The First Disciples.

Thanks for reading don't forget to comment and vote for more chapters, it motivates me for more though the next chapter would be on Monday😉😉

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The days passed in a blur of learning and practice. Under the dim glow of candlelight, Sienna guided her son through the intricacies of medicine, explaining the properties of herbs, the method of sutures, and the delicate balance of life and death in their primitive world. During the day, she had him assist in her small clinic, where his tiny hands busied themselves fetching supplies, preparing bandages, and organizing vials.

Today was no different. As she treated an elderly man's leg wound, her son stood by her side, clutching a bottle of medicine, pretending to struggle as he squinted at the labels. She chuckled softly, unable to help how endearing the sight was.

She soon requested that he fetch some vials from her shelf to use on her patient. Just as she turned back to her work, the old man spoke again.

"You have gentle hands, Mistress Sienna," he praised, his voice gravelly with age. "A gift from the gods, no doubt."

"I wouldn't go that far," she replied with a modest chuckle. "Just years of practice."

From the corner of the room, Kaelion's small figure darted back and forth, retrieving supplies with an expression far too serious for his age. He reached for a bottle of medicine on a wooden shelf, his tiny fingers skimming the labels before selecting the correct one.

Of course, it was all an act. He already knew exactly which one to take.

"A fine boy you have there," the old man continued, nodding at Kaelion. "Mark my words, he'll be a great healer one day."

Sienna smiled, tousling her son's dark curls as he handed her the correct bottle. "I hope so," she murmured before instructing, "Watch carefully, Kaelion. Always clean a wound before redressing it, or infection may set in."

Kaelion nodded, feigning interest. In truth, he had already mastered everything in the clinic long ago but chose to listen to her anyway. He watched as she described the steps required for dressing a wound, asking occasional questions that amazed the old man and pleased his mother.

After the treatment, the old man attempted to pay, but Sienna hesitated, unwilling to accept payment. Kaelion frowned. He understood his mother's kindness, but they couldn't afford to be so generous. They were barely scraping by, and her kindheartedness was becoming more of a detriment than a virtue. She's too soft-hearted, he mused.

As if reading his thoughts, Raphael's voice echoed in his mind.

And that is why you admire her, is it not?

Kaelion sighed mentally. You're not wrong.

With a chuckle, he dropped the matter and watched as his mother finally accepted the payment after a somewhat comedic back-and-forth.

---

In a well-lit and finely decorated room—far grander than anything Kaelion had seen in the past five years of his new life—he and his mother attended to their latest patient. A young nobleman, brown-haired with a muscular build, lay on a cushioned bed, his abdomen exposed as Sienna stitched a deep wound.

He had requested their home service treatment, claiming that he had been injured on a hunting trip for a stag. According to his tale, a pack of wild dogs had ambushed their party at night, leading to his injury.

Of course, Kaelion knew it was all nonsense. Even without Raphael's analysis of the man's facial structure, the whispers of his men had already told him the truth—the so-called "valiant warrior" had ignored his hunting guide's advice and foolishly tried to corner a stag, only to end up impaled on its horns.

Why weave such needless lies? The answer was simple. This noble had been trying to court his mother for a while now, doing his best to win her favor. Kaelion didn't necessarily oppose his mother finding a partner, but at least let it be someone worthy of her. Not this fool.

With the scent of herbs, boiled linen, and iron filled the small room, the soft crackling of the hearth providing warmth against the morning chill. Kaelion turned his attention to the other man in the room—a maester who had taken an interest in him.

His name was Maester Arthur, an old man who, despite his years, stood upright with an air of wisdom. His hair had already begun to gray, and his kindly face resembled that of a friendly grandfather. Having heard of Sienna's growing reputation, he had also taken notice of Kaelion's exceptional talent and, recognizing his potential, had begun tutoring him. The boy showed promise—not just in medicine but in knowledge overall.

Sienna worked with practiced ease, wrapping fresh bandages around the noble's stitched wound after cleaning it one last time. The young lord winced as she tightened the cloth but nodded in gratitude.

"You're a miracle worker, Sienna," Maester Arthur said, grunting as he shifted his weight. "My grandson had a nasty fever last week—if not for that new tincture of yours, I don't know what I would have done."

