A chunk of rock enchanted with illumina, this world’s equivalent of a lamp, filled the ship’s cargo hold with light. Incandescent rays reflected off of all, including the cool and weighty pellet in Dimitry’s hand. Soon, the dark green metal would vanish, its power converted by a series of circuits and cores running through his body to cast invisall—the spell Ignacius asked him to use.

Dimitry winced at the thought. Although Ignacius’s treatments were working, his body was still in shambles. Purple vessels protruded all across his arms and chest with thick walls that radiated pain at the slightest touch, often keeping him awake at night. Abusing magic further wouldn’t improve his situation.

“Will you not accept gold instead?” Saphiria’s voice was soft after her collar’s removal. “I do not wish for my selfishness to hurt Arnest.”

The old wizard sitting across from them wore an expression that was somehow calm and excited. “You children worry too much. When I was younger, we did all sorts of crazy things with vol.”

To soothe a kindhearted girl and perhaps himself, Dimitry questioned Ignacius. “Are you sure I won’t die from this?”

“I’m right here. You’ll be fine. Last time, you suffered as much as you did because you didn’t receive treatment right away. There was a bit of a… misunderstanding. A well-timed relaxia and you’ll be fine. This isn’t my first time doing this.”

Although Ignacius resuscitated Dimitry before and was capable enough, doubts remained. “But you saw me use invisall last time. What value is there in you seeing it again?”

“Good question, my boy.” Ignacius fished for something in his robe’s pocket. “This time, I’ll be using revealia.”

Dimitry glanced at Saphiria, whose moist indigo eyes widened. She understood something he didn’t. “What difference does that make?” he asked.

“Have you ever wondered why your so-called ‘invisall’ hurts you so much?” the wizard asked.

He had. Whenever Dimitry used snoozia, he suffered far fewer side effects if any at all. Neither Saphiria nor Precious could tell him why. “Go on.”

“Revealia lets me see how vol moves through your body.” Ignacius continued to dig inside his robe. He looked up. “Little miss, I think I’m all out. Do you mind?”

Saphiria placed several pellets onto the cargo hold floor.

The old man reached for one. “Normally, it takes many years to learn to control your cores and circuits well enough to spread vol evenly throughout your body. You, my boy, are young and did so effortlessly while panicking. But that’s not the strangest thing. Somehow, despite your great skill, you’re hurting yourself.”

Feet numb from sitting in the same position, Dimitry put a knee up. Apparently, spells that affected the entire body were difficult to pull off. When he hid from the Crimson Knights, all he did was chant the word, and the rest took care of itself. At no point did he have to ‘control his circuits’. “Are you saying that I’m simultaneously good and bad at magic?”

“What I’m saying is that I have no idea what’s going on.” Ignacius combed his beard with wrinkly fingers. “I’ve raised and tutored three granddaughters who are almost your age now. All of them were promising students. Although I haven’t seen them in years, I doubt they can do what you did.”

Dimitry gripped the vol pellet tighter. “Would you be able to learn anything with revealia?”

“I don’t know.” The old man grinned as he placed the illumina lamp inside a crate, turning the room pitch black. “And that’s the exciting part. Ready?”

“Are you sure that you can prevent feedback with relaxia?”

“Sure am.”

Saphiria, a conduit for Precious, nodded to confirm Ignacius’s sincerity.

“In that case, I’m as ready as can be.” Dimitry steeled himself for the upcoming pain. Although risky, the potential to understand his magic was worth it.

The pellet disappeared from the old man’s hand.

Dozens of green glitters, like tiny stars, surrounded Dimitry. Each one’s light either intensified or abated, continually phasing in and out of existence in mid-air. It reminded him of the night of repentance. The only difference, however, was their smaller size and the fact that they gathered around the old man’s palm.

If he weren’t about to cast a painful spell, their beauty would have charmed Dimitry. They filled him with trepidation instead. “What are those?”

“These?” Ignacius lifted his arms, and the green ‘stars’ moved with them. “It’s exhaust. It appears wherever vol is used. Now quit dallying—revealia’s effects don’t last forever.”

Dimitry glanced at the pellet in his hand and inhaled deeply. “Invisall.”

The vol melted into his palm, burning through his arm, shoulder, and across his chest. He slammed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth to bear the pain. Just as circuits swelled out of his skin as if ready to burst, the building pressure dissipated, and a soothing calm took its place.

“Zera preserve me…” Ignacius mumbled.

He opened his eyes to discover an open-mouthed old man and a motionless Saphiria. They stared at the spot where his body vanished. “Why are you two looking at me like that?”

“Are you all right?” Saphiria asked. “Does it hurt?”

“It did for a moment, but it didn’t last long.”

Ignacius lit his pipe, took a huge puff, and blew a cloud of smoke towards Dimitry. The minty vapors wrapped around him, forming a hollow silhouette.

“The boy didn’t disappear… we just can’t see him. And there’s no exhaust either.”

