I'm far from home. I have no one. And now… I'm going to be sold as a slave.
Could this day actually get worse?
A tear slides down my cheek before I can stop it. I turn away from the cell bars, fists clenched.
"Be quiet," a voice growls from the dark. "Some of us are trying to sleep."
I flinch, wiping my face quickly and squinting into the shadows.
"Who's there?" I ask, my voice hoarse.
There's a short pause. Then a bored, gravelly voice responds.
"Kinda rude to ask someone's name before giving your own."
"…I'm Leken."
The figure shifts, still just a silhouette in the corner of the cell. "Clayton. Former head of the Musana Magic Tower. Try not to talk again. I'd like to die with some peace and quiet."
"Sorry," I mutter, shrinking into the wall. "I'll be quieter."
"You otherworlders are always like this," he grumbles. "Noisy. Sentimental. Always doing unnecessary things."
My heart skips.
"How do you know I'm not from this world?"
"Your clothes," he says flatly. "They scream, 'not from around here,' kid."
…Right. Dumb question.
I cringe internally. Before I can think of a response, he sighs heavily.
"I said quiet," Clayton snaps, turning away to face the wall again.
Former head of the magic tower? If that's true… maybe he can teach me something. I need anything I can get in this place.
But first, I need to figure out how this world works. I need information. A plan.
I scan the cell walls, floor, and corners. Nothing but rat droppings and strange carvings I can't read. Whatever they mean, they don't help me now.
So instead, I press my ear closer to the iron bars and listen.
Two guards are talking down the corridor.
"…the kingdom's falling apart. People are starving. We've lost more land to the demons this month than in the last two years."
"You want to be executed for treason? Shut it."
Their voices fade, replaced by the usual silence and the slow drip of water.
Demons. Starvation. A kingdom in decline. Just what kind of place have I been dragged into?
Hours pass. A tray slides into the cell—stale bread and cloudy water. Clayton stirs with a grunt.
I glance down at the food, then back at the man curled on the other side of the cell.
I'm just a healer… but if they can use chants to cast magic, maybe I can too. It's a long shot, but I have to try something.
"Will you teach me magic?" I ask, holding out my bread.
Clayton blinks at me, then scoffs. "Why would I?"
"I'll trade you this."
He eyes the bread, then me. "…Seriously?"
I nod. "Please."
Clayton sighs and snatches the bread. "Fine. Sit over here. Let's see if there's anything in that body worth teaching."
I move closer. He extends a hand toward me, fingers hovering over my chest. His brow furrows.
"…That can't be right."
"What is it?"
"You've got no magic in you. None."
I look away. "Yeah… I figured. I tried repeating the court magician's chant earlier. Nothing happened."
He leans in, squinting. Then his expression shifts.
"Wait."
He lowers his hand to my wrist, eyes narrowing.
"…There's something else."
"What?"
"Your body's filled with divine energy. Not mana. Divine power."
Divine...?
Clayton pulls his hand back, now eyeing me with genuine confusion.
"That shouldn't be possible. Mana is what fuels magic. Divine energy is... something else entirely. Even Saints have a mix of both. You've got zero mana—none."
He leans forward, serious now.
"What class did the crystal show?"
"Healer."
"Healer? Doesn't make sense. Not with this kind of divine saturation."
He studies me, eyes narrowing again.
"Are you lying to me? Are you sure you're not a Saint?"
I shake my head. "I'm not lying. I'm just… a healer."
The next two days passed in a blur of lessons.
Clayton started with the basics of this world, things I never would've known otherwise. He explained that magic is divided into three main types.
Elemental magic is tied to the six elements: Earth, Air, Water, Fire, Light, and Dark. Within Light magic, people can perform simple healing spells, but they're limited and require mana.
Then there's body enhancement magic used by warriors to strengthen muscles, sharpen reflexes, or boost endurance during battle.
And finally, summoning magic, the rarest of the three… and the one used to bring me here.
But then he shifted to what makes me different.
"Divine power isn't like any of those," he said. "It doesn't use mana. It doesn't come from you. It's granted from the gods."
I frowned. "So… how do I use it?"
"You pray," he replied simply. "Divine healing isn't about force. It's about focus. Devotion. You reach out to the god who governs that power, Solura, the Radiant One, and ask."
I hesitated. "But… I've never prayed before. I don't know what to say."
Clayton looked at me like I'd just asked how to breathe. Then, after a long pause, he finally muttered, "Start with this 'Great Solura, guide my hands with your warmth.' Say it like you mean it."
Clayton crossed his arms and gave me that same irritated look he always wore when I was too slow. "Now it's your turn. Try healing your bruises."
I blinked. "What bruises?"
He scoffed. "You serious? You didn't notice? You're covered in them. Those guards tossed you in here like a sack of flour. Your face alone looks like it lost a fight with a horse cart."
I frowned and brought a hand to my cheek. The second my fingers touched my skin, a sharp sting flared up beneath the surface, then another, just under my jaw. A dull throb in my ribs started to pulse in time with my heartbeat. How had I not felt this before?
Wait… how didn't I notice this before?
It hit me then, the fear, the shock, the pain, it had all blurred together. I'd been so focused on surviving, on understanding where I was, that I hadn't even registered my own body crying out.
"You done spacing out?" Clayton muttered. "Or are you planning to keep me waiting all day?"
I took a shaky breath. My hands hovered uncertainly in front of me.
"I… I don't even know if this is going to work."
Clayton rolled his eyes. "You won't know unless you try."
Swallowing my nerves, I closed my eyes. My heart was racing. I felt ridiculous. But I whispered the words anyway, forcing them past the lump in my throat.
"Great Solura… guide my hands with your warmth… and bring healing to the wounded."
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the cell lit up with a soft, golden glow, not blinding, but warm, like sunlight filtering through leaves. The light wrapped around me like a blanket, sinking into my skin. The pain in my face faded, the throbbing in my ribs dulled, then vanished entirely.
But it didn't stop there.
Across the cell, Clayton let out a quiet grunt. I opened my eyes just in time to see him glance down at his arm, and a thin scar that had been running along his forearm was now gone. His brow furrowed, but he didn't say anything at first.
I stared at my hands, stunned. "It… worked?"
Clayton raised an eyebrow. "Looks like it."
He didn't sound impressed. But I caught the slight shift in his voice like he wasn't sure if he should be worried or amazed.
"…You really are something else, kid."