Morgath sat on the edge of his bed, his body tense, his mind swirling with mixed emotions. The announcement of his discharge echoed ominously in his ears, but something had shifted within him. The newfound power of the true language stirred, a faint pulse of mana humming in the air around him. He could feel it now—really feel it. It was real. And despite the crushing news that he was being kicked out of rehab, Morgath had a quiet, hidden satisfaction blooming within him. He had achieved what no one here could see or comprehend. He wasn't just lying in this sterile room, crippled and broken. No, he was on the cusp of something far more significant.
They had no idea. He had found the key.
"Per Astra et Spi…" The words had almost left his lips. He had been so close. The true language had begun to take form, and with it, the mana around him had started to bend to his will. It was like discovering a secret note in the symphony of existence, a note only he could hear and now play.
He could heal himself. He was sure of it. The system hadn't lied, and he had felt the flicker of power stir within him. It wasn't fast or grand, but it was enough to show that he was on the right path. Morgath stared at his legs, still limp, still unresponsive, but for the first time since the accident, he didn't feel powerless.
Tomorrow morning. He had until tomorrow morning.
The hospital room was quiet now, the overhead light casting dull shadows on the pale walls. The hum of machines and the distant murmur of voices from the hallway were a soft background noise, but none of it mattered. His world had shrunk down to a single goal. He needed time—just enough time to solidify his understanding of the spell, to push it to completion.
He lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes, blocking out the sterile room around him. He needed focus. Morgath knew that in this critical moment, distractions could unravel everything. His breath slowed, each inhale and exhale calming the racing thoughts in his mind. He reached inward again, to that place where the language of mana waited, the true language that allowed him to command the world's very essence.
Focus, Morgath. Remember what you learned. Healing is both restoration and balance. Mana, life, energy—it all flows. It all follows the rhythm of nature.
He concentrated on the sensation of warmth he had felt earlier, that faint flicker of mana responding to his will. The image of his broken spine, the damaged nerves, floated into his mind. He didn't focus on the injury itself, but rather on what it should be. Whole. Restored. Repaired.
This time, he whispered the words again, letting the syllables roll off his tongue in a quiet chant. "Per Astra et Spiritus..." The power behind the words felt stronger, resonating deeper within him. Mana stirred in response, the air around him thickening, becoming charged with invisible energy. He could feel it gathering, waiting to be commanded.
Morgath visualized the mana flowing into him, surrounding the broken parts of his body, knitting them back together. The warmth grew, spreading from his core to his legs, his spine, his entire being. It wasn't fast, and it wasn't instant, but the process had begun. The spell, though incomplete, was working.
His breath hitched as a wave of exhaustion washed over him. He could feel the mana drain, feel it pulling from him in ways that were unfamiliar. His body wasn't used to this and his mind wasn't fully prepared for the toll it took, but he pushed on, determined to hold onto the thread of power he had found.
The minutes stretched into an eternity as he focused on the sensation, on the steady pull of mana into his damaged body. He could feel the smallest flicker of change—something that wasn't there before. A faint tingling in his toes. The barest hint of movement where there had been none for so long.
But then, just as he thought he might be getting somewhere, the door opened once more. The sharp click of shoes on the linoleum floor snapped Morgath out of his trance, his connection to the mana shattering like glass.
"Morgath?" Olivia's voice was soft but firm, her silhouette framed by the harsh light from the hallway.
He didn't respond immediately, his mind still reeling from the severed connection. He could almost feel the mana slipping away from him, fading back into the ether. The frustration hit him hard, but he forced himself to remain calm.
"Yes?" he finally answered, his voice hoarse with fatigue.
"I just wanted to remind you that you need to pack your things tonight," she said, her tone professional but carrying an undercurrent of sympathy. "You're being discharged tomorrow, and the paperwork will be ready in the morning."
Morgath nodded, not trusting himself to say more. What could he say? That he was moments away from unlocking the secrets of mana? That he was working on a spell that could change everything? She wouldn't understand. None of them would.
"Alright," he said after a long pause. "I'll be ready."
Olivia lingered for a moment, as if sensing the tension in the room. "Morgath, I know this isn't easy, but you've come a long way already. Leaving here doesn't mean it's the end of your recovery. There are other ways to keep improving, even outside of this facility."
He gave her a tight smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, thanks."
She hesitated, then gave a small nod before turning and leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
Morgath let out a long breath, the exhaustion from his earlier efforts catching up with him. He had tried, and while he had made progress, it wasn't enough. He needed more time.
His gaze drifted to the window, where the night sky stretched out endlessly beyond the glass. Stars twinkled faintly, distant and unreachable, yet somehow comforting. They reminded him that there was so much more out there, beyond this small room, beyond this broken body. His path wasn't over. It was just beginning.
He felt a flicker of determination flare up inside him. He wasn't defeated. Not yet. He had learned the first steps of the true language and had tasted the power of mana, and he would continue. Even if he had to leave this place, he wouldn't stop.
Tomorrow, he would walk—or rather, he would leave this rehab center as a different man. They wouldn't see it, not yet, but soon enough, they would understand. When he had full command of the true language, when his body was whole again, they would see just how wrong they had been to doubt him.
