THE ANTI-HEALERS ODESSY

The village of Velden awoke that morning to the familiar scent of damp earth and dew-drenched crops. Birds chirped lazily from high branches, and farmers moved toward their fields with groggy determination, unaware that the serenity of their world was soon to be shattered.

Inside a modest wooden cottage on the village's edge, Arthur sat on a worn stool by the hearth, his legs dangling and swinging idly. At five years old, his silver hair glimmered in the morning sun that streamed in through the small window. He was a curious child, perceptive beyond his years, and this morning was like most others—his eyes fixed with determination as he tried to summon a gentle healing pulse from his small hand.

"Focus," Cecilia said softly, kneeling beside him. Her long auburn hair framed her delicate face, and her voice, ever so gentle, was filled with warmth. Her eyes—those deep, emerald eyes—gleamed with a blend of pride and deep sorrow. "Feel the flow of mana, Arthur. Let it respond to your intent."

A soft, soothing glow bloomed at his fingertips. It flickered, unstable at first, but then steadied into a consistent pulse.

He looked up, beaming. "I did it!"

"Yes, you did," she said with a laugh, pulling him into a warm embrace. She pressed her cheek against his hair. "Just like your father."

Arthur blinked. His father was a mystery to him—a figure that lived only in quiet reverence and whispered sadness. Every time Cecilia mentioned him, her smile would quiver, and her gaze would wander to the horizon as if seeing a memory only she could touch.

He wanted to ask more, to understand this missing piece of himself, but he never did. Instead, he only nodded, trying to be strong—like she always was.

---

Later that afternoon, they headed to the market. Cecilia wrapped Arthur in a coarse brown cloak and carried a small basket filled with medicinal herbs and ointments—potions she made by hand. These were highly valued in the village, traded for vegetables, flour, and the occasional treat.

As they walked along the forest trail that led to the village square, Arthur skipped beside her, humming a tune he'd made up. The path was familiar, surrounded by towering trees that filtered the golden sunlight into dancing patches across the mossy ground.

"Mama, can we make honey bread tonight?" Arthur asked, clutching her hand.

She laughed, a sound like wind chimes. "Only if you promise not to eat the dough again."

"I won't!" he declared. Then, with a cheeky grin, added, "Probably."

Their day passed in simple peace. They bartered with merchants, greeted old villagers, and Arthur even shared some of his newly learned healing magic with a boy who had scraped his knee. Cecilia watched him with silent pride, her heart heavy with both joy and fear. He was gifted—dangerously so. His mana shone like a beacon, and even she, once trained in the royal court, had never seen such natural strength.

Evening approached. The sun dipped behind the western trees, casting long shadows across the forest path as they made their way home.

They were less than a mile from their cottage when the underbrush rustled violently.

Cecilia stopped, her instincts flaring. She pulled Arthur behind her. "Stay close to me."

From the shadows emerged a man—tall, broad-shouldered, with matted hair and a face worn by time and cruelty. His leathers were stained, his boots torn, and across his jaw ran a jagged scar that twisted with every word he spoke.

"Evening," he growled, stepping onto the path.

Cecilia's heart raced. Her hand moved protectively toward Arthur. "We don't want trouble."

"Neither do I," the man said, raising a rusted blade. "Just hand over the goods. Bag, coin, anything you've got."

Cecilia tossed the satchel down. "Take it. Just go."

But he didn't move.

His eyes shifted to Arthur. Narrowed. "That boy… he's different. I can feel it. He's shining like a damn beacon. What are you hiding, woman?"

Arthur's grip tightened around Cecilia's dress. The air felt heavy.

"He's just a child," Cecilia said, her voice tight. Her palm shimmered faintly with mana.

"Oh, I know what he is," the man muttered, stepping closer. "And someone like him will fetch a good price."

The glint of greed in his eyes turned to violence.

He lunged.

Cecilia acted without hesitation. She pushed Arthur aside, her body twisting to intercept the blow.

Steel flashed.

Blood arced through the air.

The world stopped.

Arthur hit the ground, eyes wide, and turned just in time to see his mother collapse, clutching her side. Her dress bloomed with crimson.

"Mama!" he cried, scrambling to her.

The man stood over them, his sword slick with blood. "You shouldn't have done that."

He raised the blade again.

Time fractured.

Something inside Arthur cracked open—like glass shattering under pressure. He could feel it: his mana twisting, spiraling inward. The warm healing energy reversed, turned cold and biting.

The man brought the sword down—

—but Arthur raised his hand.

A surge of magic, dark and sharp, erupted from his palm. It slammed into the man's arm.

He screamed. Flesh bubbled. Bone cracked.

The blade dropped.

The man staggered back, clutching his arm in horror. "What… what did you do to me?!"

Arthur stood, his small hands trembling, eyes filled with tears.

"You hurt my mama," he whispered.

Another burst of anti-heal blasted from his hand, this time striking the man in the chest. His skin blackened, his veins bulged, and he collapsed, writhing in agony. Moments later, he lay still.

The forest fell silent.

Arthur turned back to Cecilia.

"Mama…" he whispered, crawling to her side.

Her breath was shallow. Her skin pale.

"I can fix this… I can fix it…" he muttered, channeling every bit of mana he had into her wounds. His palms glowed desperately, healing energy flickering with urgency.

But it wasn't enough.

Her mana was fading. Her body beyond even his magic.

Her eyes fluttered open, soft and glassy. She smiled.

"My little miracle… live… be free…"

Her hand brushed his cheek.

Then fell.

Arthur screamed.

The skies darkened.

Rain fell.

And the forest, once so peaceful, echoed with the sorrow of a child drenched in blood and grief.

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