warning/author's note: this will be my last warning for ableist language! I decided to use it because of the setting and the MC's self-deprecating perspective on his disabilities. Know that I do not condone using this kind of language in real life.

Seven years passed in what felt like a blink of an eye. The throne swapped hands, the Mage King felled. Much of the kingdom changed; the Old Regime demonized, the new king and his new anti-magic laws shook the kingdom’s core. Mages purged and powers exchanged. Inquisitors now haunted the land in search of witches to slay. 

But some things were more resilient to change than others.

For example, a small village like Gotsven was relatively untouched. Before and after the Old Regime, sheep were kept, crops grown and harvested. The way of life remained the same; serene and routine.

However, even in an unchanged village like Gotsven, gossip of the late Mage King prevailed. Seven years after his fall, he remained in people’s memories, for he was a personality grand even amongst rulers.

Between shearing sheep and patching roof tiles, the villagers would fill the silence with incessant gossip.

“The late king was a damned genius, you hear? He alone pioneered magitech, the bastard did.”

“Oh shush, would you? The Divine Light don’t take kindly to those devil tools or any praise sung to that evil man. Be wary of your tongue, you fool! What if you call the inquisitors to our doorstep!?”

And so the villagers would squabble over the legacy of a man that had little to do with them.

The late king was nothing more than a figure of grandiose myths, a bogeyman used to frighten children, or a fantastical character that stirred the fancy of forlorn maidens. Perhaps inspiring either rage, envy, or even admiration among men.

He was larger-than-life, terrifying but also alluring. He was sinfully charming, unimaginably powerful, and hatefully talented. Even his death was painted with glorified retelling, of a crimson star that descended from the sky, and the storm being quelled as soon as he drew his final breath.

Whether the New Regime liked it or not, King Amari was a figure that would go down in history.

This late king was called many things in both life and death. He was known as a conqueror, a king, a reformer, a revolutionist, a genius, a murderer, a tyrant, a thief. In death, people grew bold enough to piss on his grave and yell whoreson, bitch, manslut, and many other colorful insults.

However, he was never called weak or frail. People wouldn't even associate the word cripple with him. The last thing anyone would call him would be a healer.

Julian, better known as just Doctor, was all of those things.

On the outskirts of quiet Gotsven was a tiny house, no bigger than a shack. The pastures it overlooked counted more sheep than people. The house was a little thing, with a few tomatoes, beans, and mystery herbs growing in a garden outside, looking a bit more sorry than not. It seemed that the owner didn’t have too much of a green thumb.

The shack itself was a hoveled home, with splitting wood, poorly mended cracks, and old peeling paint along the sides.

From the outside looking in, one could only assume that the inhabitant of such a sorry hovel was exceptionally poor, living with only the barest of necessities.

But in reality, the interior of this little shack was…something else entirely.

Both dawn and morning came and went. A wyvern pup circled around the little house before flying down and nudging open the window with relative ease.

What greeted the creature inside could only be called chaos.

There was barely enough room for a human being to move around. The space was used to maximum capacity; walls lined with tall shelves and fat trunks. Oddities and trinkets were littered about.

There was even half a suit of Old Age armor that stood on a log-stand, so rusted that no one could ever dream of donning the thing ever again.

The wyvern weaved through this mess and found the man who slept peacefully through the rising of the sun. This person slept in a hammock, one that was tied between a wooden pillar and a stuffed bear. Sleeping on the bed was long out of the question because it was already covered with clothes and books and other enigmas.

Tired of Julian’s laziness, the wyvern pup scratched at his face, which caused the man to carelessly swat at the creature.

The hammock, tied to the stuffed bear, swayed dangerously, not entirely secure. It was no surprise when Julian tumbled right off and fell to the ground with a thud.

He let out a long irritated groan. "If you want food, just help yourself!"

But the wyvern, affectionately named Dog, had already eaten its fill of both breakfast and lunch. It was only there to annoy the doctor.

The house was so densely packed that even falling off the hammock was enough to jostle tightly crammed shelves, trunks and other strange items lying about. Julian had collected many odds and ends over the past few years and though they were predominantly junk, he didn't have the heart to throw any of it out.

Slowly, he crawled up to a seated position, the world blurry before his eyes. When he pulled himself to his feet, he did so with care, fearful of moving around with wide movements and knocking things over. With a cautious hand, Julian felt around, searching for his eyeglasses. They were unfortunately not on the desk by the hammock, where he usually left them.

