Cal let a long breath escape through his nose and dismissed the notification, reaching for the second manacle.
A wet cough stopped him. The sound was rough and ragged, a rattle from deep in Jakob's lungs that shook his body. Slurred words followed in an agonized whisper, disconnected from consciousness.
"My fingers..." Jakob's head rolled on the pillow, his face contorting. "Not... my fingers..."
Cal froze, hands hovering above the second cuff. He looked down.
Jakob's fingers - or what was left of them - lay palm-up on the blanket. The left, freshly freed, and the right, still shackled. Both bore similar mutilation: the fingers ended in ragged stumps above the second knuckle, the exposed tissue a raw mess of scabbing and inflammation. But at the very edges of each wound, where healthy skin met damaged tissue, Cal could see it. A faint film of new pink growth, barely more than a glimmer of new skin, creeping outward from the margins. The F-tier potion, doing what it could.
The regeneration fell painfully short, the potion's magic likely having triaged issues elsewhere in his body before even getting to the fingers. Perhaps there hadn't been enough juice left to drive the kind of aggressive tissue reconstruction that regrowing bone and cartilage required. F-tier healing was designed for F-tier individuals after all, and Jakob was E-tier. He needed E-tier medicine, something with the potency to match the severity of the wound.
Cal guided the [Mana Key] into the second manacle and turned the magical key. The cuff popped open, and the second arm fell free. He gathered the chains, plates, and manacles into a bundle and set them on the floor beneath the desk, out of sight.
Then he released the Spell construct and pushed Mana into the silver void ring, reaching into the space within. His mind went through the contents until he found what he needed: his spirit cauldron from the Golden Mortar. Now, it was his travel cauldron. He materialized it on the desk after clearing space, followed by a leather roll of alchemical tins and a couple of cloth-wrapped bundles of E-tier reagents.
The void ring's alchemical inventory was generous. Selara and Aurelian had seemed to stock it with enough materials that Cal could fail his way through to Adept with most of the common potion types. There was plenty of room to make mistakes.
Thank you wherever you two are. I hope you're safe.
Cal arranged his workspace on the desk. Cauldron centered, tins at his elbow, bundles laid out in order of use - he was ready. The E-tier healing potion recipe was etched into his memory from Aurelian's own recipe book. It wouldn't be much harder at E-tier than F-tier, with only a single extra ingredient. The execution, however, might require him to control essence that was denser and more volatile, which could increase the difficulty. He'd have to see.
He cast [Mana Hand], and the spectral construct materialized at his right side, hovering in a ready position. A third hand. His new assistant.
I'll call you Grubby.
Cal drew a steadying breath, pulled Mana from his core, and began.
[Isolation Field] snapped into place around his workspace, sealing the area from ambient currents. He activated [Extract Essence], and the Spell pulsed through the first ingredient, a bundle of E-tier clot-burr. The plant's thorny, fibrous energy bled downward from the cauldron's rim in a thick stream of deep burgundy, far more resistant than its F-tier sibling.
He followed immediately with [Purge Impurity] and the six-rune construct sank into the raw essence. A vortex spun to life within the cauldron, pulling motes of spiritual dross to the surface where they burned away in a series of brief flashes.
With the essence prepared, Cal extended his palm next to the cauldron and activated [Thermal Manipulation]. The nine-rune construct ignited, and heat flowed from his hand into the vessel. He needed to hold the essence at a specific temperature gradient for exactly twelve seconds to prepare it for binding.
Except his E-tier Mana and its generated heat hit the cauldron with far more force than the extracted essence could tolerate. His shoddy control was poorly calibrated for the tier he'd only just broken into.
The mixture's temperature spiked. Cal felt it through his [Spiritual Perception], the aura of the brew lurching from a steady hum to a shrill whine in the span of a few heartbeats. He reined in his output, but the damage was already done. The clot-burr essence, overheated beyond its limits, collapsed into a dissonant tangle. The liquid in the cauldron burped a large bubble as it turned black and released a plume of acrid smoke that hit the ceiling of the [Isolation Field] and billowed outward in a dark mass.
