The world returned in pieces.
Soft linen sheets. The distant echo of murmured voices beyond enchanted walls. A dull ache pulsing in his limbs, and the heavy silence that followed great pain.
Caelum stirred.
Light filtered through the enchanted windows of St. Mungo's private ward, bathing the stone walls in early dawn hues. In the stillness, his eyes fell on the solitary figure sitting beside him—head bowed, a book resting open on her lap.
"Aunt Amelia…" he rasped.
The book fell with a soft thud.
Amelia Bones stood so abruptly the chair nearly toppled. "Caelum—!" She was at his side in an instant, kneeling at the edge of the bed, one hand hovering inches from his shoulder, uncertain whether to touch or just look at him.
"Are you in pain? Can you move? Is anything wrong—your chest, your back, your head—?"
He blinked slowly, the worry in her voice hitting harder than any wound. Her face was pale, her eyes ringed with fatigue. Her usually immaculate robes were wrinkled, and strands of her hair had slipped free of their tidy bun.
She looked nothing like the stern and composed woman he knew.
"I'm fine," Caelum said quickly, guilt twisting in his chest. "Maybe… some water would help."
Amelia hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Of course." She squeezed his hand once, tightly, then stood. "I'll fetch some—and alert Healer Mirren. You gave us all quite a scare."
She was gone before he could reply, her boots clicking down the hallway.
Caelum leaned back into the pillows, exhaling slowly. Everything ached. But he was alive.
Barely.
And something told him the hardest part was only beginning.
The Next Morning – St. Mungo's Ward
Healer Mirren arrived just after sunrise, robes crisp and wand already in hand. Her spectacles glinted as she stepped into the room.
"Well then," she said briskly, "the miraculous boy awakens. Let's see just how miraculous."
She cast several diagnostic charms, her wand trailing soft ribbons of gold and silver light across his chest and limbs. Her brow furrowed as readings flickered in the air around her.
"Circulatory strain… fractured magic pathways… depleted core reserves. But no lingering curses, and the regenerative burn damage is stabilizing." She gave him a sharp glance. "You've been unconscious for more than two weeks. The injuries are healing, very slowly, most likely from the aftereffects. You're lucky. Any longer under that ritual, and we'd be discussing funeral rites instead of recovery schedules."
Caelum gave her a tired, faint smile. "I'll try to avoid that next time."
Mirren huffed, scribbling something on her floating parchment. "See that you do."
"In the meantime, absolutely no magic casting whatsoever for the next two weeks."
Caelum blinked. "No magic at all?"
"None," Healer Mirren said firmly, hands on her hips. "Not unless you're keen on turning your entire magical pathway into a useless tangle. Casting with fractured channels could lead to permanent disability—or worse."
Caelum winced slightly, then nodded. "Understood."
"There's… also another matter," Mirren added, her voice softening just a touch. "The wound on your back—it isn't the kind we can fully heal. I believe it came from the forceful discharge of high-intensity magic, likely amplified by your… circumstances. Even with advanced healing spells, I'm afraid it will still leave a massive scar."
Caelum's eyes drifted toward the wall, but he wasn't seeing it. He was remembering—Aurelian's echo channelling Luxardent through his body, wings of fire erupting from his back, searing pain and impossible strength all at once.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "It's okay."
Mirren gave him a brief, evaluating glance before nodding. "Tough kid. You'll stay at St. Mungo's for a few more days for observation. After that, you can go home to rest—preferably without setting anything on fire. I'll draft a nutrition and exercise plan for your recovery."
She turned briskly to leave, muttering something about paperwork, and shut the door gently behind her.
The room fell quiet.
Caelum turned to Amelia, whose eyes were still shadowed by exhaustion. Her robes were wrinkled, her bun slightly undone, and her usual sharp poise dulled with worry.
"I'm sorry, Aunt Amelia," Caelum said quietly. "For all this."
She looked at him for a long moment. Then, she reached out and gently brushed his fringe away from his forehead.
"You don't need to apologize," she said softly. "You're safe. That's what matters."
Caelum searched her face. "Are you sure you're fine?"
Amelia gave him a small smile—tired, but genuine. "I'll be fine. You're the one who nearly burned a fortress down."
Caelum managed a weak chuckle.
"You should rest," she said, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders. "Tomorrow's going to be a bit busy."
Caelum leaned back into the pillow, the haze of fatigue starting to return. "Great."
"Welcome back, Caelum," she murmured, watching over him as his eyes began to close.