novelraw Chapter 153
Chapter 153
"Very well. Your studies begin tomorrow, Tiriel."
The Wood Elf Priest smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling like the bark of an ancient oak.
"Yes! I won't let you down!" Tiriel nodded vigorously.
"Now, take him to your quarters," the Priest said, withdrawing his hand from her head.
Tiriel looked down at the human. His body was still a latticework of cuts and scrapes.
"Priest, are you sure these smaller wounds are alright?"
"He will be fine, child. He has a strong constitution. Had he not, he would have perished long ago."
"Oh! Understood."
Tiriel bent down, sliding her arms under the human's torso and knees. She lifted him effortlessly, her slender frame belying her strength.
"Goodbye then!"
"Go on."
"Mhm!"
With a cheerful hum, Tiriel turned and carried her burden toward her treehouse.
The High Priest watched her retreat until she disappeared into the foliage. Slowly, he turned and made his way to his own dwelling.
Click.
He closed the door behind him. The interior was dim, the light of the world shut out.
Thud.
His staff slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor. The tall, imposing figure of the High Priest crumbled, collapsing face-first onto the wooden planks. He lay motionless.
In the silence of the room, a sphere of emerald light blossomed.
A humanoid shape coalesced within the glow. As the brilliance faded, a young girl, no taller than five feet, stood in the room. She wore a simple dress woven of living leaves. Her hair was a cascading waterfall of verdant green, reaching down to her calves.
Her emerald eyes gazed silently at the unconscious form on the floor.
The girl took a step forward with bare feet and crouched beside him.
"Great Mother... please forgive Rapha..." the old elf murmured in his delirium, his face twisted in agony.
The girl reached out, her hand hovering over his wrinkled brow as if to smooth away the pain.
But just before her skin brushed his, she pulled back.
Two crystal-clear tears rolled down her exquisite cheeks.
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Her form began to dissolve, breaking apart into motes of green light that faded into the air.
Rapha’s wrinkled eyelids fluttered. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
My home...
His memory returned in a sluggish tide.
I felt... the Mother's gaze.
Heh.
A bitter smile touched his lips, and a tear traced a path through the valleys of his face.
How could a sinner like me ever deserve Her gaze?
He looked toward the window.
Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Outside, the grass was jeweled with morning dew. The night had passed. It was time to teach the girl.
He pushed himself up, retrieving his staff from the floor, and opened the door.
Click.
"Good morning, High Priest!"
A face full of boundless energy greeted him. Tiriel. As always, she was up with the sun.
"And to you, Tiriel."
"Hehe! What are we learning today?"
"We start with the fundamentals. Today, I will teach you how to conduct the Rites."
The two elves, one ancient and one young, walked to the base of a great tree. They sat cross-legged on the moss, the lesson beginning in the quiet of the morning.
In the treehouse, the human lay still on the wooden bed.
His upper body was bare, revealing a torso sculpted by years of martial training.
Suddenly, his eyelashes fluttered.
Ugh.
Owen opened his eyes. A familiar ache throbbed through his entire body—the specific, deep burn that came after pushing oneself past the limit.
He pushed himself up into a sitting position with his right arm.
Wait.
His right arm.
He stared at the limb propping him up.
It was brand new.
The skin was a pale, flawless green, smooth and unblemished, starkly different from the rest of him. But the sensation... it was perfect. He flexed the fingers. They responded instantly. He rotated the wrist. Fluid.
A surge of wild ecstasy flooded his chest. It’s back. My arm is back!
It was a different color, yes, but he was whole again.
He took a deep breath, forcing the euphoria down. He needed to think.
The memory of the hammer shattering his arm was vivid, a waking nightmare. The orc’s blow took the limb clean off. So why...?
He stared at the green arm. Green skin.
He looked around. He was in a circular room, walls made of living wood. It was spartan—just the wooden bed he sat on. No furniture.
A treehouse.
He had been saved. And whoever saved him had given him this... miracle.
Gratitude swelled within him. Not only for his life, but for his sword arm. A knight without an arm was a beggar; now, he was a warrior again.
Click.
The wooden door swung open.
Tiriel walked in, looking weary after a long day of study. She spotted the figure sitting on the bed.
Silence stretched for a few seconds.
Then, Tiriel’s face broke into a bright, sunny smile.
"Hello there, human! You're finally awake."
Tall, slender, beautiful features, pointed ears, green skin.
She matched the descriptions in the old chronicles perfectly.
Owen stared, stunned. I never imagined my savior would be a Wood Elf. A race thought to have vanished a thousand years ago.
But this was no time for gawking. He was a knight.
He slid off the bed and dropped to his knees. He placed his hands over his abdomen, bowing his head low.
"Greetings. I am Owen. I owe you a debt I can never repay."
It was the formal salute of gratitude from the Knights of the Realm.
"What are you doing sitting up?" Tiriel cried. "Lie back down!"
She rushed forward, placing a hand on his shoulder to guide him back.
Thump.
An immense pressure bore down on him.
By the Gods, she’s strong.
Unable to resist the force, Owen allowed himself to be pushed back onto the mattress.
Tiriel nodded in satisfaction as she tucked him in.
"Your wounds haven't healed yet. The High Priest used a Divine Art to graft that arm, but it needs time to bond properly."
She wagged a finger at him. "Do not use it for a month. If you strain it now, it might reject you."
Owen memorized every word. He would rather die than lose this arm again.
High Priest? A Wood Elf High Priest?
The legends were true. They were masters of Life Magic.
Even in that brief moment of movement, he had felt it—the arm wasn't just a prosthetic. It was alive. It was his.