Chapter 67 : Elias’s New Job
It turned out healing people wasn't so different from putting out magical fires—both required steady hands, a strong will, and a tolerance for the smell of singed hair.
Elias rolled up his sleeves, pressed his fingers against a boy's shoulder, and murmured the incantation. A golden lattice shimmered over the wound, sinew knitting beneath the light.
The boy flinched, then stared as the pain vanished.
"There," Elias said, smiling gently. "Try moving it."
The boy rotated his arm. No wince. No hesitation. "You're amazing, sir!"
The ward nurse beamed from across the room. "He's the best we've had in a year."
"Just doing my job," Elias muttered, ears faintly pink as he moved to the next patient.
The capital's central magic hospital—Candlethorn—wasn't quite the sparkling tower of enchantment he'd imagined. More like a semi-haunted cathedral full of overworked mages and complaints about mana quotas. But he liked the work. Healing came naturally. It always had.
Still, popularity was new.
He was used to being invisible. Here, even the senior healers nodded when he passed. Apprentices asked for tips. A fire witch from burn ward had slipped him a sweet bun with a note written in flame-script.
He hadn't known how to respond to that one.