Chapter 100: 83 - Recovery
The necklace should have reacted.
And no, I wasn’t casting a spell.
Primordial Recovery...
That forbidden power then settled deep within Azalea’s body, a raw, ancient energy simply coursing through her very bloodstream.
And of course, it wasn’t merely the grievous bleeding that was mended; the restorative force meticulously repaired her vital organs and replenished the depleted Aetherflow magical energy she possessed.
Not long after, the miracle whispered about by so many, the one thought to exist only in legends, astonishingly came to pass.
The soft, ethereal light from the amulet necklace radiated outwards, embracing Azalea’s entire form, and then, as swiftly as it appeared, it gracefully faded away.
It made me recall that distant memory.
I, too, once collapsed, unconscious in a dark basement, and was sidelined for a full two weeks because of a similar, overwhelming event.
And later, my father used this necklace to do such a recovery.
However, my father wasn’t chanting an invocation.
But I... Selene... I triggered it myself. And so did Azalea.
And yes, it should’ve worked that way.
Because the receptor should be responsive to the amulet.
Triggered Primordial Recovery—ancient restorative magic that rewrites the structure of body and soul.
Not just healing wounds. More than that, it rearranges the very foundation of one’s existence, down to the molecular, to the etheric level.
This is magic that should only exist in myths, a concept too dangerous to be practiced, let alone taught. Yet, in her hands, in my hands, myth became a horrifying reality.
I bit my lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood on my tongue.
They would hunt me.
The Observers, who monitor the balance of magic across the world.
The Olam Council of International Magic Association, the highest governing body that maintains magical law and order. Even my own teacher, who had always instilled in me strict principles of magical ethics, would consider me a traitor.
I had broken every rule, every oath, every boundary I had always upheld.
But I didn’t care. Not now.
She had to live. That was the only thing that mattered.
I knelt beside her shattered body, feeling the cold stone floor seep through my knees. The light from the amulet began to dim, slowly absorbing into her pores, as if accepted, assimilated, stored by every cell in her body.
This wasn’t just energy absorption; it was a total assimilation. Azalea’s eyes were still tightly closed, her eyelids trembling faintly, yet her hand moved slightly, small, almost imperceptible twitches, but enough to pump hope into me.
"Azalea, hold on..." I whispered, my voice hoarse and raspy, barely audible to myself in the silent room.
Her body, which had been so grievously wounded, which a moment ago looked like a torn rag doll, was now slowly restoring itself. I watched with both horror and awe as the fractured ribs that had pierced her lungs – a fatal injury that should have claimed her life within minutes – vanished as if they had never existed.
The magical tissue in her abdomen, torn by an overcharge spell, leaving a gaping hole that exposed her internal organs, was now rewoven, like invisible threads knitting together torn fabric. There were no scars, no signs of trauma. Only smooth skin, as if the accident had never occurred.
I shivered. Not from the cold of the night or from exhaustion.
Not even from the power of the magic itself, though its might was terrifying. But because I was the one who taught her to read the ancient chants. I was the one who showed her the amulet, a forbidden artifact that held such power. I was the one who—
"—sinned," I whispered again, this time with more clarity, the word bitter on my tongue. An unforgivable sin.
She didn’t know yet. Didn’t know that this power would demand a price. Not in the form of life, that was perhaps a small mercy, but in a far more terrifying form: memories. Recollections. Emotions.
When your body is reassembled, every fiber, every atom of it, sometimes the soul cracks. Parts of yourself that make you who you are can erode, lost in this brutal process of healing.
She had asked if she had forgotten something, her gaze blank, trying to grasp at memories that were no longer there.
And I wanted to answer: Yes. Yes, you lost a week of your life. You lost the memory of laughing with me under the stars, lighthearted jokes that made your stomach hurt from laughing too much.
You lost the tears you held back in front of the mirror when you felt you couldn’t take it anymore, and the courage when you chose to protect others even when you were in danger.
