Eliona's War 1: Hesitant Healer

Chapter 64

"I'm sorry," Severance said. Even as he said it, it felt like the world's most useless apology. These women knew nothing but suffering, and it would only end when they passed from this world.

That, he realized, was why he was sent here. He could help them.

"Tarface wanted me to heal you," he said.

"Ha! He did, did he?" Breathy laughter came from the nearest woman. Her lips barely moved, yet fresh blood and pus oozed from the cracking wounds around her mouth.

"Oh child," sighed another. "Ye can't help us. Our affliction can't be cured."

"Ye might be able to ease some of the pain, an' we be grateful, but ye be wastin' yer time."

Severance's heart sank. "That can't be... I have to heal you."

It was the only way he could finish the quest. Either he healed these women, or he had to go dig up ten crystals somehow. He'd rather heal. These poor people needed healing far more than Tarface needed crystals.

The afflicted women looked at him with pity in their eyes, which struck him as wrong because they were in a far worse condition than he.

"Tarface 'as twisted the rules to 'his own gain."

"Aye, he will ne'er let ye take the mountain pass out, child. Ye are as trapped as we."

"That's—" Severance looked from one to another in disbelief. "That's impossible. There has to be a way through."

There was no such thing as a dead end in these kinds of games. Maybe what they told him was true, but there had to be a loophole somewhere, a way forward that he couldn't yet see.

They didn't say anything in response. They didn't need to. Their silence said it all. The woman in bed exhaled softly and closed her eyes. Just the simple action of lowering her eyelids caused fresh blood to seep down the sides of her face like morbid tears.

Severance looked away, heart wrenching at the sight. How could people stand to suffer this way? Not for the first time, he wondered what went on through the game developer's heads. Why would they create game people like this? What was the point?

He couldn't even ask Uncle Fenn, either. That brought a wave of poignant sorrow so strong that he bowed his head, teeth clenching hard enough to make his jaw tinge in discomfort.

"I need to try," he said softly, and brought out his war fans.

The women still did not speak, though the two in the chairs watched him with cloudy eyes. Their faces showed no expressions, yet he got the sense that they didn't think anything he could do would work.

Well. He would prove them wrong. If he could heal a severed foot back together again, then surely he could erase the strange stone-like formations from their skin.

"Earth Dance," he quietly spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. Green wind lazily spun about his fans and wrists, warm and playful and full of energy. He focused on the nearest woman.

"Mend," he said. A gentle breeze rustled her clothing, sang through her limp hair, and gently caressed her hardened skin. It vanished without any visible effect.

He tried again, determined. "Mend." When it had a similar result as to the first, he readied the same skill once more. And then again.

And again.

The room filled with warm spring winds, whispering across the floor and tumbling from corner to corner, scattering trails of green throughout the entire room. It pushed away the scent of rotten flesh, leaving only freshened air in its wake.