Sienna forced a smile, though guilt gnawed at her. It wasn't her tincture.

She stole a glance at Kaelion, who stood by a wooden shelf, running his fingers over various bottles, pretending to search for the right one. She knew he wasn't struggling—he never did. The boy absorbed knowledge far beyond what any child should.

She had dismissed it at first, convincing herself he was simply gifted. But there was no denying it anymore. The treatments that had earned her recognition, the new medicines that had spread her name through Oldtown as a rising healer—it had all come from him.

And yet, the world believed they were her discoveries.

She felt a pang of guilt. Initially, she had taken credit out of necessity—who would believe a child had crafted a superior antiseptic? But as more patients flocked to her doors, singing praises of her medical "breakthroughs," the weight of it settled in her chest like a stone.

"Ah, there we go." Kaelion finally walked over, handing her the correct bottle with an exaggerated look of concentration.

"Good boy," the young lord chuckled, ruffling his hair. "He'll grow up to be a fine healer, just like his mother."

Sienna let out a soft laugh, pushing away the unease. "Perhaps he will."

But deep inside, she knew—her son wasn't becoming a healer. He already was one.

---

The young Kaelion walked beside his mother through the winding streets of Oldtown, carrying her medical bag while she idly chatted about their latest patient. They had just left the home of a minor noble who had been trying—and failing—to woo her.

Sienna had ignored his advances, unimpressed by his self-importance. More importantly, she had noticed his barely concealed disdain for her son. Men like him would never accept a child that wasn't their own, especially one as… different as Kaelion.

"You were awfully quiet in there," Sienna noted as they passed through a busy market square.

Kaelion sighed dramatically. "I didn't like the way he looked at me."

She chuckled. "You and me both, little one."

They continued walking until Sienna suddenly clapped her hands together. "I need to buy some ingredients for dinner. Why don't you take my bag home for me?"

He hesitated, wanting to argue. He had nothing better to do. Thanks to Raphael, things that would take a lifetime to master, he had learned in only five years. He had to wait patiently before he could start implementing his plans to ensure their survival. But after a moment's thought, he decided to let her go shopping alone.

Sighing, he turned to her. "Umm… sure?"

She ruffled his hair. "I trust you. Just go straight home—no wandering."

He nodded, accepting the bag. Sienna kissed his forehead before heading toward the market, leaving him to walk home alone.

Or so he thought.

A sudden commotion caught his attention.

A hooded figure darted past him, breath ragged. Moments later, three men stormed through the street in pursuit, shouting, "Thief! Stop him!"

The boy turned his head slightly, watching with curiosity. With Thought Acceleration, time stretched before him, and he saw his options play out in his mind within an instant.

He could trip the thief. Could stop them with ease.

But he didn't.

Instead, he subtly moved his foot, tilting a loose cobblestone just enough to send the chasing men sprawling. They collapsed into a heap of curses and limbs.

"Watch where you're going, boy!" one of them barked as they scrambled to their feet.

"Sorry," he said, feigning innocence.

By the time they regained their bearings, the thief was gone. And so was he.

He followed from a distance, tracking the hooded figure until they slipped into a narrow alley. When he turned the corner, he found not just the thief, but five other children—malnourished, wary, and ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

The thief—a girl—stood protectively in front of them.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

The boy smiled. Not just any smile—his best 'Jesus loves you' smile, perfected to a level that would make professional actors back in his old world look like amateurs.

"Just someone interested in teaching you how to make more than a few stolen coppers."

The children looked at each other, uncertainty flickering in their eyes.

One of the boys spoke up, "We didn't steal much. Just enough to eat."

The boy kept smiling. "I'm not here to turn you in."

He took a step forward, ignoring the way the girl's muscles tensed, ready to flee.

"You're surviving. I respect that. But tell me… would you like to do more than just survive?"

They hesitated. The girl narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"

His grin widened, the light in his eyes unreadable.

"Come to my home tomorrow, and I'll show you."

The children exchanged wary glances, uncertain.

As he turned to leave, he heard Raphael's voice in his mind, amused.

("A bit dramatic, aren't we?")

("Let me have my moment.")

("And here I thought you were once a devout Christian.")

("…I'll apologize later.")

He chuckled under his breath.

He had just found his first disciples.