To Heal
The Morning came as calmly as it always had, sending fractured sunlight through the broken remains of the Town of Barasina. On reflex alone, the World continued to turn, an affront to the devastation that occurred here. At least, that was the mind of a boy who had lost his own to the malice of a single man.
Rest had not come easy for him that night, and when it did, disparate flashes of the nightmare he had survived coaxed him back awake. His body and soul were ravaged, and in that twilight state, all Yovin could do was stay where he was, where his father was.
The crumbled aperture of his home's corpse still emitted patches of flatulent smoke, dying flames being snuffed by the morning winds. The same could be said for most of the buildings that used to exist here. Now, the word building could only be used hyperbolically. Remnants of foundations, stone and wood splinters dotting the rest. Barasina was a graveyard. And the living that still haunted it's confines felt it deep in their bones.
Some clutched to their loved ones, dead or alive, horrified yet burning with that dark emotion. Clerics garbed with stark white medical scrubs excising the remains of Barasina, containing those who had started to attract carrion, shuttling them in demarcated areas filled with corpses, their faces never betraying the horrifying work they undertook.
The boy, over many attempts, took to caring for his father's body. Bits and pieces remained, his upper torso prodded with gruesome wounds, the rest battered to a pulp from the weight of the shale roof and stone pillars that crushed his lower half. It was a mind-numbing process for Yovin, digging and digging until his nails were bit down to the bed, fingers bloody.
Physically, he was defeated. Trace could only heal up to a certain point at the stage he was at, and as such, wasn't in a comparatively better state than his deceased parent. The youngest of wounds had closed to form scabs, whilst the blood that pooled from them stained his tan-colored cardigan and the bandages underneath. A topical irony.
Through the hours he had spent exhuming his Father's remains, a set of ideals, or rather a personal accord, finalized within his tired mind. A youthful mind, shattered by the harrowing reality he was now thrust into for the second time.
At first, clawing through the pile of rubble filled him with despair, coming to the realization that his Father really was dead. But after the first hour, his mind grew numb to it. The emotions he had long been held captive too slowly loosening their hold over him. His heart, barely 12 years of reckoning, blackened by the flesh and bone he held in his steady hands.
Too many abominations, too many horrific experiences, and in such a short span of time. The idea of "peace" no longer felt possible to Yovin. His mind was warped, everything he saw taking on that scarlet sheen. The Medical team scouring Barasina for contaminants looked like revenants in their perfectly manicured attire. The surviving townspeople like jackals searching for their next meal.
The words he could form exasperated into puffs of unintelligible gibberish, his vocabulary being reduced to that of a child. Insanity gripping the knowledge he had accrued over his lifetime up until that moment.
It gave the person that arrived quite the scare.
"Excuse me, young man. I'll have you come with me. Need to do a head count, and all that." The man's words were gleeful, entirely composed amidst the death and carnage that surrounded them. A hallmark of his experience dealing with such scenes. That attitude completely shifted when the boy before him turned at face.
Bloodshot eyes, dark circles underneath. Blood and bruising more visible than clear skin. Horns cracked and brittle, their once exalted sheen covered in dust and soot. And, just beyond the child's reach, a corpse just as indiscernible. The Man's composure broke like thin China.
"He.... He, He....." Yovin muttered, tired eyes looking on at his Father's remains. Barely a sign of recognition towards the newcomer, without a tinge of fear at his sudden arrival.
Moving with quick steps, the Man took hold of Yovin, overcome by the sordid affair. No child, no person, should have to deal with such a fate. And yet, this boy had not only survived it, but was left alone as a result. The Man couldn't bear such sadness, even as the novelty of the situation had long since wore off.
"It's going to be okay." The words felt fake even as he uttered them. But they were the only ones that came to mind in that moment. It was all he was capable of. Giving treasonous promises.
"I....Don't....."Yovin's own words came out as barely a whisper, causing the Man to strain his ears even with their close proximity.
Steeling himself, the Man took Yovin by the hand, earning no struggle as a result. The Boy had simply rose at the slightest tug, completely vulnerable to whatever whims the World cast upon him. It filled the Man with an even deeper melancholy. Chroma would heal the body, but never the soul. There truly was nothing he or his associates could do.
