you could drown in them, but for some reason, she looked very tired, exhaustion etched on her face.
I tried to speak, to ask questions, but I couldn't. Instead of coherent speech, only a loud, meaningless roar, full of infantile helplessness, escaped my mouth. When I tried to sit up, I looked at my hands… Why are they so tiny, so chubby, like a baby's?! This shock was far greater than any physical impact. My hands. My seemingly useless hands, which I had grown so used to, were now alien, infant hands.
It slowly began to dawn on me: too many coincidences, too many bizarre elements. It seems I didn't just survive; I found myself in a baby's body. What is this? Reincarnation? Nonsense, it must be a dream, the last, most absurd fantasy of a dying brain.
But if it's a dream, why does everything feel so vivid, so real? I can feel every rustle, every scent, every drop of warmth. I looked again at the occupants of the room: a man who looked about twenty-five and a girl, no older than twenty. She must be my mother, although she looks too young. The tall man next to her picked me up. I even squeaked a little from surprise, feeling his strong embrace. But he didn't seem to notice my astonishment, continuing to smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw tears welling up in his eyes, glistening on his pale face. He said something else to the girl, then carefully placed me in her arms and hurried out, practically running from the room.
Now I understood that this was not a dream; this was now my reality. The shock was absolute, all-consuming. I wasn't in the ICU. I wasn't in a coma that could explain the hallucinations. I wasn't in my old, broken body. Fate had given me a second chance, an opportunity to start over with a clean slate, in a new body that, to my amazement, turned out to be completely healthy. Well, since destiny decided to play such a trick on me, I'll use it. I will use this chance and begin a new life, full of possibilities I never had before.
Part 2
Several months passed. To my surprise, I quickly learned to walk, much faster than any ordinary child. My new body was an absolute shock, bordering on a physical miracle. It was small, helpless by adult standards, but incredibly flexible, capable of movements my past body could only dream of. My arms and legs, which were non-functional and atrophied in my past life, now twitched with uncontrolled force—but they moved! I can move them, I can feel them, I can control them. This is absolute freedom, which borders on physical terror, because I had never experienced anything like it. This is so unusual for me. In my past life, I was disabled from childhood, confined to a chair, so I never got to feel what it's like to move on my own feet, not in a wheelchair. Every step was a revelation, every movement a new opportunity. I could crawl, then stand, then walk, and then run. It was simultaneously strange and exhilarating.
I lived in a small village, in the suburbs of Lorelin. I had never heard of this city before, and this only confirmed my suspicions that I was in another world. Life here was quiet and peaceful, measured, unhurried, far from the hustle and bustle of the big cities of the past. My father, named Alak, constantly went into the city; he must work there, carrying out some important business. Elvarin, my mother's name, worked in the field near the house, although it was more of a small garden where they grew herbs and vegetables. I also have a sister named Lyra, 5 years older than me. The names here are quite unusual, melodic and beautiful. I also got a strange name—Eyron. It sounds good, but I had never heard such names before, which further emphasized the strangeness of this world.
Overall, I am content with life, although I sometimes miss my computer, the internet, and books in electronic format. But here, there is not only no computer but no electricity either, none of the familiar amenities of civilization. And what should I do here, besides crawling and exploring the world at an infant's level? I'm not even allowed outside alone, for fear of my safety. It was frustrating.
I am slowly mastering the local language. It sounds melodic, with soft vowels and guttural consonants. But it is unlike any of the European languages I knew, and the letters here are strange, ornate, although they remind me more of hieroglyphs than familiar letters. Perhaps I was reborn somewhere in Asia, where such a writing system is common? My past language skills help me grasp it intuitively.
In the evenings, my parents read me various fairy tales that are very different from those of my time. They read about all sorts of Orcs, Demons, and Underworld Elves. The story about the latter is quite interesting. It says that the Underworld Elves are a people of Elves who renounced their god, and 8,000 years ago under the patronage of Dardan, they started a great war. The truth is, they tell it as if it's absolute truth, constantly repeating how evil and vile these Elves are. Apparently, due to their lack of education, they believe in such legends—nothing surprising for those times when myths and folklore replace science.