Unlike the many green sparks around Ignacius, none coalesced around Dimitry. “Is that a bad thing?”

“It means your magic is perfectly efficient. I’ve never seen anything like it.” The feracide in the old man’s pipe crackled. “Usually, when someone casts a spell, some vol leaks out of their circuits and into the air. It’s a big problem for beginners, but even I…” He exhaled and leaned back, resting his white hair against a wall. His thoughtful gaze watched the oak ceiling.

Dimitry fanned the minty smoke away. “Are you saying that my magic uses every bit of vol whereas normally a lot of it gets wasted? Could that explain why the feedback is so extreme?”

Ignacius didn’t respond right away; he chewed on the lip of his blood-colored wooden pipe instead. “My boy… you may be right.”

“Also, another thing. When my magic wears off and I ‘appear’ again, I feel drained. My body gets heavy, and I have trouble thinking. Do you know why?”

“That sounds like novice fatigue,” the old man said, “but it doesn’t make sense. Why would you, someone with perfect efficiency, something that takes endless practice…”

It made sense to Dimitry. Before brain cancer took away his ability to walk without stumbling, he used to lift weights at a gym. Every new workout or change in his routine would make him sore—the aftereffects of a body unused to new, demanding activities. With enough training, the soreness didn’t return. Was magic the same?

Circuits were as tough as arteries, hinting at a thick layer of smooth muscle within every purple vessel wall. If he continued to cast spells, would the vasculature acclimate, allowing Dimitry to use magic without as many side-effects? Would the discomfort eventually disappear altogether? Or was there another mechanism involved?

All experiments for another time.

Dimitry’s overload prevented him from testing his hypothesis. Senseless use of magic would only worsen the condition. To make matters worse, he would part ways with Ignacius once they reached Coldust, his ‘treatments’ lost forever. For now, Dimitry had to focus on getting to Malten alive.

His gaze shifted towards Saphiria. Dried tears smeared the dirt specks covering her face. She lay against the cargo hold wall, fast asleep. Dimitry covered her with a blanket.

Eyelids heavy, either from dealing with the Church, casting magic, or a confrontation with a giant stone monster, he soon fell asleep himself.

Two days later, Dimitry stood on the side of the ship. A gentle wind blew through his hair, brushing dirty blonde strands against his cheek. Above the vast blue ocean, puffy white clouds surveyed over all with backs illuminated by an emerging sun. The beautiful view was amplified by a landmass that drew closer. Near the coast, an enormous wall became distinguishable.

Coldust’s heathen barrier. They would arrive soon.

Next to him, Selene playfully swayed side to side as she mindlessly watched a distant horizon. He placed the back of his hand against her forehead for the umpteenth time. It was warm—not hot. As far as Dimitry could tell, the little girl no longer had a high fever. Still, it would have been better if he had precise methods for measuring body temperature. How he wished for a thermometer. Although he preferred digital thermometers, even a mercury variety would do.

“How do you feel?” he asked. “Any better?”

The little girl shrugged. “I’m bored.”

Dimitry chuckled. “Do you feel tired at all?”

“A little sleepy.”

“As sleepy as before?”

Blonde hair flew out of Selene’s hood when she shook her head.

Dimitry exhaled a relieved sigh.

He had spent the past two days doing three things: smoking with Ignacius, chatting with Saphiria, and taking care of a young girl. Although Dimitry didn’t mind doing the latter, it wasn’t entirely out of goodwill. The bishop’s threat held weight. Both Saphiria and Ignacius mentioned that high-ranking Church ladies were not the type to upset.

Selene had to survive.

The day after the heathen attack, she woke up pale, weak, and with a burning forehead. However, quicker than Dimitry expected, her condition stabilized. Was it the result of vigilant medical treatment or preservia?

“Have you been eating well?” he asked.

“I don’t like dried meat.”

“But did you eat it, anyway?”

Selene nodded.

It was fortunate that her appetite improved. She didn’t eat for an entire day after the carrier devil attack—an outcome that distressed Dimitry. He patted her head. “Good girl.”

“Can we play some more?” she asked.

“Let’s see what Madam Rosaline has to say first. She’s really worried about you.”

“Okay.”

The little girl, hindered by a white robe, ran across the deck as fast as Dimitry walked. They passed a group of noisy crewmen and entered the ship’s cabin.

Inside, an aging woman in a gray robe sat on one of many straw beds, scrolling through yellow rolls of parchment. The bishop looked up, her partially wrinkled face illuminated by the combined efforts of a lamp and sunlight leaking through chinks in the wall. “Arnest, how often do you read the scriptures?”

A random question that caught Dimitry off-guard.

He would be foolish to say he ignored them altogether in a society as religious as this one. However, if she quizzed him, Dimitry needed a reason not to be well-versed in the teachings. “They are my source of hope when a patient passes away, so thankfully, not too often.”

“Perhaps that’s a good thing.”

“I like to think so.”

