The moment the light appeared, everything else faded.
Not the room, though its edges blurred, but the noise in my head. The fear. The shame. The thousand what-ifs that had clawed at me since the Awakening.
All of it went quiet.
Because my magic finally responded.
The pink-gold glow spread slowly from my hand, warm and steady, sinking into Miriam's skin like water soaking into dry earth. Where it touched, the sickly green veins dulled, their pulsing rhythm faltering as if confused.
She gasped softly.
Not in pain.
In surprise.
"I can feel it," she whispered. "It's warm. Deep. Like sitting in sunlight after a long winter."
Relief washed through me, sharp enough to make my knees weak.
"Good," I said, my voice low. "That means it's working. But this is only the surface layer."
I focused inward, paying attention to a strange new sense blooming alongside the magic. It wasn't sight. It wasn't touch. It was something else—an awareness that mapped her condition in my mind.
Three anchors.
I could feel them now.
One near her lower abdomen, dense and tangled. One coiled along her spine, threaded through nerves and mana channels. And the worst of them—wrapped tight around her heart like a thorny vine, pulsing with malicious intent.
"The corruption has anchor points," I said, mostly to myself. "If I don't break them, it'll regenerate."
Miriam nodded faintly. "Tell me what you need."
Honest. Direct. Even now.
I swallowed. "The magic scales with your response. The stronger the pleasure, the deeper I can push the healing. Right now, this is barely enough to slow it."
Her breathing was still uneven, but not from pain anymore. From awareness. From sensation.
"Then," she said quietly, "we'll need to increase it."
There was no embarrassment in her tone. No teasing. Just resolve.
I shifted closer to the bed, careful not to break contact. The glow dimmed slightly when my focus wavered, and I forced myself to steady it again.
"Tell me if anything feels wrong," I said. "At any point."
"I will," she promised.
I adjusted my grip, letting my fingers slide more deliberately along her forearm. Not clinical now. Intentional. I paid attention to her reactions—the way her breath hitched, the slight tension in her shoulders, the warmth rising beneath my palm.
[Patient Receptiveness: 24%]
[Healing Output: Low → Stable]
The system feedback came unbidden, cool and precise. I ignored it, keeping my attention on Miriam instead.
"This feels strange," she murmured. "I can feel the pain receding. Not gone. Just pushed back."
"That's the first layer responding," I said. "The corruption resists. It's adapted to normal healing. But this…" I hesitated, searching for the right words. "This is unfamiliar to it."
As if to prove my point, the green veins beneath her skin shuddered, their glow flickering.
I moved my hand higher, brushing lightly along her upper arm, then to her shoulder. I didn't rush. The magic seemed to reward patience, building more steadily when I let her adjust rather than overwhelming her.
Her head tilted slightly, eyes closing.
"There," she breathed. "That feels good."
The warmth surged.
[Patient Receptiveness: 31%]
My heart jumped.
"So it's not just pleasure," I murmured. "It's trust. Comfort."
"Those are often prerequisites," she said faintly.
I almost laughed. Almost.
Instead, I leaned closer, my free hand hovering uncertainly before I set it gently against her other arm, increasing the contact. The glow brightened, the light spreading further across her torso.
The first anchor—low and tangled—reacted sharply, contracting like a threatened animal.
"That's one of them," I said. "The lower anchor. It's reacting."
"What do you need to break it?" she asked.
I hesitated. Then answered honestly.
"I need you to feel more. The healing bursts when pleasure peaks—that's what can tear it out."
Her eyes opened slowly, meeting mine. There was vulnerability there. And determination.
"Then don't dance around it, Theo," she said quietly. "I don't have time for half-measures."
I nodded.
"Alright," I said. "I'm going to escalate. Tell me immediately if it's too much."
She inhaled, then exhaled. "I trust you."
The word trust sent a sharp, almost painful surge through my chest.
I moved closer, my hand sliding from her arm to her side, fingers resting gently against her ribs. Her body reacted immediately—muscles tensing, breath catching.
[Patient Receptiveness: 38%]
The anchor writhed.
The corruption didn't just resist—it pushed back, sending discomfort through her body. She winced, a soft sound escaping her throat.
"Pain spike," she said, jaw tightening. "From inside."
"I felt it," I replied. "The anchor's fighting."
I adjusted instinctively, shifting my touch, grounding it. Slower. Firmer. The glow steadied, then intensified.
"Stay with me," I said softly. "Focus on the sensation, not the pain."
She did.
Her breathing changed, deepening, syncing with my movements. I followed her cues, letting the magic guide my hands rather than my nerves.
The warmth built. The glow brightened.
[Patient Receptiveness: 49%]
The first anchor screamed.
Not audibly—but I felt it, a sharp psychic backlash as the corruption lost cohesion. The green veins around her lower abdomen flared once, then shattered into wisps of dark mana that evaporated under the healing light.
Miriam cried out—not in pain, but release. Her body arched slightly, then relaxed.
[Anchor Destroyed: 1/3]
[Healing Output: Moderate]
"It's gone," I said, breathless. "The first one."
She slumped back against the bed, chest rising and falling. "I can feel the difference. The pressure… it's less."
Relief surged through me, followed immediately by exhaustion. My palms tingled, warm and oversensitive.
Two anchors left.
The second—along her spine—felt more complex. Entwined with nerves. With sensation.
"This next one will be harder," I warned. "It's tied to your nervous system. You might feel overwhelmed."
She gave a weak, wry smile. "I'm already past caring how dignified this looks."
I huffed a quiet laugh.
"Alright," I said. "We'll take it slow."
I repositioned carefully, sliding my hand to support her as I helped her turn slightly onto her side. I made sure she was comfortable before continuing, adjusting pillows, keeping my touch steady so the magic didn't falter.
The glow dimmed when contact lessened, then flared again once I reestablished it.
[Patient Receptiveness: 42% → 46%]
The spinal anchor pulsed in response, sending ripples of sensation through her body.
She gasped, fingers curling into the sheets. "That one's sensitive."
"I can tell," I said. "We'll need to raise the intensity gradually. If I push too hard, it could overload your nerves."
"Then don't stop," she said breathlessly. "Just guide me through it."
I nodded, leaning closer, my focus narrowing to the point of contact. My hand traced slowly along her back, following the line of her spine, the glow chasing my fingers.
Each reaction she had—each breath hitch, each quiet sound—fed the magic, strengthening it.
[Patient Receptiveness: 55%]
[Healing Output: Moderate → High]
The corruption fought viciously now, lashing out with waves of discomfort. Miriam cried out, then bit it back, her body trembling.
"Stay with me," I repeated, my voice steady even as my own hands shook. "You're doing great. Don't pull away."
"I'm not," she gasped. "I'm right here."
The moment her focus locked back onto the sensation instead of the pain, the magic surged.
The spinal anchor shattered in a cascade of green sparks, dissolving under the flood of healing light.
[Anchor Destroyed: 2/3]
Miriam collapsed forward slightly, then went still, breathing hard.
"It's gone," she whispered. "I can move… it doesn't hurt to breathe."
I sagged with relief, bracing myself against the bed. Sweat dampened my hairline, my arms trembling from strain.
"One left," I said quietly. "The heart anchor."
The final one.
The most dangerous.
I could feel it tightening now, reacting to the loss of the others. Defensive. Desperate.
"That one," Miriam said softly, sensing my hesitation, "is going to take everything, isn't it?"
"Yes," I admitted. "It's shielded. I'll need to trigger a full healing burst."
Her eyes met mine.
"Then don't stop halfway," she said. "I'm not afraid."
I took a deep breath.
Neither was I.
Not anymore.