I think over the life choices that have led to this moment. Namely, about how I went into the woods when I didn’t have to. About how I agreed to help those fairies when I didn’t have to. About how I went around looking for intel on my own when I didn’t have to. Until now I have done many unnecessary things and oh if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions.

Unfortunately, the stinky sleep tincture I have to brew is unavoidable. After all, the kid would die if I used a sleeping spell or any other magic-based anesthesia, but it would be more comfortable for him if he wasn’t awake while I was pulling apart his magic core and rearranging it. Even someone with zero aptitude for magic would be able to feel you digging around in their core of all places; even damaged, his was no exception.

Fortunately, the world of mundane medicine has plenty to offer. Curtesy of Erastus' Seventh Tome, where he espoused the wonders and effects of several plant-based concoctions.

When everything is ready, the show will begin. Except, it won’t actually be much of a show. After all, if it looks like anything more than holding a sleeping child’s hand to anyone else then I’ve used too much magic. No, no, the name of this game is not flash, but restraint. How successful I am is largely dependent on how little magic I can manipulate rather than how much.

Don’t mind me, just practicing unlicensed magical medicine, no big deal.

Although, if I’m honest my nerves have nothing to do with the legality of it.

I cradle my spirit partner, still inside the barrier I’d made for her. There was no point in undoing it when I would just have to cast all those spells again when we went back. While I had originally planned to stay in one of Teleost’s Inns another night, the tribe I was helping insisted I stay with them. They had provided a hearty meal and a comfortable place to rest while I worked.

I wonder when my job title changed from scribe to professional errand runner. I am practically an adventurer at this point, with all the odd quests I have taken up recently.

Worse yet, the feeling of being watched persisted here too. It was less frequent when I stayed within the informal territory of the tribe, but I felt it every time I ventured out or near the edge of their camp. It’s irksome, but since there’s no malice in it, I’ve left it for now. For all I know it’s just some curious kid or something, since almost anyone else would surely have approached already.

Magis aren’t an endangered species or anything, but they aren’t especially common either. Then again, that might be more due to the prevalence of reclusive tendencies than a lack of numbers. Either way, openly sharing that status would make me a spectacle to some, no matter the eclectic nature of Teleost’s populace.

Regardless, today is the day. The tincture will be done soon, and when it cools down it will be time to tell the family. The moment of truth. Or rather, the moment of inadvisable decisions and the consequences thereafter. If I knew any reliable ways to increase luck, I would be tempted to try them now.

Every second closer raised one more hair on my arms; and the shaking of my hands never truly stopped.

Have you ever held a butterfly in your hands before? Tried to hold one by its wafer-thin wings? Could you feel how easily they would break, how readily they would tear if you weren’t careful? Did you feel how the scales pulled free of their wings at the slightest touch? How it felt like they could dissolve at a moment’s notice, disappearing into dust on the wind?

That is the exact gentleness with which you must handle a damaged core.

Just like the butterfly’s wings, if I held any part too tightly it would flake apart and scatter. Such a state is unrecoverable. Forget the half-life this child is currently living; one mistake would result in him being without any life.

And so, I sit alone; just me and my off-the-record patient. There can be no disruptions or distractions. The whole procedure must maintain a level of stillness that would put a temple to shame.

There is one meager blessing in all this: what I must do is very simple. The difficulty lies entirely in how precise you must be, like threading the tiniest needle on the first try. All I must do is untangle the mats as carefully as possible and tie any broken pieces back together, once the proper flow is restored the core would take care of the rest.

I suppose that’s the tragedy of the fraying fever; there’s nothing impossible about treating it, and yet there’s still nothing most people can do. It strikes before you know what’s wrong; as innocuous as any other cold, but it snaps apart so many strands of your core that it tangles worse and worse, ultimately resulting in the loss of magic conductivity and destroying the integrity of the person—the child—that caught it. And this boy, without connections to any Magis capable of this degree of control, should have been lost long ago. Only a strict isolation from any and all magic has kept him alive, but even that would not have lasted forever. Sooner or later, the miniscule amount of magical energy generated by living would have built up enough to scatter him from within. No ward would have protected him from that.

It's no wonder his family is willing to risk someone unqualified doing this.

I sit on the ground beside Orion’s bed, where only minutes before his grandmother, aunt, and cousin had held him close and tucked him in to sleep. He hadn’t liked the tincture very much, but his grandmother promised they would go eat something sweet together when he woke up. It was almost too much to watch.

I pull every strand of magic as tightly to my center as I can before I pick up his small hand. I can’t risk any ambient transference. Then, ever so slowly, I loose one little thread as thin as spider-silk. It travels from my hand into his, creeping along until it reaches the core. Skin to skin like this, I can feel what the wards had isolated from my senses before. Strands of magic drift lazily inside his body, untethered. Outside the wards they would try to follow the leylines, unraveling his center piece by piece. Now, they were drawn to my own thread, like static electricity.

