Loss, if not managed properly, breeds hatred. If left unattended, the tiny spark of destructive negativity can burgeon out of control and consume the person completely from within. It starts with hatred of the circumstance - "why must I be subjected to this loss?"
Losing a loved one, losing an opportunity, or losing anything hard-won, automatically causes the one experiencing the loss to begrudge the immediate cause, which is the direct entity that caused it.
The person experiencing the loss is then motivated by their hatred to seek vengeance or retribution in some form. The motivator offers unparalleled drive and focus. However, achieving success in this path is often a hollow victory since revenge takes everything from the person to succeed. On the other hand, if the loser is unable to exact their vengeance, and the "wound" of hatred is left to fester, it leads to a stage of intense introspection. If one is unable to assign blame on and exact revenge from a third party, one tends to look inwards and find fault within themselves. More precisely, they tend to over-examine their actions that contributed towards the loss. This process can often cause the magnification of the consequences of minor actions from the losing party, which then leads to the most dangerous type of hatred - self-loathing.
Self-loathing is a dangerously slippery slope that has a very high chance of ending with self-harm and death. Unfortunately, this was the slope Jean found herself in after witnessing the death of her mother, live. At first, she hated Ziva Lune. She hated the man for creating such a morbid disease that took away the person dearest to her. But she hated it even more that there was nothing she could do about it. The man was beyond her grasp, her Clan's grasp and even the Empire's grasp. She was helpless.
The festering "want" for vengeance, and the subsequent inability to follow through with it, caused her to evaluate her role in her mother's death.
"If I hadn't been there, mother wouldn't have died," Jean concluded.
Unfortunately, this singular conclusion was enough to send her still underdeveloped psyche down the deep end.
Jean hated Ziva Lune, she hated the world and, worst of all, she hated herself. Inevitably, she ended up developing a mental disorder that caused her to experience manic episodes that sent her from one end of the spectrum to the other spontaneously and without warning.
The giantess draped in a mist of deathly dark smog standing before the little girl was the amalgamation and mental manifestation of this hatred and self-loathing. It was toxic, and its only purpose in life was, like the all-consuming flame of hatred, to burn everything the world had to offer. Because if the world could take something precious from her, she could take everything precious from the world. freewe(b)novel.com
This would have been Jean's inevitable end - embodying the hatred in its form - if not for her opportune meeting and tutelage under Mister Larks.
The cure to hatred is forgiveness. And opposite to how hatred ends with the self, forgiveness must start from it. Jean needed to realise that sometimes the circumstances are beyond one's control. It was a painful realisation. Coming to terms with the fact that she really didn't have any part in the death of her mother was tough. And it was even tougher to realise that it was her mother's callousness that caused her death. Even Ziva Lune had little to contribute to her mother's passing if one equated the plague to a natural disaster.
Actions have consequences. Unfortunately, said consequences can often encompass those around the actor as well. Jean just happened to be a collateral piece of the consequences of her own mother's actions.
This revelation helped Jean to overcome the nihilism that often overcame her thoughts. Although she could still not physically express herself, she at least didn't enter a defeatist rut from the constant abuse her manifestation of hatred doled out regularly. This also helped Jean rekindle her interest in the art of healing and pursue the noble goal of becoming a healer.
Coming out of the murky tunnel of self-loathing is hard to achieve alone. With blinders on, and with no light in sight, one can get lost in the darkness. But with the assistance of people that care for you and wish for your betterment, the end of the tunnel grows brighter.
Jean no longer wanted to be beholden to all this hatred. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of its toxicity.
Therefore, with the guidance of Mister Larks, Jean followed a thin strand extending towards a location inside her body (that was metaphysical in nature) which she didn't even know existed. Over there, she felt closer to herself in a completely indescribable way - it was like she was facing her true self but could only gain glimpses of it as whatever sense she had control over kept searing with pain the longer she focused on it. There, a gentle touch reached her and brought her closer to her "true self".
The moment she made "contact" with her "true self" Jean automatically knew what she had to do. She repeated the words she'd heard Mister Larks speak, and her "true self" resonated with a solemn glow with each word uttered.
"""
I swear to fulfil, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant:
I will first do no harm.
I will respect the hard-won scientific gains of those physicians in whose steps I walk, and gladly share such knowledge as is mine with those who are to follow.
I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures that are required, avoiding those twin traps of overtreatment and therapeutic nihilism.
I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug.
I will not be ashamed to say "I know not," nor will I fail to call in my colleagues when the skills of another are needed for a patient's recovery.
I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know. Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death. If it is given me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. Above all, I do not have the right to judge the value of a human life.
I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person's family and economic stability. My responsibility includes these related problems, if I am to care adequately for the sick.
I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.
I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.
If I do not violate this oath, may I enjoy life and art, respected while I live and remembered with affection thereafter. May I always act so as to preserve the finest traditions of my calling and may I long experience the joy of healing those who seek my help.
"""
The oath was established and was inscribed deep into her "true self". And with that, she was immediately ejected from that metaphysical realm.
Jean returned to her child form back at the holy library and was greeted with a blood-curdling screech from the giantess, who was squirming like a worm sprinkled with salt. Jean, however, felt nothing- well that wouldn't be completely accurate. She felt warmth. She felt relief. She felt...
The giantess' body started to compress as her yell started to lose its energy. The woman's poisonous beauty started to desiccate and wrinkle, as though life were being sucked out of it. The pervading stench of pestilence also started to subside, and the black mist that hung around her thinned marginally. A minute later, the yelling woman had turned mute and still. She wasn't dead- she couldn't die, she wasn't alive in the first place. Her body now remained dormant at the raised platform at the centre of the library, with the warm light reflecting from the globe of blue and green hanging above.
"It is time," Mister Larks said while nudging the little girl forward. "Do what needs to be done."
Jean gulped audibly and moved with tense steps towards the still body of her counterpart. Her small arm extended outwards apprehensively and touched the shrunken giantess' head. Within seconds of making contact, the giantess dissipated, turned into a dense mist of grey and rushed through the little girl's orifices. With a single inhale, the entire torrent of mist was absorbed by the girl and, in doing so, her body started to grow at a visible rate. The growth was both in size and age, as the little girl grew older to match that of her outer form.
____
While this was occurring within the mental space of the teacher and student, an awesome phenomenon was transpiring in the physical realm. A massive whirlpool of mana started to form above the duo. The density of this mana was so immense that it started to affect the atmosphere near the formation. The winds grew vigorous, sunlight reaching the area grew dimmer, and the temperature started to rise by a few degrees. As the whirlpool descended upon the do, it split into two. The smaller of the two sections rushed towards Jean, fuelling her advancement into the Foundation Establishment realm. The thicker section rushed towards Guy, consuming him completely and occluding his form from the outside world.
While dark steam of waste escaped from Jean's skin and corroded her outerwear, Guy transformed a more profound level. It was a change a mage only experiences once in their entire lifetime - a complete reforging of the outer form.
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