The truth is, my parents have something unusual about their ears. When I was reborn, I didn't pay much attention to it, thinking it was just part of their appearance, but their ears are pointed, like an Elf's. When I looked at myself in the mirror in the bedroom, I saw the exact same ears. Was I reborn in another world where Elves exist? I immediately dismissed these thoughts as too fantastical, but the next event forced me to believe otherwise.
Part 3
It was raining. Slow, monotonous, but gradually intensifying. Elvarin was telling Lyra and me another fairy tale, sitting by the fireplace, which provided warmth and light. I looked out the window, at the streams of water running down the glass, and wondered if I could ever return to my own time, my own world. The rain intensified by the minute, turning into a real downpour. The trees and crops in the garden swayed under the gusting wind, which howled outside the window. The wind was so strong it felt like it would uproot all the trees, breaking them like matchsticks. In my past life, I also loved to sit by the window in my wheelchair and watch the rain, listening to its monotonous noise. But suddenly, a silhouette appeared near the neighboring house—no, two silhouettes. One was leaning on the shoulder of the other, barely moving his legs. And what were they doing outside in such a downpour, in such foul weather? While I was pondering this, I didn't notice how they started moving toward our house, slowly, with difficulty. Were they coming to us? What did they need here, in our small, cozy village? When they got closer, I could examine them. They were two light-haired men: one with long hair, the other with medium. The one leaning on the other looked wretched, as if he had survived something terrible. His hair was disheveled and covered in light soot, and his clothes were torn, apparently almost burned off. I also noticed that he could barely walk, moving with great difficulty, dragging his scorched legs with the help of the other man. When they reached the doorstep, I shouted as loud as a baby could:
— Mama, look!
— What is it, Eyron? — Elvarin turned, her gaze falling on the window.
— Someone came to our house!
As soon as I said that, there was a knock on the door, loud and persistent, drowning out the noise of the rain. Elvarin hastily got up from the chair and headed for the door. When she opened it, I could see how truly terrible the man in the torn clothes looked. He looked like he was at death's door, his face pale and contorted with pain. What had happened to put him in such a state that even the storm couldn't stop him?
While I was thinking, Elvarin hastily sat him on a chair in the hallway and began to examine him, her hands moving quickly and surely. The man who brought him began to explain that he had been struck by lightning. He was a tough cookie, surviving a direct lightning strike and remaining conscious. But why did he bring him here, to an ordinary house? Shouldn't he have been taken to a hospital first, where there are doctors and equipment?
After Elvarin finished her examination, she placed her hand on his head and closed her eyes. What was she doing? My heart raced. Her hand began to glow. Not like a cheap special effect from a video game, not like a light bulb, but with a pure, pulsating, gentle green light that filled the room. And the most incredible thing—his wounds began to close right before my eyes, as if they had never been there... What the hell? How is this possible? It contradicted all the laws of physics that I knew! Her hand glowed for a few seconds, and then something happened that I couldn't believe. His wounds began to close, his skin healed, and he started to regain consciousness, his breathing evening out. Soon there was not a single wound or scar on his body. Only his burnt clothes hinted at the terrible state he had been in a moment ago.
My jaw dropped as I watched this, my baby mouth open in complete amazement. I simply couldn't believe what was happening. The man was already standing on his own two feet, completely healed, thanked Elvarin, and paid her a few silver coins, after which he left, disappearing into the storm.
What does all this mean? Was this magic? Real, non-fictional magic from fantasy novels? If it wasn't, then how did he heal in a matter of seconds, as if nothing had happened? I refused to believe it until the very end, trying to find a rational explanation, but it seems this really is magic. If there is magic here, does that mean I was reborn in an entirely different world, not just a different time, but a different dimension? A world of sorcery, where the laws of nature work differently. Because of the resemblance of this world to the Middle Ages, I initially thought I was simply transported back in time. But it turns out everything is much more interesting, much more complex and amazing. If my mother can cast spells, does that mean I can too? This thought sparked a wave of pure, unconcealed delight in me. It looks like my new life will be much more interesting than I thought, much more interesting than the boring, predictable life of an invalid.