I can feel that several knots have formed. I tug at one, gauging how connected it is to the whole mass. I am looking for the ones I can cut. No need to untangle them all, that would only exhaust my focus. There—a mass of threads separate from the rest by only two or three lines. I maneuver around, avoiding the core itself, and loop neatly around a strand. Forming a tiny garrot, I sever the connections one by one until the wad is free. Then I pull it back towards myself, into my own body where I drop Orion’s hand and dissolve the tangle, absorbing it into my own magic reserves.

Over the next four hours I continue the same way, snipping one mat away at a time until there’s only a core so frayed left that it would feel like a ball of fluff if you touched it. Tired as I was, if I stopped here, it would only be a few weeks before he was back in the same state again. So now begins the annoying part; I have to tie each strand properly to another strand.

Thankfully, a magic core is not actually a ball of string. It doesn’t follow a neat continuity from one end to another; if it did, I’d be here for days trying to sort out which lines go together to form a singular continuous strand. Still, the sheer amount of them isn’t much better.

I take a moment to stretch, stiff from remaining in place for so long.

Tying two threads together with only a third thread is exactly as tricky as it sounds, but this is the most crucial part for recovery. This part takes an additional six hours, and I’m practically dead by the end of it.

The sky is dark now, although I didn't notice it change. I barely have enough physical energy left to drag my poor body to the tent entrance where everyone has been waiting since I started. The ground has a couple new furrows tread into it, and they look as weary as I feel. Several eyes jump to me at once, all preparing to ask the same question. I spare them the words.

“He’s gonna be okay. He’ll be asleep till morning, but you can see him now if you want.”

I see a chorus of matching smiles, I think I hear a thank you at some point, but by then I had flagged and passed out. The tension of perfection had been acting as my spine for the last hour and now that it was gone, I collapsed. I’m sure they can handle the rest.

Dawn finds me tucked into the pile of plush textiles I’d been using as a bed while staying here. Someone moved me, how nice. I yawn, not quite free of yesterday’s stiffness. I’m glad to be done, there are reasons I chose not to specialize in magic detangling, and the inability to move for several hours at a time is only one of them. No wonder Teacher Rona was always doing stretches. I have never appreciated her insistence that I join her daily exercises this much before.

It isn’t long until I notice an inordinate amount of sound outside my tent.

When my brain finishes turning on, I recognize it as the sound of music. They’re celebrating.

I peek outside, watching various tribe members that I hadn’t even spoken to dancing around. And those that weren’t dancing had an unmistakable bounce to their steps.

I’ll spare you the fuss they made when I fully exited the tent, but after getting my back and shoulders dislodged and slapped raw as some form of demented gratitude, I was ushered back to my young patient’s side.

He was still within his wards… drat. I’d completely forgotten to tell them they could take those down. I’d already given him a magic transfer to restore his core as the last step of his treatment. In other words, his conductivity is fine now. No need to keep him segregated from any and all magic anymore. So long as his core didn’t get damaged again, he’d be as fine as any non-Magis child.

On my way in I noticed a man with a magi-mech leg waiting at the edge of the ward. Another family member? Well, not that he could go in, his leg might explode under that kind of  pressure.

I was jostled from my musing by Pyxis trying to squeeze me to death. It was a good attempt. These people are very touchy-feely. Not that I hate that, but it’s more socializing than I am used to.

Free breathing restored, I walk over to the kid and hold out a hand.

“Well, it’s now or never. Ready to try getting out of here?” I invite. His eyes light up.

“You mean I can go now!?” He stumbled to his feet, struggling against his bedding. I nod, smiling as his excitement becomes mildly infectious.

“Whenever you’re ready. Your core is like anyone else’s now.”

He raced over to the door, but hesitated, looking back for reassurance. I make a pushing gesture, telling him to go, as his grandmother walks up beside him. She pulls the flap back, and suddenly he’s off like a bird from a cage.

From inside I hear a man call Orion’s name, and I hear Orion call back, “Dad!”

I follow the others outside to see Orion wrapped up tightly in the arms of the man I’d seen before and all but forgotten. They were both crying a lot. In fact, several onlookers were crying too. I was beginning to feel a bit awkward. Maybe I should start crying? Would that be better or worse? Whatever.

I settle on no, and free my little friend from her ball for the first time in three days. She climbs back over to her favorite spot on my shoulder, sending a greeting tug along our bond. I didn’t think I’d miss it this much, but I hadn’t noticed how quickly I grew accustomed to her presence. It’s nice to have you back. I swipe my cheek against her hooded head.

I was about to excuse myself from the scene when a weight crashed into my legs, grasping onto them. I’m greeted by the top of Orion’s head, and then his face as he turns a big grin at me.

“Thanks for everything miss Magis.” I give in and ruffle his dark green hair, allowing an ounce of softness.

His father walks over to join him.

“Truly, we- I can never thank you enough. If there is anything I can do to repay you, just say the word. I’ll find a way to get it or to do it. I swear it on my name.” He places a hand on my free shoulder, staring sincerely into my eyes with his light brown ones.

“Oh?” I can’t help the cheshire curl of my lips, blame it on being a Magis. “Anything, you say?”