Michael tried to turn in his sleep, but every inch of his body burned as if he was sleeping inside an inferno. Sweat slicked his skin. Panic clawed at his throat—what had happened to him? Why couldn't he move? Why was it so hot?
Someone, mum, help me!
He tried to speak, but only a dry, raspy croak escaped his lips.
"Mayor, I think he is awake."
Michael heard footsteps. "Hm, he is awake. But I don't believe he is lucid yet."
Through the haze of pain, he heard voices.
"Why are you taking care of him? He's a stranger. We need to help our people first, they are dying," a woman's voice bellowed.
"Like I said many times before, woman, he is a Mage. If we can bring him back, perhaps he can help us," a calmer voice of a man said.
Images flickered behind his eyelids—a woman with tear-streaked cheeks, a young boy with worry etched on his face, and an old man trying to soothe the woman and make her see sense.
"You want to rest the fate of the entire village on a maybe?" The woman scoffed.
"No. But you and I both know Liam cannot heal everyone. He is just a child," the old man said.
"He's 14. He is no longer a child!"
"Yet the burden of life and death should not fall upon someone so young."
"Then why are you making him heal this boy instead of people he knows?" The woman's voice rose a notch.
"Because he does not have enough Mana to heal them all. But Liam says this boy has a Mana so deep he could not even fathom its depths. Even if this boy cannot use healing magic himself, Liam can draw on his Mana to heal the villagers. Don't you think it's worth saving this boy's life? Besides, I would choose to save the boy even if he was a beggar. We do not abandon children in my village."
The woman's voice hardened. "What about my Sean? He is buried somewhere out there. What about him?"
A heavy sigh echoed in the room. "We will find a way to recover him."
"You don't know that," the woman choked out. "I'll find my son myself."
There were angry footsteps then, a slam resonated through the room.
"Curse it all! Why has Naika forsaken us?"
Michael tried to make sense of the conversation.
Were they talking about me? Michael thought, chuckling in his mind. Who is this Liam? Poor him.
Michael tried to move, but the pain that washed over his body made him cry out.
"Easy there, young one," the old voice said, a rough but cool hand on his forehead. "You've been through a lot. Just rest. Liam will take good care of you."
"Mother, is the food ready" Michael said, though whether it was in his dream or reality he didn't know. "I'm hungry."
"I won't go to school today. It hurts"
"Where are they? Mason and Madison? They promised to bring me a piece of watermelon from school. Liars. I'll never trust them again. They always do this to me."
"Mayor, what did he say?" A young voice said. "Did you understand him?"
"It's probably a fever dream, Liam."
With the thoughts of his family, Michael drifted to unconsciousness.
Michael woke to an ache spreading through his body that felt like his very bones were protesting, every muscle screaming in silent agony.
Blinking against the brightness filtering through the small window, he tried to piece together his surroundings. He was in a dimly lit room, resting in a bed, half-covered in bandages, with a boy he didn't recognize sitting next to the bed—eyes bloodshot.
He tried to piece together the fragments of his memory; a journey in tortuous rain, finding a village, a tremor, a deafening roar, the pain in the back of his head, then… nothing.
"Where am I?"
Hearing his voice, the boy sprang to his feet, knocking over a stool behind. "You're awake!" he exclaimed.
"How are you feeling? Where does it hurt the most?"
Michael blinked. "What? … I … Everywhere. It hurts everywhere. What happened to me? And who are you?"
"There was a landslide. We found you among the rubbles. You are lucky to be alive."
Of course, I remember now. I tried to fly away, but I was too slow. Something hit me from behind.
"How am I still alive?"
"I know a healing spell or two."
His words sank in, and Michael's heart fluttered with a mix of gratitude and excitement. "You know healing spells? Will you teach it to me? Thanks for saving my life. What's your name?"
"Whoa there, slow down. Let's get you back on your feet first. Then we can talk."
He introduced himself. "I am Liam."
Liam handed him a bowl of meat broth and a plate of bread and cheese. Michael devoured it in minutes. It was the best meal of his entire life.
"I do not have enough Mana to heal you, but if you can allow me to draw upon yours… It can be done."
Michael cocked his head. "Draw upon mine? How?"
Liam frowned. "What is your class and level?"
"Level 5 High Practitioner."
Liam's frown deepened. "With your Mana reserve I expected you to be at least a level 20 High Mage, if not more. How did your mana reserve get so large?"
"Lucky encounter, I guess?"
"Of course, your secrets are your own," Liam sighed. "Alright then, let's patch you up. You will feel me trying to pull mana from your Magicore. Do not resist it."
Michael nodded.
Immediately, Michael felt his Mana being taken away. It was his power, his Mana—he couldn't allow someone to just steal his mana. He had to stop it. He had to …
"Don't resist," Liam said. "This is for your own good."
Michael took in a deep breath, stifling his urge to stop Liam from pulling on his Mana.
"Good! You have incredible Mana."
Michael had expected the healing would be instantaneous, or at least the next thing to it. But even after an hour, the healing spell continued, and it still hasn't healed half his wounds.
"I didn't know the healing spells were this slow," Michael said.
Liam snorted. "What did you expect, I am just a level 3 Mage? Only Great Mages and above can heal wounds faster than they can blink. So don't complain."
"I wasn't complaining, just pondering," Michael said, flushing slightly.
Liam harrumphed. Clearly the other man didn't believe him, though he had told the truth. He had!
The door of the room flung open abruptly and a dishevelled woman with bloodshot eyes and clothes covered in drying mud strode into the room and grabbed Liam by both his shoulders, turning him around.
Another man walked into the room, carrying an unconscious boy covered in bloody wounds. The boy looked no older than Michael.
"Liam, I found my boy. Can you help him?"