The Name I Was Reborn to Bury

As soon as one entered, a sweet and deep fragrance filled the air — a blend of myrrh incense, lemon balm, and a faint woody trace of burnt rosemary. The scent was ancient and comforting, like a grandmother's embrace that understood pain no one else could.

The walls were dark, well-maintained wood, covered with shelves that reached from floor to ceiling, all crammed with jars, clay pots, glass bottles filled with strange-colored liquids, dried leaves, and roots tied with red cords.

At the back, a lit fireplace cast flickering shadows over a worn leather rug. Simple and well-kept furniture filled the space: two cushioned chairs, a large armchair, a sturdy oak table marked with burns and cuts — used for both meals and potions.

Bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling to dry: mint, rue, verbena, and others Elian didn't recognize. Small iron bells chimed softly as the wind entered through the open windows, producing a low, almost magical melody.

"Come in. Sit wherever you like," Elise said gently, already heading toward a wooden cabinet with bronze handles.

Elian stepped forward hesitantly and let himself sink into the armchair. His body seemed to recognize the place as safe — as if, at last, he could rest.

Emanuelle sat beside him, never letting go of his hand.

Arthur was the last to enter and closed the door slowly, as if he didn't want the outside world to hear what was about to be said.

In that moment, Elise's house wasn't just a place.

It was a sanctuary.

"Arthur," Elise called, her voice firm yet gentle, "take Elian to the infirmary. It's in the back of the house."

Arthur nodded silently. He stood immediately and approached his son, who was already trying to get up on his own.

"I can go by myself…" Elian murmured with effort. But as soon as he tried to stand, his legs gave out. A sharp tingling crawled up his spine, and the muscles that had once been tight with adrenaline now became nothing but pain.

"Do you understand now?" Elise said, looking at him seriously. "Your adrenaline dropped, your blood cooled... and the incense helped relax your muscles. You won't make it two steps."

She was already walking ahead, not waiting for a reply.

Arthur, with a heavy sigh, leaned down and gently lifted his son. Elian let out a soft groan as he was lifted, his body crying out from every bone and sore muscle. The pain was sharp, but not stronger than his exhaustion.

The two followed the inner corridor, passing through a small door made of light wood.

The infirmary was at the back, just a few meters from the main entrance.

"I'm coming too!" Emanuelle exclaimed, jumping from the chair.

"Wait here," Elise replied, turning to her with a gentle yet firm tone. "He needs treatment. You'll see him soon."

"But…" Her voice trembled. Fear still lingered in her eyes.

Before she could start crying, Elian lifted his head with effort and said:

"Manu… stay here, please. It's okay. I'll be back soon." He forced a half smile. "Promise."

Reluctantly, Emanuelle nodded silently. She sat back down, her eyes glued to her brother's back until he vanished down the hall.

★★★

The infirmary wasn't luxurious — not even pretty, by the standards of the Earth Elian had once known. But there was a quiet order there, a care in the details.

There were four beds, separated by thick linen curtains dyed a pale green. The beds were simple, but clearly more comfortable than the straw mat Elian used at home.

The mattress, made of a softer material, gently sank under his weight as Arthur laid him down on the central bed.

Beside each bed, small dark wooden nightstands held clay jugs of water, matching cups, clean cloths, and small bottles with handwritten labels.

The windows were open, allowing natural light and a soft breeze inside. Thin cotton curtains swayed lazily to the occasional chime of a bell on the wall.

The same aroma that filled the rest of the house lingered here: myrrh incense, burnt sage leaves, and the subtle scent of a flower Elian couldn't name. It was the smell of healing — but also of memory. Something ancestral.

"Lay him in the middle bed," Elise said, gesturing while already collecting jars and cloths from a built-in cabinet. "I'll start with the worst injuries."

Arthur carefully settled his son. Elian exhaled through his mouth, relieved to finally rest. But what he felt now was more than physical exhaustion.

It was as if, after years, he was finally being cared for by someone beyond family love.

As if… someone was tending to him without expecting anything in return.

Elise approached, holding a steaming ceramic bowl in her hands.

