Chapter 60
Kelan paused outside Mistress Zhaar's modest adobe dwelling, taking a steady breath. The mid-morning desert sun beat down on his shoulders, but he stood calm and composed beneath its heat. Astrid was beside him, her presence a quiet reassurance. She offered a small nod; she understood his plan without words. For weeks now, they'd discussed how to approach the renowned healer—carefully, respectfully, and without revealing too much.
From within the shaded courtyard came a faint melody: the sound of song-magic in practice. The tune was a lilting minor key, unlike any chant Kelan had learned at the Imperial academy. He closed his eyes briefly, attuning his mind to the rhythm as he had in years of training and battlefield experience. Even so, he kept his aura tightly controlled, a quiet center hidden behind mental shields. In public, he showed only polite curiosity, never the full well of strength he harbored.
They stepped through the archway into Mistress Zhaar's courtyard. It was a tranquil space of smooth stone and bright desert blooms. In the center, Mistress Zhaar knelt by a low table, grinding dried roots with a mortar and pestle. She was an older, sun-browned woman with silver-streaked hair, clad in flowing desert linens. Her sharp amber eyes lifted to meet Kelan's.
"Peace to you, Mistress Zhaar," Kelan said, bowing with practiced humility. He spoke in the local tongue, careful with each word. Astrid echoed the bow beside him, letting him take the lead.
"Peace, travelers," Mistress Zhaar replied. Her voice was resonant, with a subtle musicality even in simple speech. She gestured for them to sit on woven mats by the table. "You seek knowledge of our song-healing, do you not?"
Kelan folded himself onto the mat, hands resting lightly on his knees. "Yes, Mistress. If you are willing to teach," he answered. "I have some small skill in healing from my homeland, but I wish to learn yours. I've heard the songs of this desert carry unique power."
Mistress Zhaar studied him a long moment. Kelan met her gaze steadily but kept his posture humble. He sensed a gentle probe of magic testing his honesty, but his mental defenses remained smooth and opaque. After a pause, she inclined her head. "Every land's magic is unique. What is commonplace under our sun can be rare elsewhere," she said. "What exactly is the extent of your training?"
"I trained in mind-focus and basic body healing at the Imperial academy," Kelan replied carefully. True enough, if an understatement. He omitted any mention of his mastery of illusions or the full breadth of his mind-magic. "I have traveled since then and tended wounds in the field. I can heal small injuries, ease pain—that sort of thing."
Astrid stayed quiet and attentive at his side. Kelan felt her steady confidence and knew she caught every nuance of Mistress Zhaar's expression. They had learned to operate as silent partners, each complementing the other's vigilance.
Mistress Zhaar's eyes flicked to Astrid and back. "We shall see," she said mildly. "Book learning and battle experience both have value. Here, we heal through song—through harmonies of body and spirit. Show me how you would treat a common wound. Then, perhaps, I will show you one of our songs."
At her gesture, a young boy stepped forward, his forearm wrapped in a blood-spotted bandage. "This is Jari," she said. "He scraped his arm climbing a date palm this morning. A minor wound, but a suitable test. Go on, let us see your method."
Kelan beckoned the boy with a gentle smile and a greeting in the local tongue; the child relaxed at his kind tone. Carefully, Kelan unwrapped the linen bandage to reveal a shallow gash filled with grit. "This might sting for a moment," he murmured.
Using a damp cloth, Kelan cleaned the grit from the wound. Jari hissed in pain, but Kelan hummed a soft lullaby under his breath to soothe him. Next, Kelan took a small ceramic jar of herbal salve from his satchel — a remedy of marigold and comfrey from the Empire — and applied the golden salve along the cut. As he worked, he quietly channeled a sliver of mind-magic into the injury, just enough to spur the flesh to knit.
Within a few breaths the bleeding had stopped, and the raw edges of the cut drew together slightly. Kelan bandaged the arm anew with a fresh strip of clean linen. "That should help it heal," he said, voice humble. In truth, he could have closed the wound entirely in seconds, but he had deliberately held back. The result appeared to be nothing more than careful treatment with salve and patience.
