Finn looked at the man standing before him. Darian, the High Magister, seemed to fill the room with his presence. Even standing still, he radiated authority, and Finn could almost feel the quiet power rolling off him. It wasn't flashy or loud, but it was impossible to ignore—a steady, commanding force that made the air feel heavier around him.
Darian didn't wait for Finn to answer. His eyes narrowed with certainty.
"It can only be you."
"Indeed, High Magister. It is him," Marielle said, her voice steady, her hand still pressed to her chest in salute.
With a small gesture, Darian dismissed the formality as well as the rest of the healers. Marielle lowered her hand and stood at ease before continuing.
"His name is Lioren Thale. I was told by one of his relatives who belongs to my division he has lost his memory. He doesn't even recall who he is."
Darian's gaze grew sharper.
"Could it be the result of shock? Or perhaps an enemy spell?"
"At first, I thought the same," Marielle admitted, her voice calm but carrying weight. "But if that were true, my healing should have broken the spell… or restored him to his proper state."
Finn sat between them, with the impression that they were speaking an unknown language . He didn't understand. Memory? Spells? Healing? They spoke as if he wasn't even there.
Marielle went on. "The healer who first examined him reported only scratches, nothing serious. But that contradicts the captain's account. According to him, the survivor had severe wounds when he was found. Wounds that should have left him unable to stand."
Her brow furrowed. "And then there is the other matter. Something… unusual happened when I cast my healing spell."
Darian leaned closer, his tone low and steady. "I saw it as well. He amplified your magic. Not knowingly, but still, it happened. The power surged beyond your control, and yet it didn't harm anyone. Instead, it healed them all."
He turned his gaze back to Finn, studying him as if the answer were hidden in his face.
"So many strange things… The mana he can channel doesn't match the rank of a common infantry mage."
The tent grew quiet, filled only by the distant murmur of healers at work. Finn shifted uneasily under their stares, his mind a storm of questions.
Darian straightened, his cloak falling neatly into place. His voice left no room for argument.
"Until I give the order, Lioren Thale does not return to the battlefield."
"At your command, High Magister," Marielle replied with a steady nod.
He turned toward the tent's entrance, the healers already parting in silence to clear his path.
Finn sat still, but a strange pull stirred in his chest, faint at first, then growing heavier. It was as if something unseen tugged at him, drawing him toward the distant roar of the front lines. He clenched his fists, unsure whether it was fear, instinct, or something else entirely.
Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.
"High Magister…"
Darian paused at the tent's flap, half-turned, his profile lit by the glow of the warding crystals.
"I… I'd like to return," Finn said, the words tasting foreign even to him.
The High Magister's eyes widened a fraction, the surprise quickly buried under his usual composure. "Do you have a reason for such a request?" he asked evenly.
Finn hesitated. "No… not really." He bit back the truth—that something inside him pulled restlessly toward the fight. After everything already strange about him, the last thing he wanted was to sound even more unsteady.
Darian's jaw tightened. His answer came sharp, cutting away the silence.
"No. You will not."
And with that, he swept out of the tent, his guards falling in around him, leaving Finn staring at the canvas walls, the pull in his chest refusing to fade.
Marielle turned to Finn, her voice calm but firm.
"Try to rest, Lioren. If you really feel you must return to the battlefield, you may get your chance… the fight is far from over."
She gave him a small nod and left the tent, her aid following silently, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and unease as they glanced at Finn.
he lay back, trying to follow her advice, closing his eyes. He shifted and turned, but sleep refused him. That same pull tugged at his chest, faint at first, then stronger, as if something or someone called him toward the front lines. It wasn't just the fight; it was an insistence, an invisible thread pulling him forward.
He tried to ignore it. He really did. But the pull wouldn't let him. It was stronger now, insistent, dragging at something deep inside him. Finally, he made a choice: he would not obey. He had to go.
Finn rose quietly, careful not to alert the healers, and slipped through the tent flap. Outside, the camp buzzed with activity, but he stayed low, keeping to the shadows.
Ahead, a line of wounded soldiers moved slowly, supported by their comrades. Finn froze for a moment, watching them. Their groans and labored steps tugged at his heart. He wanted to help, but he couldn't. He ducked behind a nearby tent and waited until the line passed, then pressed forward, his heart pounding in his chest.
A rider appeared, leading a horse by its reins. He stopped, tied the animal to a stake, and walked off toward a healer. Finn's eyes lit up. This was his chance. He hurried over, untied the horse, swung into the saddle, and nudged it forward, the animal moving smoothly beneath him.
"Hey! That's mine!" the rider shouted, but Finn had already galloped away, blending into the shadows.
As the wind hit his face, Finn's mind raced. He had never ridden a horse in his other life. But somehow his movements were instinctive. He urged the animal forward, guiding it as if he'd been born in the saddle.
He followed in reverse the path the rider had taken to reach the Healing Tents earlier with him.
Noting as he went that the battlefield had shifted. Lines of soldiers had reformed, banners flapping, troops moving in precise formations. It looked like the army was preparing for a final assault. To avoid being seen,
Finn rode cautiously, keeping to the edges of the camp, his eyes scanning the battlefield in front of him. His chest still ached with the pull—the strange, persistent sensation that he needed to be at the front, like something or someone was waiting for him there.
He skirted around the main formations and too a path which ran along a mountain preventing him from having a view of the troops, but he knew he was going in the right direction because as went ahead, the pull in his chest intensified as if a physical force drove him onward.
Finn finally reached the top of a small hill where he could have a' overview and dismounted, releasing the horse by tapping his back. The wind stung his face as he took in the scene below. From his vantage point, the battlefield stretched out before him, a chaotic mix of soldiers and horses. He could see the enemy's massive wall, still standing strong despite the repeated bombardment from the Crimson Flame's fireballs.
Finn's gaze narrowed. The wall was still intact. "How is that possible?" He Wondered.
As he studied the scene, something caught his attention. There was a low hum in the air, coming from somewhere near the lines.
Turning his gaze, Finn saw it. A ball of light, pulsing and swirling in the distance. It was difficult to make out, but he could see shapes moving around it, figures, probably mages, chanting or casting something to fuel the energy. The ball of light began to grow, expanding slowly, until it was nearly a hundred times the size of the fireballs the Crimson Flame had been launching.
He watched in stunned silence as the energy ball surged upward, its glow brighter now, almost blinding against the darkened sky. The mages seemed to be guiding it, their hands raised, forming a circle around it, directing its power.
The ball of light continued to rise, its glow pulsing with power. Then, with a sudden release, the mages unleashed it. The sphere shot upward like a meteor, streaking across the sky with incredible speed, its trajectory aimed directly at the enemy's wall.
Finn's eyes widened. It was coming straight for the wall.
Behind the veil of smoke and dust, soldiers braced themselves. There was a tense stillness in the air, as if everyone was waiting for what would come next.
Finn stood there, staring at the destruction. His heart raced, and for a moment, the pull in his chest was almost overwhelming. Something was happening, something he was supposed to be a part of.