The village lies in an eerie stillness, the kind that follows calamity. Shadows of the tall trees press down on the rooftops, casting the village in perpetual twilight, even though it is midday. The forest that borders this place is known for its lurking dangers, but none expect the latest threat—a monstrous creature that poisons everything it touches.
Zen moves with calm precision, his hands glowing faintly with magic as he presses them against the chest of a sickened villager. A cool mist swirls from his fingertips, calming the fevered body beneath them. The villager's labored breathing eases, and the violent tremors wracking his frame soften.
Elysia stands nearby, watching intently. She mimics his motions, kneeling beside another villager, but her magic falters—her hands glow weakly, the healing light flickering like a dying ember. She can feel the weight of her inexperience, the pressure to help, to prove herself.
"Steady," Zen's voice breaks through the tension, calm and composed. He doesn't look at her as he speaks, but his presence alone grounds her, like the cool wind that sweeps across the clearing. "Focus on the root of the magic, not just the symptoms."
Elysia exhales slowly, trying to push aside her anxiety. She presses her hands more firmly on the villager's chest, focusing on channeling the healing energy. Her magic pulses brighter for a moment, and she feels a surge of hope.
But then something shifts. The villager's body convulses beneath her touch, his breath catching in a sudden, violent gasp. Panic surges through her as the glow from her hands flickers out entirely.
"No, no, no," she mutters under her breath, desperate to regain control. She can feel the magic slipping through her fingers, the antidote she has administered reacting with the poison in ways she hadn't expected.
Zen is at her side in an instant, his hand hovering over the villager's heart. His magic pours out effortlessly, a rush of cold air following it as frost begins to spread across the villager's skin. The reaction stills, the poison neutralized in an instant. Zen's eyes flick towards her, his expression unreadable.
"You're doing fine," he says, his voice as cool as the ice he wields. "But control is everything in healing."
Elysia bites her lip, frustration gnawing at her insides. It isn't the first time she has failed today. "I thought I had it…"
Zen's gaze softens, just for a moment. "You'll get there. Focus, and remember that magic is as much about understanding as it is about power. You're learning."
She nods, though a heavy sigh escapes her lips as she watches him work. Zen makes it look effortless. The way his magic intertwines with healing—there is no hesitation, no faltering. His presence radiates control and quiet strength, making it seem as though no problem is too great for him to handle.
She glances at the villagers, at their pale faces and shallow breaths. A wave of guilt washes over her. She is supposed to help them, yet all she has done is add to the burden.
Her gaze drifts back to Zen, who is already moving on to the next patient, his attention fully on the task at hand. She wonders how he can remain so composed, so unaffected by the gravity of the situation.
She kneels beside the next villager, her knees pressing into the soft earth as she gathers what little composure she has left. The scent of damp soil and sickness clings to the air. Zen is beside her, moving with practiced ease as he continues to heal those afflicted. She's supposed to be helping, but her earlier failure still stings, the memory weighing heavily on her mind.
She swallows hard, forcing herself to focus. This is why she's here—to learn, to become stronger. But standing in Zen's shadow, she feels painfully small, like an ember trying to burn in the presence of a roaring flame.
"Here," Zen says, handing her a vial of antidote. His fingers brush against hers for the briefest moment, cool and steady, grounding her in the present. "Try again."
She nods, her heart pounding in her chest as she takes the vial from him. The liquid inside is pale blue, swirling with a faint luminescence. She pours a few drops onto the lips of the unconscious villager before placing her hands over his chest, channeling her magic through her palms.
At first, nothing happens. She feels the warmth of her magic, the familiar sensation of energy coursing through her, but the villager's breathing remains shallow, unchanged. Panic flares up again, but she forces it down, focusing on Zen's words. Control is everything. She steadies her breath, willing her magic to flow more gently, more precisely.
Slowly, the villager's breathing begins to ease. His chest rises and falls more smoothly, igniting a flicker of hope in her heart. It's working. She's doing it.
But then, as quickly as it started, the connection slips. Her magic wavers, and the villager lets out a weak groan, his condition teetering on the edge of worsening again.
She freezes, unsure of what to do next. The fear of failing again paralyzes her, and her hands begin to tremble.
Zen is there, as always, his presence like a calm tide washing over her. He doesn't say anything this time, just places a hand on top of hers, his magic merging with hers in a seamless flow. The air around her chills as his ice magic integrates with the healing, stabilizing the villager's condition. The rise and fall of the villager's chest steadies once more, and she lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.
She glances up at Zen, her eyes meeting his. There's no judgment there, only quiet understanding. He lifts his hand from hers, the brief moment of connection fading as quickly as it came.
"You're getting better," he says softly, a rare note of encouragement in his voice. "Just take it one step at a time."
She nods, though self-doubt still lingers in her chest. But Zen's words hold weight. If he believes she can improve, then maybe… just maybe, she can.
As she watches him move on to the next patient, her thoughts drift again. Back to when it all began. Back to the first day she met him—the day everything changed.
— flashback —
It was raining the day she first arrived at Zen's home. Cold droplets cascaded from the sky in relentless sheets, soaking through her cloak and chilling she to the bone. Elysia stood at the edge of the property, staring at the modest cottage nestled between the ancient pines, its stone walls shrouded in mist. The path leading up to the door was overgrown with wild grass, and the faint light seeping through the windows felt like a distant promise of warmth.