Mistress Zhaar stepped forward and lightly ran her fingers near the boy's bandage. Her eyes narrowed, noticing the improved wound. "Your salve works swiftly. And the boy is calmed by your voice." She raised an eyebrow.
Kelan offered a polite half-smile. "A soothing hum eases a patient's fear. Perhaps a habit from my homeland's lullabies." He made it sound like a simple folk remedy, though he knew she sensed something more.
Jari flexed his fingers and looked up at Kelan with wide eyes. "Thank you," he mumbled. At Mistress Zhaar's nod, the boy darted away. The healer watched him go, then gave Kelan a small approving nod.
"You have talent," she said quietly. "And more than you show, I suspect. But caution in healing is wise. Those who rush to flaunt power can cause as much harm as good."
Kelan inclined his head. "I've learned that through experience, Mistress."
"Just so." Mistress Zhaar's lips curved in the hint of a smile. She beckoned them toward a shaded corner of the courtyard. "Come. You wish to learn our song-magic? Let us see how you take to it. Astrid, you may observe, of course."
Astrid finally spoke, her tone respectful. "I'll watch quietly, Mistress Zhaar. I'm no mage, but I support Kelan in all things." Though simply stated, her words carried steady loyalty. Kelan gave Astrid a brief, grateful glance.
In the corner stood a low stone basin filled with water, the surface mirror-still. Mistress Zhaar knelt beside it. "We often use water in our healing rituals," she explained. "Water carries sound and reflects truth. A basic cleansing song for wounds goes like this."
She dipped her fingertips in the water and began to sing. The melody was low and gentle, the same kind of minor-key chant that hung in the desert air. As she sang, soft ripples spread in the basin. The very air felt subtly charged with her harmony.
Kelan listened intently to the song's pattern. He sensed how the harmony aligned with the natural energy in the water and in the body. This was magic woven through voice and intent rather than direct spellcasting—a discipline of patience and precision.
After a minute, Mistress Zhaar's voice trailed off and the water stilled. "Now you," she said, gesturing for Kelan to try. "Dip your fingers, and remember the tune. Let the intent to cleanse and soothe guide your voice."
Kelan crouched by the basin and placed his fingertips lightly on the cool water. He recalled the melody and began to sing in a low baritone. The first notes wavered with his unfamiliar accent, but he kept true to the tune.
"Feel the intent," Mistress Zhaar encouraged softly. "Not just the notes."
Kelan closed his eyes and focused on the purpose behind the song: cleansing a wound, easing pain. He let that purpose flow through him. His voice grew steadier and more confident; the melody came more naturally now.
The water responded. Tiny ripples circled his fingers, and a faint turquoise light glowed beneath the surface. Kelan felt the gentle surge of magic. He kept his own power restrained, allowing the song itself to draw on the energies. When he finished the last note, the ethereal glow faded and the courtyard fell quiet.
Mistress Zhaar nodded in approval. "You learn quickly," she said. "Your tongue stumbles on our words, but your intent carries through. Few outsiders pick it up so readily."
Kelan bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, Mistress. I will practice diligently." A small thrill ran through him at having succeeded, tempered by relief that he had kept his true strength hidden within the simple exercise.
Mistress Zhaar rose to her feet. "I will teach you, Kelan of the Empire," she said formally. "In return, you will aid me in tending the sick as you learn, and you will respect our ways."
A quiet breath escaped Kelan; he hadn't realized he'd been holding it. "That is more than fair. I am honored, Mistress Zhaar," he replied earnestly. "I will do my best to help and to learn with humility."
The healer turned to Astrid. "And you, companion of Kelan—are you content here? The path of learning is not short."
Astrid met the older woman's gaze calmly. "We have traveled far to find a place where we can be of use and at peace. If Kelan stays, so will I. I'll assist however I can, or keep out of the way if needed."
Mistress Zhaar smiled. "Both of you are welcome here. We begin at dawn tomorrow—our best healing songs are sung with the sunrise."
With their first meeting concluded, Kelan and Astrid thanked Mistress Zhaar and took their leave. Stepping back into the bright street, Kelan felt quietly proud. He had shown enough skill to earn Zhaar's trust while keeping the depths of his power concealed. Once, he might have tried to impress a teacher with flashy magic, but hard experience had taught him the virtue of restraint. Now he prized discretion over pride.