Stepping lightly over piles of rock and the crumbled remains of a wooden door frame, the Man led Yovin away from the cloistered battlefield of his destroyed home. Taking care not to trip or stifle his movement, he walked close to the Boy, never passing a step in between them. There were children he had seen warped by loss. But this case was much more profound.
It was like holding to a phantom, the constant worry that the Boy would simply fade away heavy on his mind. Pacing themselves through ravaged streets and the thralls of bygone structures, a conglomeration of pearly-sheened examiners appeared in a large clearing to the east of the Wall that contained the Town of Barasina.
Among them, hidden beneath a canopy of sheltered trees allowing only the barest of sunlight to pierce through, the injured and unhealthy were placed on makeshift beds of thatch and wood. The number so few that many were being taken care of simultaneously. The largest fold of the Baron's Clerics had been dispatched, a conglomerate of over 30 highly-trained healers followed by a vast host of undertakers such as himself tasked with maintaining any sickness that could sprout from death.
The Voxus, leader of those congregated, stood at the head of a large post, sheets of scrawled upon paper filling it's outward surface. Names of those determined to be dead, overwhelming compared to those deemed alive. The number would fluctuate over the coming days, but this initial draft would mostly hold true.
With the boy in tow, ambling quietly alongside the Man, he shuttered Yovin towards the canopy, the stench of decay apparent more so than when they had first arrived. The Man was used to such sensations, but the paltry sight still clawed at his soul.
Those deemed lucky, covered head to toe in minor gashes, or some with sprains and broken bones, were conjoined closer to the center of the rows of beds that had been constructed here. Others, barely clinging onto life, remained on their outside flanks, larger groups of Clerics applying healing Chroma in an attempt to save what little presence was within them.
A pair of similarly garbed assistants, noticing the Undertaker's approach, hurried closer, their attention placed solely on Yovin as they begun examining him with haste. Yovin simply looked on, his expression marred with a conspicuous air of malaise that tormented the rest of his body.
"Take care with this one, Alicia. He's dealt with far too much already." And with that, the Man let go of Yovin's hand, the Boy offering no acknowledgment of the fact, before heading off with a final look behind. The day was young, and so many could still remain. The Man remained hopeful. He had seen many a miracle occur in these death-racked villages. Though, the anticipation he felt was measured with an equal sense of disparity.
"Come, child. Lets clean you up a bit." Through the cloth mask covering her mouth and nostrils, Yovin could see the utterings of a hopeful smile beamed towards him. Alicia, as she had been called, led Yovin towards an empty bed, flanked on both sides by sleeping survivors given their own.
In truth, Yovin was tired. More tired than he had ever been. Both physically and mentally exhausted, he practically collapsed onto the surprisingly plush surface the cot offered. A startled gasp came from Alicia, her frantic calls for a Cleric answered almost immediately as a pair of likely dressed individuals prepared their healing sermons.
Both wore glasses inscribed with multi-facial runes, the mirrored platelets practically covered with them. Barely larger than a conventional pair of bifocals, one had to wonder if they could even see anything through the mirage of carvings.
Hoisting Yovin into a prone position on the bed, they began inspecting him with earnest, Alicia frantically enacting the orders given to her. Raise the Patient's legs. Elongate his arms at face. Turn his head left, and right. A beginning examination of apparent and potential injuries.
"Collapsed ribcage. Vermiculated Aorta. Even a subdural hematoma. We have our work cut out for us." One of the pair exclaimed, removing the Glasses he wore only to pry at invisible crud forming around his tired eyes, replacing them just as quickly.
"More broken bones than not. A wonder he could stand. And where did they find him?" The other pondered aloud, glancing towards Alicia as he did so, a fragment of his attention placed upon her. The rest would be required to stabilize their Patient.
"Across Amber Boulevard, over by The Twixt. He... He was with someone, apparently..." Alicia's words died out, her crimson eyes portraying a pitiful sorrow that wasn't lost on the Cleric.
No one could offer a response to her harrowing words. Looking down at the wounded boy, their hearts incapable of reaching his, all they could do was offer their services. The ones they were tasked with by the Baron.
"We'll have to work in shifts. Too many treatments at once will run him dry." One of the Clerics said, the other closing his eyes as he placed his outstretched hands onto Yovin's bandaged chest.
"Aye. I'm feeling a pull, not unlike someone with The Power. Better than not." The Working Cleric announced, eyes closed as he pondered aloud regarding the familiar sensation he noticed mulling within Yovin.
