Kasien's footsteps echoed against the stone walls of the fortress as he made his way through the hallways. He had lost track of the days again. The faces, the voices—each one blurred together. How many people had he healed this week? He couldn't remember.
He paused by the window, staring out at the war-torn fields below. The army was gathering, ready for the next battle. There was always a next battle. There was always someone who needed him. Always someone who was broken.
But who was there for him?
He rubbed his temples, trying to ease the pressure building there. His head felt heavy, like it was being crushed from the inside. His hands trembled as he placed them on the windowsill, trying to steady himself.
His body didn't feel like his own anymore. His limbs were stiff. His breath shallow. He hadn't slept properly in days. The last time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by visions of the people he couldn't save—of the faces he had failed, even if they hadn't been in front of him.
It was always the same. People begged for help. They cried out, desperate for salvation. And he was always there, always willing to give. He healed them, but in doing so, he was losing himself.
The magic felt like it was eating him alive. Each time he used it, he could feel his soul fraying at the edges. Each life he restored was another piece of his humanity taken.
Kasien's stomach twisted at the thought of the last person he had healed. A child—no older than ten—whose leg had been shattered in a skirmish. The child had cried, begging him not to die, and Kasien had felt every scream, every plea, tear through him. He had fixed the broken leg, but the cost had been too much.
He couldn't keep doing this.
A knock at the door broke his thoughts.
"Lord Kasien?" A soft voice called from the other side, breaking through his haze. It was Lady Elara, the commander's assistant.
Kasien didn't move. "Come in."
The door creaked open, and Elara stepped inside. She was a kind woman, young and full of energy, always eager to help those in need. But now, as she looked at him, he could see the concern in her eyes.
"You've been in here for hours," she said, stepping closer. "The commander needs you. There's another soldier… injured. We need your help."
Kasien forced himself to turn and face her. He could see the expectation in her eyes—the same look he had seen from so many others. The look of someone who needed him to save them.
He felt his heart sink. How long had it been since anyone had asked how he was? How long had it been since anyone had noticed his own exhaustion?
"I'm not feeling well," he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked at her, his vision blurring. "I can't do it. Not today."
But Elara didn't seem to hear him. She stepped forward, her voice gentle but insistent. "Kasien, please. They're counting on you. We need you."
She didn't understand. No one did. They never asked how he was doing. They only saw him as the healer, the savior—the one who could fix everything.
But he wasn't a god. He wasn't invincible. He was human, and he was breaking.
"I can't," he repeated, his voice shaking now. "I'm not strong enough anymore. I can't fix anyone else."
Elara's face faltered. For a moment, she seemed unsure, but then her expression hardened. "If you don't help, people will die, Kasien. You know that."
She didn't get it. He was helping—but it was killing him.
Kasien took a step back, gripping the windowsill as if the only thing holding him up. His breath came in ragged gasps. His body felt like it was giving out. He could feel the magic calling to him from within, but the thought of using it made his stomach churn. The last time he healed someone, he had nearly collapsed in the process. It wasn't just physical exhaustion anymore. It was mental. Emotional. Spiritual.
But the world kept asking him to save it.
Elara didn't back down. She stepped closer, her eyes pleading. "Please, Kasien… we need you. I need you."
Kasien's vision blurred again. He could feel the familiar tug of the magic beneath his skin. He could heal her, save her from whatever injury was out there. He could save anyone.
But with each person he healed, he was losing himself.
Kasien looked at her—this woman who was asking him to keep going. He could see her concern, her desperation. But he could also see the expectation in her eyes. The need.
He had been used up.
"I can't," he whispered, his voice raw, breaking. "I can't be what you want me to be."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Kasien closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on him.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Elara behind.
Later that Night
Kasien sat alone in the darkened room, his back against the wall. He hadn't healed the soldier. He hadn't healed anyone. Instead, he had fled to his quarters, seeking solace in the empty silence.
But the silence didn't bring peace. It was just the quiet before the storm. The guilt gnawed at him. The weight of the world was still there, pressing against his chest, threatening to suffocate him. He could hear the whispers of the people he hadn't saved—the ones who had died because he had been too weak, too tired to help.
He could still feel the pull of the magic within him, its demand for release. But he didn't want to use it anymore. Not like this.
He had spent so long saving everyone else, but who would save him?