Morgath smiled to himself as he lay back down, closing his eyes. He needed rest now, but not because he was giving up. No, he needed rest because tomorrow marked the first step on a much larger journey.
A journey that he would face with a secret power burning inside him—a power that could change everything.
As the morning sun filtered through the window, Morgath sat in the wheelchair at the threshold of his room, a single bag dropped on his knees. The staff had been kind enough, their words of encouragement hollow in his ears. He nodded at Doctor Mason's parting words, gave Olivia a brief, polite smile, but his mind was already far beyond this place. This return to home would be the last time he used the wheelchair. When he finds himself in his parents' house, shielded from the eyes of other people, he will complete the incantation to fully heal himself. After that he can truly embark on his paft of cultivation.
Soon Morgath wheeled himself to the threshold of his hospital room, a solitary bag resting on his lap. The morning sun filtered through the window, casting soft light across the sterile, white walls. It was a new day, but it felt heavy with the weight of unspoken potential. His discharge paperwork was done, and the staff had offered him kind words, though he barely heard them. Doctor Mason's parting words of encouragement, Olivia's brief smile—they were all just noise in the background of his thoughts.
Morgath wasn't paying attention to any of it. His mind was elsewhere, fixed on what lay ahead. He had something they couldn't see, couldn't understand—a secret that set him apart. As far as they knew, he was just a man still trapped in a broken body, leaving the rehab center the same way he had arrived.
But they were wrong.
He glanced down at his legs, still limp, still unmoving. For now. By the time he arrived home, all of that would change. This wheelchair would be discarded. He had felt the power, tasted the mana's flow, and even though he hadn't fully completed the spell yet, he knew he was on the verge of a breakthrough. As soon as he was home, away from prying eyes, he would finish what he had started.
No one would stop him. Not anymore.
The trip back to his parents' house was uneventful, though Morgath's mind was a whirl of thoughts. He barely noticed the roads, the car ride, or the familiar sight of his childhood home as they pulled into the driveway. As soon as he entered the house his parents greeted him at the living room, but their expressions were far from welcoming.
"We don't understand, Morgath," his father said, his voice filled with frustration. His mother stood beside him, her face lined with worry. "You had the best care, the best facilities. What more could we have done? Why didn't you give it your all?"
His mother sighed. "We've been patient, but seeing you like this… If you won't fight for your recovery, what are we supposed to do? How can we help you if you won't help yourself?"
Morgath remained silent, his grip tightening on the arms of his wheelchair. Their words washed over him, but he didn't need to defend himself—not anymore. He didn't owe them an explanation. Soon enough, they'd understand. He'd show them. He would cast a spell and heal himself. He recalled that in their language it means:
"By the light of stars and breath of dawn,
I call upon the ancient bond.
Through earth, through air, through sky and sea,
Let life return and pain now flee.
With gentle winds and waters clear,
Mend the wound and calm the fear.
In radiant glow, may health arise,
Restore the body, soul, and eyes.
By magic's grace and power's might,
I summon healing, pure and bright."
Without a word, Morgath closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. He focused inward, feeling the familiar flicker of mana stirring in the air around him. Now he needed to cast this spell, but using the true language. This time, nothing would stop him. No more distractions.
"Per Astra et Spiritum aurorae,
Ita Quae Ligatus antiquus.
Per terram, per aerem, per caelum et mare,
Vim Vitae abeat dolor Fiat.
Cum ventis lenis et aquis claris,
Vitalyth vulnera et metus frangit.
In ardenti fulgore, Vitalyth surgat,
Restaurare corpus, animam, et oculos aperit.
Per Mystica Gratiae et Vim ardentem,
Vitalyth, pura et fulgens, Fiat."
The words left his lips, soft yet powerful. The air around him grew thick with energy, the mana responding to his command. He visualized his broken spine, the damaged nerves, the injuries that had kept him in this chair for so long. And with the true language, he directed the mana to heal, to restore what had been lost.
His parents' voices faltered as they watched him, unsure of what was happening.
Morgath felt the warmth again, spreading from his core down to his legs. It was stronger now, more vibrant. The tingling sensation returned, this time more pronounced. He could feel the mana working, knitting the broken pieces of him back together, mending what had been torn apart. His legs… they began to feel different, not quite healed, but almost there.
But then the familiar wave of exhaustion hit him—stronger than before. His existance wasn't ready for the full strain of the spell, not yet. He tried to hold on, to keep the incantation going, but the world around him started to blur. His vision darkened at the edges, the mana slipping from his grasp.
He gasped as his strength gave out. His body slumped forward, and in a sudden, uncontrolled motion, Morgath toppled out of his wheelchair. He hit the ground with a dull thud, the last of his energy fading away.
His parents rushed toward him, their voices panicked, but it was too late. Morgath's world spun as the darkness took him.
Just before consciousness slipped away entirely, the voice of the system echoed in his mind, calm and steady amidst the chaos.
[Proficiency of the Vitalyth spell increased to 24%.]
And then, there was only silence.