Part 4
A year passed. Elvarin was either in the kitchen, cooking, or working in the field, tending the garden beds. As I managed to find out, she is a Healer. Sometimes sick and wounded people came to us, and she healed them in a matter of moments, performing real miracles. Alak was also a Healer, but he worked in the city, in the local Healers' Guild, which is probably why he was often away from home. I had become quite proficient in the local language and even started speaking my first words, forming coherent sentences. My parents were very surprised when I started talking at such an early age, months or even a year ahead of my peers. They rejoiced and constantly talked about what a genius I would become, how smart I was. They just don't know that I am far from being a child, but an adult man trapped in a baby's body. I wonder how they would react if they knew that their little son was actually a thirty-year-old man who survived a car accident? But I think it will be better if they never find out; it would be too much of a shock for them.
I was even allowed to go outside, although only under the supervision of Elvarin or Lyra. And I wasn't allowed to move more than ten meters from the house. However, I can understand them; I'm only one year old and can't cope with all the dangers of the outside world on my own yet. When I went outside, I could properly look at the village I live in. It was an ordinary village with simple stone-and-wood houses, but they had a small peculiarity: there was a lot of greenery in the yard of every house: trees, flowers, bushes, and garden beds—everything was buried in greenery. Apparently, Elves love plants very much; it's part of their culture and way of life. I also learned that there are different kinds of Elves in this world. There are three types: ordinary, like me and my parents; Dark Elves, about whom not much was said; and Underworld Elves. But the latter are considered extinct, at least that's what Alak told me, although I wasn't sure about the veracity of all the legends.
There are also many other races here, such as Orcs, Demons, Humans, and Beastmen. I wish I could see what they look like, what their customs are, how they live. It would be incredibly interesting for a person coming from another world.
Since Elvarin was a Healer, I tried to ask her about the magic she possessed and its principles.
I chose a moment when Elvarin was tending to the garden bed, weeding, and Lyra was not home, having gone to play with friends. I had to play the role of the perfect curious one-year-old who had just learned to speak and was full of questions. I crawled towards her, trying to make my movements look as clumsy and natural as possible, but fast (inwardly I was glad that my new legs obeyed me at all and allowed me to move effortlessly).
I sat down next to her in the shade of a bush and, trying my best not to sound like a professor or doctor, began my interrogation.
— Ma-ma! — I dragged out the word, trying to sound cute and innocent. — And why... did your hand glow? How did that happen?
Elvarin put down her trowel and smiled at me, stroking my white hair, which was so soft.
— You mean when we helped that traveler? — she stroked my head, her eyes shining with kindness. — That, darling, is called magic. You'll learn more about it soon when you go to school. It's a big and amazing world.
— But... how? — I feigned sincere confusion, opening my eyes as wide as possible. — How did you do that? Is it like in Papa's fairy tales? Can you make fire? Like the monsters?
I frowned, hinting that this was all dangerous, frightening, and therefore even more interesting for a child. I needed her to reveal all the types of magic to me herself, unaware of my true goal.
Elvarin shook her head, her pointed ears twitching slightly as she smiled.
— No, no, Eyron. We are Healers. We heal, restore, and give life. Others use fire, those who choose the path of destruction. Our task is to give life, not take it.
— And other... other magics... exist? — I looked up at her, pretending to be terribly curious but not wanting to offend my mother. — Papa talked about the Underworld Elves. Do they use it?
I looked at her with wide-open eyes, feigning absolute childlike naivete, trying to hide my true interest.
— Of course, they do. Our world is full of magic, my light. There is destruction magic, like the fire you ask about, lightning, stones. There is teleportation magic, allowing travel over huge distances... And there is alteration magic. But all of this, Eyron, requires great power, which we call Mana. It is the energy that flows in every living creature and in the world itself.
She looked at me, seeking approval, trying to understand how well I was grasping the "big and important things." I nodded, indicating that I understood.
— And do I have... Mana?
I was waiting for this question; it was key. I needed her to explain genetic predisposition and the potential inherited from one's lineage.
— Of course, you do. You are our son. It's like water in a spring that flows in each of us. And since your father and I are strong mages, you will surely receive a large reserve, perhaps even larger than ours. But it is a long journey, little one. You simply don't know how to direct it, how to control it yet.
I burrowed my face into her dress, hiding a triumphant smirk. "A large reserve," you say? Excellent. That means I have a chance to master that cursed, yet so interesting, destruction magic. And for now... I need to learn more.