Cal dropped the Spell and stared at the smoking ruin.
Son of a Grubby! He glanced at the floating magical construct.
A fresh reagent, gone, just like that. Rendered into foul-smelling sludge by a moment of imprecise control that was totally Grubby's fault.
He could practically hear Aurelian mocking him.
The loss stung. Each E-tier ingredient represented a significant investment, materials he didn't currently have time to forage from the Virethane. Nor did he want to spend gold on them with the other expenses he had piling up.
He cleaned the cauldron with [Scour] after dumping what he could into an empty bucket, the abrasive pulse of Mana stripping every trace of residue from the vessel's interior. Then he sat back on his heels and breathed.
So, my Mana is stronger. Duh. Now that I'm using Spells that require a bit more finesse, I'm feeling the impact. He shook his head. It's a good thing I didn't try running them in parallel like in the past. One Spell at a time. He looked up at the floating hand again. OK, maybe two Spells at a time...
He unwrapped a second bundle of clot-burr and laid it out.
We got it this time, Grubby! Nice and easy…
He began again, stepping smoothly through [Extract Essence] and [Purge Impurity].
With the essence prepared, it was time for the second phase. Cal lifted his palm over the cauldron and activated [Thermal Manipulation], but this time he throttled his output to a fraction of its capacity, feeding Mana into the construct in a limited trickle. Simultaneously, he opened his [Spiritual Perception] wide, flooding the cauldron with sensory awareness.
The essence's aura sang to him. He felt its temperature as a frequency, the "sound" of the ingredient's energy vibrating in response to the applied heat. Low and steady as the temperature climbed. Rising in pitch as it approached the catalytic threshold. He kept the flow at a constant rate, adjusting by imperceptible degrees and watching the frequency creep upward.
There. The essence reached a state of near-perfect receptivity, its spiritual structure loosened by the heat. Cal held the temperature. Counted.
...ten... eleven... twelve.
He cut the heat. The essence glowed faintly from within, a deep red that pulsed once and stabilized.
Phase three: binding. Cal directed Grubby to the reagent line and the construct drifted forward, its fingers closing around a small paper envelope of powdered spirit nettle. They wobbled once, corrected, and stilled.
Atta boy!
The [Mana Hand] tilted the envelope, depositing a pre-measured unit of the green powder into the cauldron. It then moved to the next, and the next. Cal used [Harmonize] to press the new elements together one at a time, extracting and purifying where he needed to, and bringing them into resonance with the catalyzed clot-burr essence. Resistance flared as the reagents' natures clashed against one another. He pushed harder, his Intent and Mana bearing down on the dissonance until it buckled and merged into a unified whole.
The energy in the cauldron peaked, then blazed. A vibrant red glow suffused the liquid, bright and stable, the unmistakable signature of a successful healing draught.
He checked on the cascade of notifications that he'd received during the brewing.
[Your proficiency with Thermal Manipulation (E) has resolved to Novice]
[Your proficiency with Extract Essence (E) has resolved to Novice]
[Your proficiency with Purge Impurity (E) has resolved to Novice]
[Your proficiency with Harmonize (E) has resolved to Novice]
[Your proficiency with Pharmacopeia (E) has increased to Practiced]
[Your proficiency with Mana Hand (E) has increased to Practiced]
Cal dismissed the notifications and cast [Decant], receiving yet another proficiency resolution as he guided the luminous potion from the cauldron into three spirit-glass vials arranged on the desk. The liquid flowed through the air in a mesmerizing stream, filling each vial to within a finger's width of the rim. He corked them, then held one up to the [Light Orb]'s glow.
The potion was a deep, luminous red, denser and more vivid than anything he'd produced at F-tier.
Cal uncorked the first vial, crossed to the bed, and tilted the potion carefully between Jakob's lips. The man swallowed like the good patient he was, and Cal watched, counting breaths again.
