The Essence Flow

Chapter 87: The Weight of What Remains

“…So let me get this straight,” Herb muttered, one hand resting on his chin.

“Leon—your Leon—is actually Rheon, one of the Essentia Warriors…”

He exhaled, long and slow.

“And he used Vital Essentia—the kind you only use when you're ready to die—to protect you and your brother?”

Towan nodded.

“That’s… basically it.”

He stared into his tea, watching the steam curl.

“Then Eryndar offered to train me. We were on our way to his dojo when we got attacked. Because of the book.”

Herb raised an eyebrow. “A book?”

“It’s not just any book,” Towan said. “It… it’s connected to something. Something big. Memories. Visions. Other worlds, I think.”

He hesitated. “I didn’t really understand it at first, but… I saw pictures.”

He paused—his eyes suddenly widened.

“I saw Eryndar in it,” he whispered.

“And Rhys. Kade. They were all there. In some old photo. Like they’d been part of something long before we were even born.”

Herb leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, damn…”

The silence that followed was a thoughtful one. Then:

“I don’t know much about that book,” he admitted. “But… I’ve heard of things like it. Once, a traveler passed through—years ago—said something about a record keeper. An artifact that didn’t just remember the past, but remembered other pasts. Lives that could’ve happened. Lives that did, somewhere.”

Towan looked up.

“You think that’s what the book is?”

“I think,” Herb said slowly, “that if it’s got Rheon and Eryndar in it… and some cult is trying to take your head for touching it… then maybe it’s not just a book anymore.”

Towan didn’t reply. The silence between them thickened—until Herb set the cup down and looked over with something gentler in his eyes.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“…I’ve been taking care of Leon’s things,” he said. “Since he disappeared.”

Towan blinked. “You have?”

“Yeah. His account. His supplies. Even that broken sword he kept saying he'd fix and never did.” Herb gave a half-smile. “Technically… since Leon was your legal guardian, all of it belongs to you and Elliot now.”

Towan looked down.

There was no ceremony in that sentence. No celebration.

Leon wasn’t dead.

But he wasn’t here. And that absence weighed heavier than any coffin.

“…You can keep it for now,” he said softly.

Herb raised an eyebrow.

“Kid—”

“I’m not ready,” Towan cut in. “Not yet.”

Herb studied him for a moment, then nodded.

“Alright. But you say the word, and it’s yours.”

Towan didn’t answer.

The cup in his hand had gone cold.

Towan spent the day wrapped in quiet recovery, lying in bed with his legs crossed and breath steady. The bruises still ached, but the pain had dulled into background noise—something he could breathe through.

He closed his eyes and began to focus.

The breathing method Leon had taught him during their first weeks together came naturally now. Inhale. Hold. Let go. Feel the ambient Essentia in the air—and invite it in.

“This might not heal me,” he murmured to no one, voice low and calm,

“...but it does make me feel refreshed.”

The technique wasn’t designed to repair wounds. It was a reconnection—drawing in the Essentia around him, letting it flow through his damaged channels, not violently, but like rain soaking into dry soil. Each breath aligned with the current. The flow didn’t fight him. It listened.

Coordination.

Rhythm.

Control.

Night eventually settled over Lockeheart, lanternlight flickering through the windows. Towan pulled himself from the bed, stretching sore muscles, and made his way downstairs.

The air below was warm with the scent of baked bread and old wood. The bar was quiet tonight—only a few customers scattered at the tables, the clink of mugs and low conversation keeping the atmosphere cozy.

Herb stood behind the counter, drying a glass, shoulders slightly hunched.

Towan approached.

“Hey, Herb?” he asked, voice softer than usual.

The old bartender looked up. “Sure, Towan. What’s on your mind?”

“Do you know where Eryndar’s dojo is?”

Herb paused, thoughtful.

“Well… not exactly,” he admitted. “But I can get that info in the next few days. Might have to talk to a few of the old guild runners who still owe Leon a favor or two.”

He set the glass down, expression turning more serious.

“Still… you should stay here a while. Rest up. You’re not done healing—not just on the outside.”

Towan nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. I’ll help out with the bar too. I don’t wanna stay here for free.”

Herb gave a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have to, kid. But I won’t say no.”

He didn’t mention how heavy the days had been lately. How keeping the inn and bar running alone had started to wear him down. He looked older than the last time Towan saw him. A little slower. A little dimmer around the edges.

But he didn’t say a word of it.

And Towan didn’t ask.