"This will sting," she warned. "But afterward… it'll soothe."

Elian simply nodded, his eyes fixed on the wooden ceiling where a dried branch of rue hung silently like an invisible sentinel.

She set the steaming bowl on the nightstand beside the bed. The liquid exuded a strong scent of bitter roots, dried leaves, and something sweet like burnt honey.

"Drink this, Elian. It'll help your body relax… and ease the pain," she said, pouring the tea into a small clay cup.

Elian brought the cup to his lips with effort. The liquid went down hot, bitter, and thick, scraping his throat as if to remind him that healing also tastes like struggle.

"What's in this tea?" he murmured, frowning.

"Herbs from the northern forest. Nymphaea stalk and Golden-Blood flower. I also used luzernia root and a touch of honey," Elise replied, adjusting the cloths on the bed. "It's an old remedy… but effective. Your body needs it."

She then approached the bed and sat beside him.

"Elian, before I begin… you need to know what I'm going to do," she said in that firm tone that allowed no interruptions. "I'm going to use healing magic, alright?"

Elian nodded slightly, already feeling the tea take effect. The pain was starting to slow its rhythm.

"There are three main levels of healing magic," she continued.

"The first is called Sanare. It's the basic spell. It soothes minor pain, heals scratches, reduces swelling, and accelerates the body's natural recovery. The light from this magic is sky blue — bright, light, like morning skies."

She paused briefly, rummaging through a leather pouch and pulling out a few curved crystals used to amplify magical flow.

"The second is Sanare Medio. Intermediate level. It can treat fractures, sprains, deep cuts, internal bruises, and heavier bleeding. Its light is baby blue — gentle, but warmer and more intense than the basic one."

She looked directly at Elian, serious.

"And finally, there's the high level: Sanare Altiora. This magic… can only be used by trained healing mages with years of experience. It can heal fatal wounds, crushed bones, internal diseases, and… some say even the soul. Its light is a pale blue, almost silver — like moonlight over a lake. But I…" she hesitated, "...I can only use the first two."

"That's fine," Elian replied, his voice weak but steady. "I trust you."

Elise gave a faint smile and touched his hand.

"I'll start with Sanare, for the bruises and abrasions. Your muscles are inflamed, your face… well, your face is more purple than a ripe grape. Then I'll use Sanare Medio for your ribs and finger. Those fractures need more precise energy."

She positioned herself, gently lifted her hands, and took a deep breath.

"Sanare," she murmured — almost like a prayer.

From her palms, a sky-blue light began to glow. Soft, warm, like a spring breeze brushing the skin. The magic flowed through Elian's body in gentle waves, passing over the scrapes on his chest, shoulders, and arms. The bruises began to shrink, and the once-constant pain melted into warmth.

Elian closed his eyes. For a moment, it felt like floating in warm water, letting go of the weight of pain.

After a few minutes, Elise withdrew her hands and murmured again:

"Now, the harder part."

She moved closer to his broken rib, placing one hand over his side, the other over the swollen finger of his right hand.

"Sanare Medio," she said with more force.

The baby blue light emerged, more intense, pulsing firmly — as if it had its own heartbeat. The waves of heat were now deeper, more focused. Elian bit his lower lip — it wasn't unbearable, but it felt like his bones were being reshaped from the inside.

His finger popped gently back into place. His ribs throbbed — then relief came. So powerful he nearly passed out.

Elise sighed, wiping sweat from her forehead.

"That's all I can do for today," she said as she slowly stood. "You need rest, Elian. You'll feel weak, maybe a little nauseous, but by tomorrow, you'll be able to walk."

Elian nodded, his eyes heavy. Exhaustion overtook him.

Arthur stepped forward and placed a hand on his son's head.

"Thank you… Elise," he murmured.

"Don't thank me yet," she replied seriously. "Actually… I need to speak with you. Alone."

Arthur frowned.

"Now?"

"As soon as he's asleep," she said, glancing at Elian, who was already closing his eyes. "It won't take long. There's much to discuss."

Arthur nodded silently, while the scent of herbs lingered in the air and the infirmary fell into stillness.

And Elian… finally slept.