She'd heard stories about Zen—stories that painted him as a reclusive, powerful mage with an icy demeanor to match his magic. But the Headmaster of Magical Bureau had assured her that there was no one better suited to teach her the art of healing. So, with a deep breath and her heart pounding in her chest, she had taken that first step towards his door.
The wood creaked under her knuckles as she knocked, the sound swallowed by the heavy rain. she waited, shivering, half expecting no one to answer. But then, the door swung open, and she found herself face to face with him.
Zen stood there, framed by the dim light of the cottage behind him. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his green eyes sharp and calculating as they assessed her. He wasn't what she had expected—there was a gentleness in his gaze, a quiet depth that belied the coldness of the stories. He looked at her like he was trying to see beyond the surface, as if he could sense the uncertainty that clung to her.
"You must be the apprentice they sent," he had said, his voice calm and even, though there was a hint of surprise in his tone.
Elysia nodded, too nervous to speak at first. The rain dripped from her cloak onto the stone steps, and she suddenly felt small, like an intruder in this quiet world he had created for himself.
"Come inside," he had said, stepping aside to let she in. "You'll catch her death out there."
She had stepped into the warmth of his home, the scent of herbs and parchment filling her senses. The cottage was cozy, filled with bookshelves that reached the ceiling, stacks of scrolls, and jars of strange ingredients. A small fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth seeping into her skin and slowly thawing the chill that had settled in her bones.
Zen watched Elysia for a moment before closing the door behind her. "I didn't expect anyone so soon," he admitted as he moved towards the hearth, stirring the pot of simmering stew that hung over the flames. "But I suppose I should have."
She had hesitated, unsure of where to stand or what to say. This wasn't exactly how she had imagined her first meeting. she had expected something grander, more formal—an imposing figure who would test her worth with harsh words and challenges. But Zen… he seemed almost human, a quiet presence that didn't demand anything from her.
He had glanced at her over his shoulder, noticing her discomfort. "you're welcome to sit by the fire. The journey must have been rough."
Elysia had found her voice then, though it was quiet. "Thank you."
That first evening passed in relative silence. Zen wasn't one for idle conversation, and she hadn't yet found the courage to ask the questions burning in her mind. But there was something comforting in the quiet—the way he moved through his home with ease, the steady rhythm of his breath, and the occasional glance he threw her way to ensure she was still there.
When the fire burned low and the rain outside turned to a gentle drizzle, Zen finally spoke again. "I'll teach you everything I know," he said, his tone as calm and certain as the steady beat of her heart. "But understand this—healing is not just about magic. It's about understanding people: their pain, their fears. It requires patience, control, and compassion."
Elysia nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle over her. There was a sincerity in his voice that made her believe him, that maybe, just maybe, she was in the right place.
That night, as she lay in the small room he had prepared for her, listening to the soft patter of rain against the roof, she couldn't help but feel a sense of quiet anticipation. This was the beginning of something new—a journey that would change her in ways she couldn't yet comprehend.
In that moment, as the fire's dying embers cast a faint glow on the walls, she felt a small spark of hope flicker to life inside her.
— End of Flashback —
The sun has begun its slow descent, casting long shadows over the village. The air is still, heavy with the scent of earth and lingering sickness, but there's a quietness now—a calm after the storm of healing. She wipes the sweat from her brow, her muscles aching with exhaustion, but the sight of the villagers resting peacefully brings a sense of relief.
Elysia and Zen are among the last to leave the village square, her footsteps the only sound cutting through the quiet evening. The weight of the day hangs on them both, but there's also a shared sense of accomplishment. The villagers will recover, and while it wasn't easy, she managed to help—really help.
Zen glances at her as she walks, his expression unreadable in the dim light. She has come to recognize that look—the one he wears when he's thinking, considering his next words carefully.
"You did well today," he says finally, his voice low but sincere.
She blinks, caught off guard by the unexpected praise. "I… thank you," she manages to say, her heart fluttering at the rare compliment. It isn't often that Zen offers praise so openly, and the fact that he's acknowledged her progress fills her with a quiet sense of pride.
He stops walking for a moment, turning to face her. "You've grown stronger," he continues, his gaze holding hers. "Your control is improving. But you need to trust yourself more. Your magic is as much a part of you as breathing—don't fight it."
His words settle into her chest, a mixture of warmth and reassurance. Trusting herself has always been the hardest part. But hearing him say it… it makes her believe that it's possible.
She nods slowly, absorbing his advice. "I'll try."
Zen's lips curve into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Good." He turns to continue walking, but his pace has slowed, and the silence between her feels less like a barrier and more like a comfortable pause.
As they near the edge of the village, the sky deepening into shades of amber and violet, Zen speaks again, his voice softer this time. "You've… changed since you first came to my place."
There's a pause, and for a moment, Elysia thinks he's going to say more, but he doesn't. The unspoken words hang in the air between them, filled with meaning she can't quite grasp yet. But it's enough—a subtle acknowledgment that things are different now, that something has shifted between them, even if neither is ready to name it.
For a moment, the two of them stand there in the fading light, the village behind them and the path ahead stretching out into the unknown. The silence is comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that has grown between them over the past few months.
And in that moment, standing beside Zen in the quiet of the evening, Elysia realizes just how much she has changed. The fear and uncertainty that once consumed her have lessened, replaced by something stronger—something deeper.
She glances at him again, taking in the familiar lines of his face, the way the fading light catches in his eyes. There's a part of her that wonders what he's thinking, what lies beneath the calm exterior he always wears. But she doesn't ask. Not yet. Instead, she lets the moment linger, savoring the quiet connection between them.
For now, this is enough.