Path of the Pioneers

I rushed over to her, in spite of my legs threatening to collapse beneath me. I was low on mana, and if I wasn’t careful in my efforts to heal her, I would pass out on the spot from running out.

Even should I succeed in closing her wounds, in stabilizing her. How was I going to rush her out of the village? I didn’t have enough mana to move her around, and I wasn’t even certain if my skill was a high enough rank to even attempt such a thing.

I looked her up and down briefly. Her condition wasn’t great. Multiple puncture wounds from arrows, armor dented in certain spots from heavy blows. She likely had broken bones, and those would need to be held in place, but they were less urgent than the arrows.

Arrows are often a cruel weapon. When used against other people, their tips are made so that, should they be pulled out without care, it could lead to an even more grievous injury. My master taught me that in the lands to the south, they wear silk garbs underneath their armor to aid in properly pulling out these arrows. Oftentimes, surgeons have devices specifically to pry open the wound to.. Well..

I would need to be a touch more creative. And fast, too. There was no telling how long before more pursuers would be in the village searching for the two of us.

[Transmutation] was a low-ranking skill within my arsenal. An application of magic that would let you change the properties of inorganic materials. Perhaps, even with it at Rank F, it could be of use in this situation?

I snapped off most of the parts of the arrow shafts that stuck out of her wounds, trying my best not to move the tips. The less material I was affecting with the skill, the less mana I would spend in the process.

I was ashamed, to say the least, that there could be no considerations for cleanliness in this procedure. But I was confident I could stave off any repercussions of that in the following days. For now, I just needed to remove the arrows. To begin, I tore off one of the sleeves of my robe, ripping it apart into three separate pieces of fabric.

Putting my hands on one of the arrow shafts, I begin casting [Transmutation]. Threads of mana coiled around it, until they became so entwined that they almost became it. The arrow would need to be made soft and malleable, like clay. But it could not break, under any circumstances. I could feel the arrow begin to change slightly. I slowly pulled it out, paying close attention to it in case the sharp edges of the arrowhead had decided to stay sharp. Fortunately, the arrow came out rather cleanly. My strategy had worked, without agitating the injury further.

I stuffed a piece of fabric gingerly into the wound, paying no mind to anything but stopping the bleeding. I repeated that process twice more, her more pressing injuries now dealt with, for a time.

Using [Transmutation] three times in a row had taken a toll on me, especially after using [Flame Generation]. It was a draining skill, even if it only temporarily changed something.

Still, no matter how exhausted I was, we needed to escape the village.

In the storybooks, villains would typically steal a horse and escape into the night. But was that what I was? To someone, at least, I was. But I wasn’t trying to become one to the people of the village, as silly as that sounded after directly assaulting soldiers of the Crown.

With what little mana I had left, I tied threads around her ankles and legs, in order to slightly lift her off the ground and help me while I dragged her away. The sun had fully set, perhaps we could hide away in the forest, if they didn’t have anyone with advanced perception skills…

There was no telling what direction the soldiers came from. Picking one would be a gamble, but I was left with no choice. At the very least, moving away from the direction of the capital would have to be a safe bet. To the east, then.

I was able to move her for an hour, before my arms and legs gave up on me. I lowered her to the ground as gently as I could, leaning against a tree and panting for air.

There was nothing more I could do, other than hope that we weren’t found here and promptly executed.

The leaves on the ground were wet, and cold. Still, I had never been so tired in my life. My eyelids fell of their own volition, and everything went black as exhaustion took me into its tight trip.

I was born twenty years ago, to a woodcutter and a shoemaker. The trouble began when my parents first laid eyes on my hair. It was like green aquamarine. Highly unusual for my parents, who only had black and brown hair. In local legend, fey were said to steal away children and replace them with their own: changelings.

So my tumultuous childhood began. My parents never did tell me their thoughts on the matter, but there were times that I felt as if they never knew if I was truly theirs or not.

They were relatively loving parents, through and through, but the root of the problem was unavoidable.

I opened my eyes blearily, blinking until I could see properly again. The blankets on top of me were almost enough to weigh me down. This was my bed, in my childhood home… It had been years, over six years, since I had been in this place. We lived in a village named Pynndrake, in the southwestern corner of the kingdom. White light shone in from the window. “Must be winter…” The cold could get so bitter in this place. I tried to will myself out of bed, but my body wouldn’t listen to me.

“Owain!” A voice from beyond my bedroom door, and then a few knocks. My mother? “Owain, dear. It’s almost midday, aren’t you going to come out to eat?”

“Sybil.. Mother, it’s..”

My eyes snapped open. Beyond me, the dark of the woods in the outskirts of the village.

“Sybil.”

I stood up, brushing the leaves off of my pants. There was more work to be done.