— Mama... why can only Elves heal? — I asked, rubbing my cheek lightly against her soft fabric. — Humans... can't they?
Elvarin put down her trowel again and took me onto her lap. Her delicate, aristocratic features softened as she looked at me.
— My little clever one! All sentient races can wield magic, Eyron. But it depends on how many magical particles nature placed in their body at birth. We, the children of nature, — she lightly touched her pointed ears, — receive the most. We are the most gifted. That is why there are so many Healers and great mages among Elves.
— And others? Why... can only Elves heal? Can't Humans?
— Of course, they can! Humans are a very strong race; they come right after us in terms of giftedness! It's just harder for them than for us. They have little of this Mana, — she pronounced the word with slight superiority, — and they need to train more. Look here:
Elvarin raised her finger like a teacher.
— When you learn a spell, you recite an incantation—it helps Mana take the desired form, like a cookie cutter, directing its energy along the right channel. But true mastery is silent magic.
— And what is that?
— That's when you can create a spell with thought alone, without words, without a single sound. It's not easy; it requires enormous concentration and control. Only those with good magical potential and an iron will can learn it. First, you recite the spell to feel it, to understand its essence. And then, after long training, you learn to skip the words and do it only with will, with pure thought.
I nodded, committing it to memory. So, silent magic is a sign of true talent that needs to be developed through hard work. That's good. Even if I wasn't blessed with a pure Mana reserve, I can compensate with discipline and intellect, which, as an adult, were much better developed in me than in an ordinary child.
— So, if I train a lot, can I cast spells silently?
— If you have the potential, you can! And you definitely have it; I can feel it. Look, your sister Lyra has already started learning it, though with difficulty! And you, you will be even better, I'm sure.
I clenched my fists, internally rejoicing but maintaining my composure outwardly. Healing, healing, only healing! That was her path. But my path could be different.
— And why... won't Papa teach me fire? I want to be strong to protect you! — I made the most serious face, trying to look like a young knight full of noble intentions.
— Your Papa does wield fire, true. But you must understand, Eyron, that we need to be very careful with the choice of element. If the line is strong in healing, then your talent will lie there, in healing. If you spend your Mana on someone else's, destructive magic, then your main strength, healing, will not develop properly. This is very important. Our path is the path of life, my little Elf. We bring light and healing.
I sighed deeply, understanding that I couldn't push further. She had given me all the necessary theory and the layout of power in this world, and that was the most important thing.
— I promise, Mama, — I mumbled, trying to look obedient and compliant. — I will study... healing.
Part 5
Three years and a little more have passed since I was reborn in this amazing world. During this time, I completely mastered walking and even running; my movements were coordinated and confident. Now I was allowed to go farther than the doorstep to play with the neighboring children. But I wasn't interested in that at all. After all, I'm not a child, so I started learning to read the Elven language to master spells and delve deeper into magic. The letters and grammar were very complex and ornate, but in my past life, I knew four languages, so I was able to learn even such a difficult language quite quickly. My parents often praised me and constantly told Lyra to follow my example, seeing how quickly I mastered literacy. Lyra was not as successful in her studies as I, and so she was constantly offended when I was held up as an example to her. I even felt sorry for her; my parents don't know that I am actually over thirty, and my academic success is explained by the vast experience from my past life. Lyra didn't have that experience; she was growing up as an ordinary child without any special talents or hidden knowledge.
But despite this, she treated me well; I would even say kindly. She looked after me when our parents were away, played with me, read me books, and taught me literacy. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have learned the language so quickly. She recently entered the magic school, so she can read and write quite well, though not with the same fervor as me.
After I managed to learn to read, I asked my sister to teach me magic. This was my main priority.
— Lyra, please, can you teach me how to cast spells? — I looked up at her with the most pleading expression I could muster.
She looked at me with a surprised gaze, then sighed and told me:
— Eyron, you are still too young for magic. When you turn five, they will send you to the magic school. That's where you'll learn to cast spells. That is the standard age for starting lessons.
— But please, sister, I already know how to read, and waiting until I turn five is too long. I'm so curious!