Astrid walked beside him through the bustling market, matching his pace. She caught his eye and gave a subtle nod—a wordless affirmation of success. Kelan returned a small, contented smile. The weight of his hidden strength rested within him, not a burden but a sheathed blade only to be drawn if needed. Here in this desert city, under Mistress Zhaar's guidance and with Astrid beside him, he could continue to grow—carefully, quietly, with purpose.
Chapter 61
Over the next several weeks, Kelan settled into a steady routine in the desert city. Each day began before sunrise with quiet voice exercises on the rooftop and a shared cup of spiced coffee with Astrid in their little courtyard. By dawn, he would meet Mistress Zhaar and her two other apprentices for the morning healing chants. As the golden light spread over the sandstone walls, their voices rose in gentle unison, and Kelan blended in calmly. He had become a familiar sight around the neighborhood: the polite foreigner who spoke the local tongue with an accent and carried himself with unassuming confidence.
The city folk grew used to him. As he walked to lessons or ran errands, Kelan exchanged courteous nods and brief greetings with shopkeepers and neighbors. He always listened more than he spoke, practicing a gentle control over his demeanor. Through discipline, he kept his face open and calm and his emotions in check; no sudden anger or fear would be allowed to betray the secrets he harbored. When curious locals asked about his past or his training, he offered pleasant but vague answers – a student from the far north, a traveler who learned a bit of healing here and there. Even Mistress Zhaar remarked once that he was a man of many skills and few words. Kelan only smiled politely at that. It was safer to let others form their own simple stories about him.
His days were filled with learning, practice, and service. In private moments, Kelan also experimented with weaving his mind-magic skills into the new song techniques he learned. Each night, he cultivated subtle ways to use his power under the guise of simple melodies – sharpening his mental shields with a hum here, masking a minor spell behind a soft tune there. Bit by bit, he built on his abilities without drawing any unwanted attention.
Often he accompanied Mistress Zhaar to tend the sick or injured around the city. One hot afternoon, a sand-fever swept through a riverside quarter, and Kelan joined Zhaar at the small infirmary near the copper bazaar. Together with a few local healers, they cared for dozens of feverish children and elders. The air was thick with the scent of boiled herbs and the murmur of healing songs. Kelan moved quietly between straw mats, sponging cooling water onto burning foreheads and humming the Fever Song in a low, steady tone.
At times, the healer in him yearned to do more – to push out with his mind and snuff the fever in each patient within moments. He knew he had the power to do it. But he restrained that impulse, instead weaving just a subtle thread of his magic into the communal song. It was enough to help ailing lungs breathe a bit easier, yet subtle enough that no one noticed anything unusual. Over hours of gentle effort, the fevers gradually broke. Children who had been listless sat up and sipped broth. Worried families offered tearful thanks to Mistress Zhaar and her helpers.
One mother approached Kelan as he packed away used linens. "Thank you, sera," she said, using the local honorific. "Your voice carried such kindness—it soothed my daughter when nothing else did." Kelan felt warmth rise in his chest. He bowed his head slightly. "I'm glad she found comfort," he replied in humble tones. He let Mistress Zhaar receive the bulk of the praise that day, content that he had quietly made a difference.
Walking home at sunset, Kelan allowed himself a small measure of pride tempered with fatigue. This work of healing, done in obscurity and peace, fulfilled him in ways he hadn't expected. Yet that evening also tested his resolve. Passing a busy tavern, he overheard a pair of caravan guards swapping rumors about the war in the north.
"…some Imperial mage turned the whole northern horde mad, they say," one man exclaimed over his cup of wine. "Drove them into the ground. Then vanished."
"Good riddance," grunted his companion. "Power like that ought to vanish. Unnatural stuff."
Kelan's steps slowed involuntarily as a chill went through him. They were talking about me, he realized, though of course the guards had no idea. In their casual gossip, he heard echoes of the day he had unleashed his full mind-magic against the invading horde—how it had shattered the enemy and saved countless lives, but also left him shaken to the core. He had indeed vanished afterward, fleeing accolades and fear alike.