"What does that mean?" Alicia asked, a worrisome curiosity apparent on her youthful face.
"It means the likelihood of him recovering just skyrocketed. His body is used to being tampered with by Chroma. Means we can do our jobs unimpeded, basically." The Cleric observing his partner's concentration offered anecdotes of his own, calming Alicia's affected expression.
"Arvin, focus on his legs and torso. The damage there is greatest, and I won't be able to hold onto the Chroma by myself much longer." The Cleric ordered, his hands still conjoined to Yovin's chest, eyes closed in deep concentration.
"Roger." Arvin responded, attaching both hands to Yovin's left thigh, the gashes burrowed through the slacks he wore still red and bruised.
Once they were interlocked in a shared trance, their eyes and consciousness shuttered to cast off the outside world in it's entirety, Arvin passed along an inscrutable signal to his counterpart. In return, the Man huffed, as if a great weight was pressed upon him. Arvin too fell victim to this phantom exertion, sweat beginning to pool from his creased forehead.
After a time, they simply existed underneath that weight, Alicia looking on with that telltale mark of apprehension on her face. She should be helping other patients, or rather, that would be her prerogative, if the other's hadn't already been treated by that point. All she could do was watch and hope, as she did for the rest.
Suddenly, the wounds on Yovin, all of disparate sizes and depths, began to close simultaneously. A slow, arduous process, conjoined with the painfilled gasps of the Clerics that continued their ritual. The gash on the Boy's forehead, deepest of all and leaking with fresh blood, took more time than the rest to close, but close it did.
Alicia had seen the process hundreds of times by that point, but it still imprinted a veritable sense of shock upon her. The child, still covered head to toe in blood and soot, breathed easier now. Slow, ragged breathes replaced with clearly enunciated exhales and inhales. Chroma couldn't offer peace, but it would stop the pain that followed tragedies such as these.
"Open." Arvin exclaimed, followed by both him and his partner opening their eyes at the same time. The weight they had felt became much less so, the chroma in their grasp bonded to the patient as the Healing Process began it's slow march through torn fibers and ligaments.
"Whew. Good Work, Arvin. Alicia, let the Voxus now we'll need to add another to the Transports." The Cleric's words frightened Alicia, who was privy to the meaning behind such an order. Oblivious to those capable of listening all around them, she voiced her concerns.
"The Transports? I thought you healed him. Or..."
"His outlying wounds, yes. As such, moving him to one of the Inner Cities, where he can get proper rest, is ideal." Arvin responded, exasperation evident on his face as he did so. From his work or answering Alicia's question, she did not know, but her confused sentiment cleared away to reveal a artificial air of cluelessness.
"Ah. My Apologies. I was under the assumption you meant something else entirely. Forgive me." Her head bowed, she stifled her incredulity in hopes of appearing genuinely confused. But that trip was only one way. They had no use for caring for wounded civilians after all. Something was amiss, that was for certain. She couldn't properly voice those concerns here, though.
Those that managed to live past their wounds would remain here. Those deemed to ill, hanging on to life by a meager thread, would be discarded alongside the hundreds of bodies that piled high within the walls of Barasina. The Baron was a thoughtful cynic, and as such, his subjects received no ample means of protection. It was the sole reason such a tragedy could exist, after all.
Alicia had no way of knowing this, however. She joined the Apostasy to help those who needed it. To offer healing, and sometimes even guidance, too. But, in the back of her mind, she couldn't help but contemplate the fate of the boy Arvin and Gallus had saved.
The Power...
They spoke of it with such reverence. Or rather, consternation. As if the Clerics were of a mind to keep aware of such anomalies.
It gave Alicia no end of worry, but with her work with Yovin finished, that curiosity would need to be kept hidden. A routine she had mastered over her years of service.
A group of white-garbed assistants met with Arvin, their words hushed and measured. Those around to hear were kept at a permissible distance, the contents of their conversation deemed unequitable for lesser ears. A look of recognition planted on their faces, they got to work, carefully extricating Yovin's motionless figure from the Cot he laid upon, to a free-moving gurney that would seen be loaded into one of many Horse-drawn carriages set for the Inner Cities.
There, they would hold audience with the Baron. Report their findings, the death toll, and the results of their labors. And in regards to Yovin, they had found something quite interesting. A semblance of reward amidst the death that left it's wake on the town of Barasina.