I tried to put on a pleading look, as if I were about to cry, although inside I felt ridiculous. I imagine what it looks like from the outside: a thirty-year-old man making puppy eyes like a child to gain access to magic. But I hoped it would work; I was desperate to learn magic.
Lyra looked at me for a while, assessing my sincere (in her eyes) desire, then looked up thoughtfully. After a minute of deliberation, she replied:
— Well, alright then, I'll teach you a couple of simple spells. Only the easiest ones, understood?
— Hurray! Thank you, Lyra, you're the best sister! — I jumped with joy, almost losing my balance.
— Just don't tell our parents about it; it's too early for you to study magic. If they find out, they'll punish both of us.
— Okay, I won't tell them anything, I promise! — Sincerity was paramount.
Hurray, it worked! Finally, I would be able to feel what it's like to cast spells, to sense this mysterious energy.
After my words, Lyra stood up and went to another room. A few minutes later, she returned with a book. The book looked centuries old; its binding was worn, and the pages were yellowed with time. The book didn't look particularly large; perhaps there were only a couple of hundred pages. I realized it was a textbook with simple spells for beginner mages, a sort of magical primer.
Lyra sat down across from me; I sat on the floor, listening carefully to every word.
— So, let's start with the basics. Our entire world is made up of magical particles. Mountains, plants, animals, and us—we are all created from these particles. Magic is the manipulation of magical particles, their movement, and alteration.
So, these magical particles are something like atoms in my world, but with an added energetic component. Everything living and non-living consists of these particles, and mages can control them.
— Also, magic is divided into ranks. It's like steps on a very high ladder; each step is a new level of mastery.
She sat down on the floor across from me to be at eye level. I sat with the most focused look a child eager for knowledge could manage.
— There are six such steps in total, and they show how strong you are and how many spells you have mastered.
I listened, nodding actively. Hierarchies from my old MMORPGs immediately flashed through my mind, where each rank granted new abilities.
— The first step is Beginner. — Lyra raised one finger. — This is the very start, when you are just beginning your path as a mage. You only know the simplest spells. At this level, for example, you can heal a small cut or create a tiny fire spark to light a kindling. The second step is Intermediate. — She raised a second finger, and a proud expression appeared on her face. — This is already serious. You can quickly heal fractures or create more powerful fireballs that can scare a wolf. Our school is preparing us for this rank! You spend a lot of Mana, but the spells become useful. The third step is Advanced. — Lyra bent another finger. — This is the level my mother is at right now! An Advanced mage can heal serious wounds that would kill an ordinary person.
— And the rest? — I was eager to know everything.
— It gets harder after that. The fourth is Master. — Her voice lowered, becoming almost reverent. — This is my father's level. He can heal nearly fatal wounds and serve in the Royal Guard; his power is highly valued.
— And Expert and Legend? — I became truly curious. These names sounded like the pinnacle of power.
— Expert is the next step. Someone who can fight an entire squad alone or stop a small natural disaster. But the most interesting one is Legend. — Lyra looked at me with admiration in her eyes. — These are the greatest mages! They say only one in five thousand mages reaches this level! They can change the course of battles and create spells no one has ever seen; their power is almost equal to a god's.
— And what rank are you?
— I am currently at the Beginner level, but next year I will be studying Intermediate-level healing magic.
— And do you study other types of magic as well?
— Yes, but our school specializes in healing magic; we also study a little destruction and alteration magic. These are the foundations for everyone.
— And do you study teleportation magic?
— No, it is very complex, and it is studied in special academies; it requires a special talent.
— Lyra, will you teach me destruction magic? — I tried to move on to the most interesting topic as quickly as possible.
— Right now, we will only study healing; it is the most important thing for us. But maybe later, we will get to destruction magic if you study well.
— Please, Lyra! — I tried to mimic the childish plea again.
— No, either it's my way, or you wait and study magic at school. You choose.
She was so stubborn. Why the hell do I care about this healing? I want to create destructive spells, like in some MMORPG, crushing enemies and commanding the elements. Well, I don't really have a choice right now. Either I obey her, or I have to wait another year and a half. And I really didn't want to wait that long; I was burning with impatience.
— Fine, have it your way, — I agreed with a slight sigh.