The effect was immediate.
A flush of warmth spread across Jakob, color flooding into skin that had held onto a deathly grey for far too long. The dark hollows beneath his eyes softened, and the angry inflammation around his wrists dimmed. But the miracle came at a price. A low sound tore through him, a guttural moan of agony that luckily didn't wake him. The man tensed, his face grimacing as his muscles contorted.
Cal knew this pain well, and he wouldn't waver. While the brutal torment of magically accelerated healing was an old, unwelcome acquaintance, it was necessary. A small price to pay for the body knitting itself back together in minutes instead of months.
At the end of each of Jakob's ruined hands, the mutilated stumps of his fingers began to change. New tissue pushed outward from the severed edges, pink and glistening. Bone extended first, white nubs emerging from the stumps like shoots breaking soil, followed by the rapid layering of cartilage, tendon, and muscle. The growth was startling in its speed, each finger rebuilding itself in a torrent of biological urgency that the F-tier potion hadn't been close to driving.
But they stopped at the first knuckle, the potion's energy spent.
Cal uncorked a second vial and administered it without pause. The regeneration surged forward again, and with it, another tremor wracked Jakob's body. Fingers lengthened, joints formed and articulated, and nails spread in thin sheets across freshly grown fingertips. In the span of two minutes, ten complete fingers lay against the wool blanket, new and pink and whole.
The tension finally drained from Jakob, giving way to a gentle slackness in his features. His breathing deepened. The shallow, labored rasp that had defined him since the rescue was gone, replaced by full draws that expanded his chest and settled into the even tempo of restful sleep.
A faint smile touched his lips, the first sign of peace Cal had seen on him. In the quiet of the room, Jakob sighed in contentment.
"Magnificent... inventory..." he whispered, his voice free of pain.
The words were nonsensical; the dreams of a merchant finally at rest. Cal slipped the third vial into his void ring and added it to his reserve supply. He covered Jakob with the blanket and pulled it up to his chin, tucking the edges the way he always did with his kids.
He stepped back, and for a long moment he just stood there. Watching the man sleep. Thinking about the ten new fingers resting under the fabric on Jakob's unconscious body.
He'll live. He'll have his hands back and he's alive and he's not in that prison and... and… that's something. I was finally able to do something right for someone.
Cal turned away and looked at the [Mana Hand] construct, still suspended near the cauldron where he had left it. The five translucent digits slowly flexed in and out as it swayed on some unseen breeze.
Come on, Grubby! Bring it in!
He gestured, and the construct glided from its post by the cauldron. Floating over to him, it mimicked the motion as he raised his own hand. The spectral palm met his with a satisfying smack and a soft tingle of static: a most magical of high-fives.
Cal grinned, the first relaxed smile he'd allowed himself since finding Jakob in that cell. He lowered his hand and studied the construct as it waited patiently in the air for a few seconds, before finally dismissing the Spell and sitting down heavily in the chair. His Mana reserves were low and his mind ached with exhaustion, but adrenaline still sang through his veins. Jakob was safe. He was whole. Cal had pulled him from the brink with ingenuity and determination.
With Spells he had made his own.
The thought ignited something within him, a creative fire that burned away the fatigue. It had started with replication - the ability to see a Spell as complex as Angelika's [Portal] and simply take it. Then he'd had success making small modifications to easier Spells, like adding a sound-dampening effect to his [Isolation Field] and building a tool like the [Mana Key]. And there were his true creations, like [Air Orb] and [Immolation]. He was crafting original spellwork from runic principles to solve specific problems, and it invigorated and excited him.
He was not just a student of magic anymore, blindly following recipes from a book. Instead, he was becoming an architect. He could deconstruct the work of others, alter existing Spell patterns, and draft entirely new designs from scratch.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on the rough-hewn floorboards. A universe of possibilities opened before him; he just needed to master the tools.
What else can I build?