Primordial Recovery is not without its cost. It is magic that takes from the most essential part of a human being—their identity.
And that price is exacted in a form you can never reclaim.
She was alive.
And I had crossed every boundary I had set for myself, every promise I had made to myself and my ancestors. I had crossed a line that should never have been breached.
I knew what would happen next. There would be a thorough investigation, sharp, soul-piercing questions voiced by the interrogators. Perhaps there would be punishment, exile, or even the stripping of my magical powers.
But it was alright.
As long as Azalea could live, even if not entirely as her old self... I was willing. Because life... even if flawed, even if it meant losing a part of herself, was still better than death, than the eternal darkness that would have consumed her.
* * *
I was on the verge of death.
My body was cold. Chilling sensation washed my sensory stimuli.
And no, it’s not the refreshing cold of morning dew soaking the grass, or the snow falling softly in autumn, blanketing the earth in white.
This was a biting cold, creeping from my numb fingertips, seeping into my bone marrow, penetrating every layer of my being.
A cold that signified the end, a promise of death that could not be bargained with.
A cold that even fear itself could not dispel, for fear itself had frozen within me.
Then, something entered me. At first, it was faint—like a warm stream of water slowly tracing my veins, promising relief from the paralyzing chill.
But then, the sensation changed. It became a sharp pain, a burning heat, too hot, as if molten fire flowed through my blood vessels.
My body arched involuntarily, as if resisting this cruel invasion. I wanted to scream, to struggle, but my muscles wouldn’t obey. But the magic didn’t care.
It spread with an ancient, unwavering determination, as if possessing a consciousness of its own. Piercing burst blood vessels, tearing through gaping wounds, and reassembling my shattered internal organs.
Primordial Recovery... The words echoed in my hazy mind, a strange resonance amidst the chaos of sensations. A forbidden power. A sacred taboo in the world of healing, a dogma taught since childhood. Everyone knew: using such magic was a violation against nature itself, an attempt to play god, to intervene in destiny in the most fundamental way. But I... I couldn’t resist it. I was its recipient, a passive vessel being reshaped.
"Selene..." A whisper, her name unspoken, existing only in my dimming thoughts.
Was this your doing? Did you do this to me?
Light spread from the amulet necklace around my neck, warm and luminous, a stark contrast to the cold I had just felt.
Strange.
It felt like being touched by my mother’s hand—gentle, full of love, and too alien to believe amidst the excruciating pain. A contradiction that tore at my heart.
Faint voices around me, panicked and tense whispers, but I didn’t hear them, only a distant hum. My eyes were half-closed, eyelids too heavy to lift fully.
I couldn’t speak, my throat felt glued shut. I couldn’t move, every nerve felt frozen. But I could still remember. A miracle amidst the void.
Now I was drowning. But the difference was, this time I felt reborn, a painful yet promising process. A second birth.
I could feel my toes again. Slow. Heavy. Like after a long numbness. But still... I was alive. Life slowly crept back into me, bit by bit, filling the emptiness left by death.
As my eyes slowly opened, the first thing I saw was Selene’s face. Her usually cold, calm, and emotionless face now looked... panicked? No. Not panic. More accurately, guilt. A guilt so profound, clearly etched into every line of her face.
I wanted to speak, to demand answers, to understand what had happened. But the sound that came out was only a harsh whisper, hoarse, barely recognizable as my own voice.
"You... used that...?"
She didn’t answer. Just stared at me. Stared too long, her gaze implying an unspeakable burden, a secret too heavy to share.
Something felt missing. Not pain, because the pain was slowly fading. Not strength, because my energy felt returned, flowing abundantly. But... an emptiness. A hole inside me.
"I... forgot something, didn’t I?" I asked, feeling a throbbing in my head, a desperate attempt to fill that void.
Selene turned away, avoiding me, avoiding my question. "It’s not important. Get some rest first."
That wasn’t an answer. It was avoidance, a refusal to be truthful.