— That's good, — she smiled, pleased with her victory. — When you recite a spell, you must visualize it in your head, picturing the result as clearly as possible. With healing, you must imagine yourself healing someone, seeing the wounds close. After that, you need to channel Mana into the limb you are going to use for healing and direct the flow of Mana where it is needed.
— So, I can cast spells with any limb? Even my foot?
— Yes, in theory. But no one uses magic with their feet; it's inconvenient and inefficient. Everyone usually casts spells using their hands; it's easier to control the flow.
If you can cast magic with any limb in this world, does that mean I can cast spells with a third leg? Okay, a silly idea, I probably won't check, but the thought was amusing.
— If you don't have any more questions, let's start. Read this spell aloud and channel the flow of Mana into your hand.
Lyra gave me the book and pointed to what I needed to read. I held the book in my right hand and extended my left, as she instructed. Okay, now I need to do what she said. Read the spell aloud, and while imagining myself healing someone, channel Mana into my free hand.
— May the pain depart like a shadow, may the illness vanish like smoke, may life return like the dawn, — I pronounced, feeling the words of the spell resonate within my body.
As soon as I started reading it, a slight tremor ran through my body, as if invisible energy began to move inside me. Then I tried to channel Mana into my right hand. And as soon as I did that, my hand began to glow with a soft, pleasant, light-green color. I feel it, I feel the Mana flowing into my hand, and then to my fingertips, filling them with energy. It was a pleasant, yet strange sensation, as if living light, not blood, was flowing through my veins. I channeled Mana into my hand for a few more seconds after reading the spell, maintaining the glow. But then my strength began to rapidly deplete, as if energy was being drained from me. Apparently, Mana was running out. I cut off the flow of Mana to my hand. Surprisingly, it was easy to do, as if I had just turned off a tap. When I finished, I noticed that I was slightly weakened, but I still had a lot of strength, or rather Mana, much more than I thought.
— Did I do it? — I asked Lyra, barely containing my excitement.
— Yes, you did! You're good! Now let's go outside and try to cast the healing spell silently.
We went outside. The weather was beautiful, the sun was shining brightly, and a light breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. Lyra walked up to a flower growing in our yard and slightly snapped its stem. Then she turned to me and said:
— Now try to heal this flower silently. Visualize the spell in your head, and channel the Mana.
I approached the flower. Pointing my right hand at it, I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. Okay, now I need to channel Mana into my hand and visualize myself healing this flower, seeing its stem mend. Nothing complicated, I thought, focusing completely, but something went wrong. The same tremor ran through my body as before, but now I couldn't channel it into my hand; it was stuck somewhere inside. What happened? Will I be unable to cast spells silently? I struggled next to the flower for about ten seconds, trying to channel Mana into my hand, but it was all fruitless. The flower remained broken, its snapped stem swaying in the wind.
— I can't do it, — I muttered, feeling frustrated.
— Try with both hands; it will be easier that way, — Lyra advised. — With two hands, the Mana flow is easier to control.
Will it really be easier with two hands? Well, I'll try. I stood by the flower again and extended both hands, concentrating Mana in them. Then I closed my eyes and visualized the spell, focusing on the image of the stem mending. After a couple of seconds, the same slight tremor appeared again. I tried to channel it into my hands, visualizing the spell as clearly as possible. In a moment, I felt the Mana smoothly flow into my hands, spreading through them. It flowed through my arms like blood in veins, and finally reached my fingers, filling them with energy. At the same time, I felt how quickly I was getting tired; my energy was being depleted. My head was starting to ache; I felt slightly dizzy. Is this normal? Is this the price of silent magic?
I stood motionless for about five seconds, channeling Mana constantly, trying to maintain concentration despite the increasing pain. When the headache intensified, becoming pulsating, I heard Lyra's words:
— You did it!
I slowly opened my eyes. The same flower was before me, but now it was not broken. Its stem was whole and undamaged, as if it had never been snapped. I did it?
— Hurray, I succeeded! — I couldn't contain the joy that filled me. That means I have a talent for magic, for silent magic! After the first failure, I panicked slightly, thinking I wouldn't be able to learn silent magic, but I did it, I succeeded!
After my success, I felt a strong weakness in my legs, as if they had turned to cotton, and then my eyes clouded over as if in a fog, and I collapsed onto the ground, falling into the welcome darkness.