He Who Watches Time Burn

Seeing the Chieftain step forward, Michael tried to follow—but the ringing in his ear spiked, sharp and deafening. His heartbeat thundered, each pulse crashing through his chest. The metallic tang of blood coated his tongue.

He reached for his dagger.

Pain answered first.

A jolt tore through his arm, his body screaming a warning he couldn't ignore.

He was done. His limit had already been passed.

Gritting his teeth, blood slipped from the corner of Michael's mouth. He tried to will time to stop, to pull that power again—but nothing came.

"Stop... goddamn it, STOP!"

But time didn't listen.

Step by step, the Chieftain approached, leading the goblins with a widening grin. Seeing his enemies frozen, helpless, he slowed his pace—playing with them, savoring it. He knew they were standing ducks.

Despair clawed at Michael's chest.

"It won't end this way," he growled through blood and gritted teeth. But when he tried to take a step, his body answered with raw, unfiltered agony. He nearly collapsed from the pain.

His vision blurred.

He glanced toward Alice—still down, still watching—but the look in her eyes wasn't fear.

She looked at him like he was the monster.

The Chieftain finally closed the distance. One massive hand reached for Alice, twisted with glee.

Then—light.

A crackling flash split the air, a bolt of lightning slamming square into the Chieftain's chest. The impact rang through the hall like a thunderclap, blasting the goblin leader off his feet.

He hit the ground hard, stunned by the sudden shift. Static still danced across his armor as he struggled to rise.

From the far corridor, footsteps echoed—heavy and fast, steel met stone and a lot of voices could be heard shouting 

Three figures burst into the hall—two with their hands glowing different magic and one with a massive greatsword slung over his shoulder, its blade already slick with blood.

The swordsman snarled as he stepped forward.

"I've got them—light this motherfucker up!"

His voice hit like a hammer.

The goblins hesitated, then began to fall back. The two magic-user unleashed a storm—fire and lightning crashing through the hall, tearing through the crowd.

Michael could barely stay upright. Everything moved like a dream, detached and fading.

More boots thundered in. Swords flashed. Goblins dropped. Within seconds, the battle was over.

Michael sank beside Alice, gasping.

She gave a faint, tired smile.

"…That sounded like our ride."

A healer rushed to their side, hands glowing. "Don't move. You're safe now. We've got you."

Michael tried to respond, but the world slipped from his grasp.

The last thing he saw was the Chieftain staggering, trying to rise—just before the greatsword carved through him and a final wave of magic buried him in light.

Then everything went dark.

When Michael next opened his eyes, everything was still—clean and bright, with a lingering scent of herbs drifting through the air. White stone walls surrounded him, the scent of herbs lingering in the air as rows of empty beds stretched out on either side, the room quiet and still.

He blinked slowly, trying to process where he was. An infirmary? How did I get here? The Goblin Chieftain—the fight—Alice.

The memory slammed into him, and his head throbbed as he tried to sit up. Panic crawled up his chest, tightening his breath. He scanned the room, searching desperately. Alice wasn't there.

Before he could spiral further, a sudden cough came from his side, startling him so badly he nearly had a heart attack.

Alice was sitting in a chair beside his bed, arms crossed, watching him like he had just grown a second head.

Relief washed over him like a crashing wave. He blinked again, heart still pounding, then chuckled softly. The sound surprised even him. He sank back into the bed with a weak laugh, eyes glistening.

"I'm glad you're alright," he said, voice quiet, cracking a little at the end.

Alice didn't move. She stared at him harder, disbelief spreading across her face.

"You can chuckle and smile after THAT!?" she shouted, nearly tipping out of her chair.

Michael winced but couldn't help the grin that tugged at his lips. She seems more approachable now than when we were in Edward's office, but I'm still wondering what he meant when he said not to trust her—right after telling me he trusted her. What a confusing thing to say.

For the first time in hours, maybe longer, it felt okay to breathe.

Laying back and staring at the ceiling, Michael finally broke the silence again. "So where are we? The last thing I remember is the dungeon with the Chieftain and a bunch of people showing up."

"What do you mean, where we are? We're at the end goal—" she caught herself, clearing her throat. "I mean, we're in Ashthorne. Not that the infirmary was the end goal, but... you get it," she finished, looking away quickly.

Michael let out a breath, letting the name settle. "Ashthorne... so we made it."

"Barely," she muttered, rubbing the side of her head. "I don't even remember how we got carried out. One second that bastard was swinging his mace, and the next, I'm waking up in here."

Michael nodded slowly, eyes distant. "There was lightning. And someone with a greatsword... I think they saved us."

Before either of them could say more, the door creaked open, and a middle-aged healer in forest-green robes stepped inside, carrying a small clipboard and a glowing vial.

"Ah, you're awake. Good," the healer said, his voice calm and practiced. He approached Michael's bed and checked his pulse with a gentle hand. "How's the hearing? Pain in your arm still?"

Michael gave a half-shrug. "Still ringing... and yeah, some pain."

"You pushed yourself past what most mages twice your experience would attempt," the healer said with a faint smile. "Consider it a miracle you're not in the next ward over."

He scribbled a note, then glanced up again.

"That said, normal healing won't help you right now. You're suffering from mana deficiency—badly. Your reserves are completely drained and your channels are unstable. Until they recover naturally, there's not much we can do aside from pain management."

The healer handed him the vial. "Drink this. It won't fix the damage, but it will dull the pain enough for you to stand."

Michael took it, blinking slowly.

"Also," the healer added, straightening, "Miss Halden has requested to see you once you're able to walk."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Halden?"

"Director Halden. She oversees admissions, policy, most of the guild coordination... and she doesn't usually ask for personal meetings. So whatever you did out there, it caught her attention."

He glanced at Alice, then back to Michael. "Just you, by the way. She isn't a student, so she won't be accompanying you."

With that, the healer turned and quietly exited the room.

Michael looked over at Alice, still groggy and tense in her chair.

"Well... guess I'm not done yet."