He did not linger by the tavern. Kelan pulled up the hood of his light cloak and moved on, keeping his expression neutral and his heart heavy with old memories. By the time he reached the quiet lane to his home, the sky was deep orange and his mind was churning. He found Astrid in the courtyard tending a small lantern. One look at his face and she offered him a gentle, concerned smile. Without a word, she drew him to sit beside her on a low bench.
They sat together under the emerging stars. Astrid didn't press him to speak; she simply rested a hand on his back in support. Kelan closed his eyes, letting the tension slowly ebb. In that wordless comfort, he was reminded that here he was not alone—Astrid knew enough of his past to understand the weight he carried tonight.
Later, after a simple supper and a few evening chores, Astrid retired early, tired from the day's labors. Kelan remained outside for a while, reclining on a woven mat and gazing up at the night sky. The events of the day replayed in his mind. The cost of power… He had paid it dearly at White Hills in the northern war. Unleashing his mind-magic on such a scale had scarred him with guilt and haunted dreams, and earned him a name he did not want. It was a price he would never forget.
Yet that same ordeal had set him on this new path. He could have stayed in the Imperial service—celebrated, but closely watched, perhaps pushed to become a weapon again. Instead, he chose exile and anonymity. He chose healing over further destruction. Here in this faraway city, he was free to practice compassion and restraint, free to rebuild himself quietly. Each day that he held back his full strength was a deliberate decision to be something other than the Empire's mind-witch.
Kelan breathed in the cool desert air. Over the rooftops, countless stars shimmered. He felt a calm resolve taking root within him. This quieter life he had carved out—humble chores, dawn songs, and anonymous good deeds—was not grand, but it was honest and earned. For now, he would follow this path for as long as fate allowed. In time, if duty or danger called him to wield his power again, he would be ready. But until that day, he preferred the gentle glow of healing to the wild fire of war. With that thought easing his mind, Kelan finally rose and slipped back inside, leaving the silent stars to keep their watch over the sleeping city.
Chapter 62
By the time the relentless heat of summer began to mellow into autumn, Kelan and Astrid had spent more than half a year in the desert city. What had begun as a temporary refuge was slowly becoming a true home. Their modest house now held small comforts earned over months of honest work: bright woven mats gifted by grateful patients, a jasmine vine Astrid trained along the courtyard wall perfuming the air, and a shelf of local scrolls on herb lore and song-magic that Kelan studied eagerly. Humble tokens, perhaps, but each marked the quiet life they were building together.
One warm evening, Kelan sat on a cushioned bench in the courtyard, polishing a brass bowl by lamplight. The bowl had been a present from Mistress Zhaar to mark the end of the summer—a recognition of how far Kelan had come in his studies. Astrid sat across from him, mending a tear in one of his shirts. The domesticity of the scene was peaceful and, to Kelan's mind, precious.
As the last traces of sun faded from the sky, Astrid tied off her thread and set the shirt aside. She looked around at the potted herbs, the neat row of water jars by the wall. "It feels like we've really settled in, doesn't it?" she said softly.
Kelan nodded, setting the polished bowl aside. "It does. More than I expected, honestly," he admitted. "When we first arrived, I wasn't sure we'd stay more than a few weeks."
Astrid smiled gently. "And now?"
He met her eyes. "Now I'm in no hurry to leave. This city has been good to us. And I… I feel useful here, in a way that doesn't compromise who I am."
Astrid reached over and took his hand. "I'm glad," she murmured. "I feel the same. After everything up north, I didn't know if you would ever find a place you could just breathe and be yourself."
Kelan squeezed her hand. "To be fair, I'm not entirely myself here," he said, a self-deprecating twist to his lips. "They see only a part of me—the healer, the singer. Not the other part."
"The part that flattened a battlefield?" Astrid's tone was light, but her eyes were serious.
"Yes. That part." Kelan looked down at their joined hands. He still sometimes felt the blood of that day on his skin, even though it lived only in memory. "I won't ever use that kind of destructive power here, Astrid. Hopefully never again, anywhere."