Rosaline held Selene’s hand. “Over the years, I’ve seen many lambs die before ascending to priestesshood. Some killed by a heathen, others at the hand of a bandit or a beast, but most often it is wound rot and coughing sickness that culls the young and old alike. However, I don’t see the same deathly look in Selene’s eyes that I often do. You’ve done well.”

Although Dimitry had little sympathy for the Church, especially since they sent children to the front lines, he agreed with Rosaline: a young girl getting to live the rest of her life could never be a bad thing. “It was my honor and my pleasure. My only hope is that she may rest several weeks before… more encounters with heathens.”

“It’ll be as you say. Your expertise is worth considering.”

“You humble me.”

Rosaline’s eyes narrowed. “Is it true that preservia can mend injuries?”

Dimitry froze. “Where did you learn of that?”

“The crew confesses much to me. It is only natural that I know.”

Bryce’s men must have overheard Dimitry’s conversation with Ignacius. He hoped they didn’t overhear much else. “The matter is slightly more complex than that, but I believe the principle has merit.”

“I see.” The bishop sat in silence a while. “Have you ever considered serving as a field cleric?”

A field cleric? Dimitry assumed the position resembled that of an army combat medic. While the Church’s defense against heathens deserved respect, their exploitation of patients like Milli and Rowan irked Dimitry. The organization wasn’t one he could support. “Nothing would please me more, but unfortunately, I don’t work well under pressure.”

“I disagree.” The bishop rolled up her parchment and tossed it aside. “The night the carrier devil attacked, you demonstrated bravery most wouldn’t. It’s a valuable asset that could save hundreds.”

“I think it was because of the wine,” he said despite avoiding alcohol as much as he could during the voyage. “Usually, I wouldn’t risk my life so selflessly.”

“We can fix that—even if you’re already a grown man.”

Her words harrowed Dimitry. What would entail ‘fixing’ him? “Your words honor me, but there’s already a patient under my care that needs my help for the foreseeable future. I cannot abandon her.”

“That ‘rabies’ girl Reece spoke of?” The bishop’s face curled with disgust. “Work so menial is unworthy of someone with your potential. The Church can learn from your preservia treatments. Grow. Save more lives than you could alone in a lifetime. Besides, whatever crimes you’re wanted for in Estoria must be repented for. There is no better way to rectify sin than living in service to Zera. You and I both know that.”

No. Dimitry didn’t know that. Although he might revolutionize the Church by bringing an end to marks of devotion and the ‘holy’ practice of cajoling suffering peasants into purchasing exorcisms, most likely, he would die when word of his sacrilegious crimes in Amalthea inevitably reached Rosaline’s ears. But she didn’t seem interested in taking no for an answer.

“Can you give me time to think about it?” he asked. “The decision is diffi—”

“What is there to think on? We need you, and you need us. As soon as we arrive, I’ll have my subordinates escort you to the cathedral for your initiation.”

“I have a patient to look after! Do you expect me to toss her aside?”

“Tell her to find another barber-surgeon. The barbarous fools crowd every main street.”

Heart racing, Dimitry inhaled several deep breaths. He couldn’t let Precious catch wind of his panic or else Saphiria might attempt a suicidal rescue. “You said you respected my valor, but I’d be a coward if I abandoned a patient who needed me at the sight of a better opportunity. Is that the field cleric you want?”

“What’s the alternative?” Rosaline stood up, stepped closer, and frowned. “Do you expect me to let you leave? Expect me to let your techniques be lost forever were you to die on some frivolous journey? I offer this for your benefit. The pay will be enough, and if you labor diligently, you’ll have your own hospital within a decade.”

She wasn’t giving up!

Dimitry considered fleeing with invisall, but where could he go? He was trapped on a boat, they would pass under Coldust’s heathen barrier soon, and the Church would swarm him when they arrived. A plan so reckless would get him killed. He needed to buy time. Time to plan, time to consult with Saphiria, time to explore better opportunities for escape.

“You’re right,” Dimitry muttered, glancing down at his feet. “Perhaps my sin can only be absolved by a devotion to Zera. I’m done running away from my past.”

Rosaline nodded. “Just as I was once a petulant orphan who rebelled against my destiny, you rebel against yours. The weakness leaves us all eventually. We must all rise above our selfishness.”

“Unfortunately, some selfishness remains in me. Before I relinquish myself to the Church, there’s a favor I can’t help but ask.”

“Then ask.”

“You’ve mentioned that barber-surgeons are barbarous,” Dimitry said, “and I agree. That’s why I’ll need at least a week to find a physician worth entrusting my patient to. Her condition is rare and requires travel to—”

“An evening.”

“Excuse me?”

Rosaline pushed Selene out of the cabin. “I have lived a long life, and I’ve heard many honeyed words. Your actions prove you are a sympathetic surgeon, but with how often ‘good’ men try to deceive me, trust is something you’ll never pry from me. My subordinates will escort you through Coldust, and come evening, drag you back to me. You have until then to dispose of your patient.”