Mirelle had noticed it early on, the way Elya’s magic never quite flowed the way it should. At first, she thought it was due to exhaustion, to malnutrition, to the wounds that had yet to fully heal. She monitored Elya closely, observing the way her energy would flicker unevenly when she tried even the simplest spells, how her breathing would hitch as if pushing past an invisible barrier. But even as Elya regained physical strength, the strain of casting remained, leaving her drained far too quickly, her hands trembling from the effort. It was as if her magic had no clear path to follow, struggling against something unseen within her own body.

  One evening, Mirelle sat Elya down by the fire, her expression unusually serious. The flickering light cast long shadows across her face, emphasizing the weight behind her words. "I want to check something," she said, her tone measured. "A healer must understand the body before she can heal it. That includes her own. Healing is not just about mending what is visible; it requires knowledge of what lies beneath, of the unseen forces that shape our strength and our weakness."

  She reached for a small vial of oil infused with calming herbs and rubbed a few drops between her fingers before gently placing her palms against Elya’s wrists. "Close your eyes," Mirelle instructed. "Breathe. Let your body speak before you try to answer it."

  Elya nodded hesitantly as Mirelle reached out, pressing her palms lightly against Elya’s wrists. She closed her eyes and let her magic flow, tracing along the pathways where energy should have moved freely. What she found made her frown. The meridians, the delicate channels through which magic coursed, were not just weak. They were scarred, rigid where they should have been flexible, blocked where they should have been open. It was like trying to push water through cracked and broken pipes.

  Mirelle’s breath caught as the full extent of the damage revealed itself. She pulled away slowly, opening her eyes to meet Elya’s questioning gaze. "Your meridians... they’ve been damaged. Badly. This isn’t just exhaustion, Elya. Your body is struggling to channel magic because the pathways have been overstrained for years. It’s like forcing too much water through a brittle channel, eventually, it starts to break."

  Elya’s stomach twisted, a cold dread unfurling within her chest. It was as though the air had been stolen from her lungs, leaving behind a hollow space filled only with the weight of understanding. She had always thought she was simply weaker than the others, that she had failed because she lacked the strength they possessed. But now, this? This was something deeper, something insidious, something no amount of training could fix. It wasn’t just about effort, it was about limitation, an immutable barrier carved into the very core of her being. Her fingers curled into trembling fists as a wave of helplessness crashed over her, thick and suffocating.

  "So what does that mean?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, raw and unsteady. "Can it be healed?"

  Mirelle hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Not in the way you’re hoping. Scars like these don’t simply vanish. They restrict the flow of magic, making every spell more taxing than it should be. This is why your spells drain you so quickly. Your body can’t properly direct or sustain energy without pain and depletion."

  Elya looked down at her hands, hands that had tried so hard to hold onto power, to shape magic in ways it refused to be shaped. Frustration burned in her chest, a searing ache of unfairness and rage that threatened to consume her. It wasn’t just about power, it was about everything she had sacrificed, the years spent training, the sleepless nights pushing herself beyond exhaustion, all in the hope that one day she would stand among the others as an equal. And now, to learn that it had all been for nothing? That no matter how much she pushed, she would never reach them? The injustice of it clawed at her throat.

  "So I’ll never be like them," she whispered, her voice shaking with barely suppressed fury. "I’ll never cast the way they do. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I fight."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Mirelle’s grip tightened gently around her fingers. "No, not like them," she agreed. "But that doesn’t mean you’re powerless. You’ve already learned how to work within your limits, how to make the most of what you have. That skill will serve you in ways brute force never could."

  But Elya barely heard her. The weight of the truth settled over her, cold and final. She had spent years believing she could one day catch up, that if she trained harder, if she pushed herself just a little more, she would stand beside the others as their equal. But now, she knew better.

  She wasn’t weak. She was broken. And nothing would ever change that. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision as the words echoed in her mind, an unbearable weight pressing down on her chest. A sob built in her throat, but she swallowed it down, unwilling to give voice to the anguish threatening to consume her. Her body trembled, the sheer unfairness of it clawing at her insides, an invisible wound that no magic could mend. She had given everything, endured so much, only to be left with this, an irreversible truth she could neither fight nor deny.

  Mirelle watched as Elya’s shoulders shook, her breath coming in uneven gasps. Without hesitation, she moved closer, wrapping an arm around the younger woman’s back, offering a steady presence amidst the turmoil. "You are not alone in this," she murmured, her voice gentle yet firm. "I know it hurts, Elya. And it’s not fair. But you are more than what’s been taken from you."

  Elya stiffened for a moment, then, unable to hold back any longer, let herself lean into Mirelle’s warmth. The sob she had tried to suppress broke free, and another followed, until she was trembling in the healer’s embrace. Mirelle didn’t try to shush her or tell her to be strong. She simply held her, stroking slow circles on her back, letting her grieve for the future she thought she would have. Letting her feel the loss so that, one day, she might find a way forward.

  Mirelle refused to let Elya sink into despair. As Elya wiped her tears and tried to steady her breathing, Mirelle’s gaze turned sharp with determination. "If your meridians cannot heal, then we will create new ones," she said, her voice firm, unwavering.

  Elya blinked, stunned. "What? That’s impossible. Magic doesn’t work that way."

  Mirelle leaned forward, the firelight casting fierce shadows across her face. "Perhaps no one has done it before, but that does not mean it’s impossible. You and I both know that magic is shaped by understanding. We do not force it, we guide it. If your natural pathways are broken, then we must find a way to weave new ones. Artificial meridians, channels crafted of pure magic, built to carry and direct energy efficiently."

  Elya’s mind reeled at the idea. It was madness. It was impossible. And yet, something in her stirred, a fragile, flickering hope that refused to die. "But how would we even begin? How can something like this be created?"

  Mirelle smiled slightly, as if she had expected the question. "We would have to approach this as both healers and scholars. The answer lies in blending the principles of healing magic with arcane structures, forging a fusion of body and magic itself. It will be delicate work, precise, unlike anything attempted before. But I believe it can be done."

  Elya swallowed, the weight of the proposition settling in her chest. She had spent so long believing she was doomed to remain broken, that no effort of hers could ever truly mend what had been lost. But now, this? This was something new. A path forward, a challenge unlike any other. And, for the first time, she saw the glimmer of something beyond her limitations.

  "We will need to research," Elya murmured, more to herself than anyone else, her mind already racing with the possibilities. "We’ll need ancient texts, accounts of magical augmentation, any precedent we can find. And we have no guarantee it will work, no assurance that our bodies will even accept such constructs."

  Mirelle chuckled, the sound warm and knowing. "Nothing worth doing ever comes with guarantees. But if we succeed, Elya, you won’t just survive, you will thrive. You will finally have control over your own magic."

  "Okay, but if we do this, we have to prioritize efficiency and throughput above all else. I want to ensure that my magic flows seamlessly, without resistance or wasted energy. If these artificial meridians do work, then we might as well see if we can make them better than natural ones."

  Elya looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers as if feeling the possibility within them. The road ahead would be long, fraught with challenges she could not yet imagine. But if this was truly possible, if she could truly shape magic in a way that would let her stand without pain, without exhaustion, then she had no choice but to try.

  Taking a deep breath, she met Mirelle’s gaze with new resolve. "Then let’s begin."