Astrid was quiet for a moment, her thumb brushing the back of his hand. "If you did have to, though—to protect yourself or others—I know you'd only do it because you had no choice."
Kelan sighed, a mix of gratitude and resignation. "I would. But I'd hate every moment of it."
They fell silent, a night bird trilling softly from the rooftop. After a time, Astrid spoke again, thoughtful. "Do you ever think about what we left behind? The Empire and all that came with it?"
Kelan exhaled slowly. "Sometimes I wonder how things are back in the Empire," he admitted. "But I don't truly miss it. I left that life the day I walked off the battlefield." He glanced at her apologetically. "I'm sorry you had to give it up too. You could have stayed, continued your career."
Astrid shook her head. "I made my choice freely," she said firmly. "I knew my path was with you, no matter what. And truthfully, I've had enough of soldiering and politics. This life suits me far better," she finished with satisfaction.
After another quiet moment, Kelan gave a little smile. "I've been meaning to show you something," he said.
Astrid tilted her head curiously. "Oh? What might that be?"
"Another benefit of this quiet life is I've had time to experiment," Kelan replied, a playful note creeping into his voice. "With my magic, I mean—particularly, how to keep it out of sight."
Astrid's eyes lit with curiosity. She knew he had been developing stealthy techniques but had yet to see the results. "You think you've found a way?"
"I do. Close your eyes a moment."
Astrid obliged, and Kelan carefully stood, stepping a few paces away. He drew a slow breath, centering himself as he had during many midnight practices. In his mind, he shaped a screen of thought—like the mental barriers he used to hide his presence—but this time he threaded a faint tuneless hum through it. As he exhaled, he cast the combined spell around himself.
Astrid opened her eyes at the sound of his soft humming—only to find the courtyard seemingly empty. Her heart skipped. "Kelan?" she whispered.
"I'm here," came his voice from right in front of her. A heartbeat later, he stepped back into view, dropping the spell with a small smile.
Goddess, she hadn't even seen a shimmer. Astrid exhaled the breath she'd been holding. "You truly vanished. I've never seen anything like it."
Kelan sat back down, pleased. "A little trick I devised," he explained. "It blends a mind-shield with a light-bending illusion, tied together by a low song. To any onlooker, I'm simply not there."
Astrid's eyes gleamed with admiration. "That could be very useful indeed."
Kelan nodded. "Exactly. If Imperial agents ever came looking, or any other trouble found us, I could make us unseen long enough to avoid a confrontation."
Astrid let out a relieved breath. "It's reassuring, knowing you can protect us without ever having to reveal who you truly are."
Kelan took her hand. "That's the idea," he said quietly. "To shield this life we've built without exposing more than necessary. I won't let anyone take it from us."
Astrid squeezed his hand firmly. "Nor will I. We stand together."
Kelan leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Always," he whispered.
After a moment, Kelan smiled a bit shyly. "I've been thinking... perhaps we could put down roots here for good. Maybe even buy this little house, come spring."
Astrid's eyes widened, then softened with joy. "I'd like that very much. We'll make it truly ours."
They spoke quietly of the future—saving coins, talking to the owner, what it would mean to stay for years. It was a gentle, hopeful conversation about a shared life that neither of them had imagined possible during the chaos of their past. As a cool night breeze crept in, they finally rose and went inside.
Astrid blew out all but one lamp while Kelan latched the door and laid his usual small ward to guard their home. In their small sleeping room, he lay down beside Astrid and drew her into his arms. In the darkness she was a warm, solid presence against him, the scent of jasmine drifting through the window.
Kelan reflected on the balance he had found. Within him still lay the power to destroy, yet here he was using his gifts to heal and protect. He knew there might come a day he would need to unleash his fury again to safeguard those he loved—but that day was not today, and he did not yearn for it. Every quiet, honest day that passed was proof that he was more than a weapon. Exiled from his old life, he had discovered peace, purpose, love, and trust in this new one. Whatever tomorrow brought—whether a distant rumor of conflict or simply another dawn of healing songs—he felt ready. He would nurture and defend this life he treasured, quietly and steadfastly, for as long as fate allowed.
With that vow held gently in his mind, Kelan closed his eyes and drifted into contented sleep.