Julian began feeling around the shelves with a hiss of annoyance. The strange blurs of light and color that he saw did not outline any edges. He knew from experience that it wouldn't be long before he stubbed his toe, or knocked into something.

Speaking of knocking, there was knocking at the door. Muffled little voices called for him, audible even to his half-deaf ears.

“Doctor, are you home?”

They rapped against the door impatiently. It was a boy and a girl.

“What if he’s not home?”

“I bet he’s just sleeping.”

Julian sneered at the disrespectful little brats and prepared a long monologue-worth of scolding to unleash upon them.

But first, he really needed to find his glasses.

"Dog!" Julian barked at the disrespectful wyvern pup. "Where the fuck did you put my glasses?" He squinted at the blurry green-brown shape that was perched on the old lamp that now served as a sock-hanger (Don't ask. Julian had no idea how it got to that point either).

The creature glared at him silently, but Julian could not make out the narrow serpentine eyes through his defective vision. He squinted hatefully at the beast until impatience took hold.

He lunged! Thin arms reached out to grab the pup. His movements were too slow, failing to even glide over scales with his fingertips.

It was all a terrible mistake. The sudden movement jolted old wounds and made his muscles instinctively tense. Julian lost his balance and had no room to regain it. His hand flew and grasped the old lamp to steady himself. It shook and tumbled, Julian couldn't find his footing and went down with it, crashing to the floor.

On his way down, he somehow knocked into a tall clothing stand. A rare potted plant rolled over, falling onto the desk, dirt spilling over his still-open journal that he'd left there last night.

Dog cackled with ear-splitting squeals, angering Julian even further. He cursed at the damned creature and flexed his fingers, drawing upon a weak string of power that laid dormant in scarred mage circuits.

His hand curled into a fist. And then released a stream of bright vermilion, shooting straight toward the cackling beast and smacked it straight in the chest.

A high-pitched cry pierced Julian's ear as the beast flailed in pain before crashing into a clothing line. The antler of the mounted deer head on which the line was hung strained.

Snap!

And all of Julian's laundry fell to the floor. The wyvern tumbled into the hammock. It was uncertain if the little caws coming out of its beak were of laughter or cries of pain. Probably both.

Julian was about to cry out in exasperation. There was still rapping at the door. With the last bit of his dignity, the doctor sucked in his rage and stomped to the entrance of his little shack.

It was only about four steps away. But with his terrible vision and bad leg, he stumbled into this and that, failing to catch random items he knocked over and cursing painfully when he stubbed his toes. Even his jar of precious bluestones toppled over and scattered on the floor. It was his fault in the first place for leaving it out carelessly.

The mess that the doctor called his home became even messier.

Without having a chance to get dressed and properly groom himself, Julian was clothed with only a loose old tunic that cut so wide it drooped off his tanned left shoulder. Years of being disabled and not being able to walk properly on his right leg had caused him to lose much of his muscle mass, reducing him to a slender lithe form.

If there was one thing that Julian could still barely lay claim to was his looks. His chestnut brown hair framed his face in delicate waves, falling halfway down his chest. His face was sharp but just soft enough to retain elegance without seeming feminine. Two deep brown eyes that were angled just slightly, feline-like.

But even his appearance was weathered with age and the scars that littered his body. There was a time where specs of gold danced in his eyes and charmed anyone who dared chance a look. That light had since faded.

Maybe he was still a bit pretty, but Julian was no better than any other old man with a lame leg, bad vision, and crow’s feet forming around the edges of his eyes.

He went to try the door, only to find that it was stuck. The children's voices were like chattering magpies on the other side, refusing to stop.

"Shut it, I'm coming!" he barked at them, trying the old door again, making sure that the mechanism that locked it was truly unlocked. It was, but Julian was still wrestling with the damned thing.

And he wrestled with it until finally came free of whatever curse that held it in place- so fast and so suddenly that Julian almost fell over.

Now his door was open much wider than he intended, allowing the children to witness the terrible mess inside.

"...Doctor, mommy told me that you really need to get your life together," said the girl.

"...Doctor, this is the reason why you'll never get a wife," said the boy.

"You." Red fury traveled up Julian's neck and colored his face, "Little. Shits! I'll kill you both!"