The battlefield was quieter now. The sound of steel clashing against steel had faded, replaced by the distant moans of the wounded and the crackling of burning structures. Kasien stood in the midst of it all, his breath shallow, his limbs trembling with exhaustion. His mind was foggy, still reeling from the use of his magic. It had drained him. Again.
He could feel it, deep inside—a hollow emptiness where once there had been a sense of purpose, of certainty. Now, every time he healed, every time he used his abilities, he felt himself slipping further. He could feel his sanity unraveling, thread by thread.
"Lord Kasien?"
Kasien's head snapped to the side. Elara stood a few paces away, her armor streaked with dirt and blood, her face lined with concern. She was always there, always watching him, always waiting for him to heal, to fix, to save. And yet, Kasien could feel the distance growing between them. It wasn't because she had changed; it was because he had. His internal world was crumbling, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
"You've been standing here for a while," Elara said softly, her voice hesitant as she approached him. "The others are asking for you. They need your help."
The words felt like they were coming from a faraway place, as if they were being spoken to him through a thick layer of fog. Need. Help. Save. Those words had become a constant, a mantra, an expectation that weighed on him like a thousand-pound stone.
"I'm... I'm not sure I can do this anymore," Kasien whispered, his voice cracking. He barely recognized the sound of it, as though it came from a stranger. He felt like a stranger to himself.
Elara frowned, taking a step closer. "Kasien, you're not well. You've been using your powers constantly, and it's taking its toll. You're exhausted. You need rest, you need time to heal—"
"Rest?" Kasien's voice was filled with bitterness, the word sounding foreign in his mouth. "I can't rest. If I rest, they die. If I stop, if I give in to this, I... I'll be the one to blame."
Elara's expression softened with pity, but it was a pity that only made him feel worse. He didn't want her sympathy. He didn't want anyone's sympathy. He was strong, wasn't he? Strong enough to carry all of this? Strong enough to bear the weight of their expectations? But with each use of his power, his strength crumbled, his mind fractured more, and he was beginning to doubt whether he could keep going.
"You're not a machine, Kasien," Elara said gently. "You don't have to be everything to everyone."
But he did. He had to be. Because if he wasn't, then he was nothing.
He turned away from her, his hands clutching the hilt of his sword, a blade he hadn't used in weeks. It was a reminder of the person he used to be, the person who had fought alongside his comrades, not the healer who simply fixed things and never tended to himself.
"I don't know who I am anymore," Kasien muttered, his voice distant. "I'm not the same person who wielded this sword. I'm not the same person who…"
His words trailed off. He couldn't finish the sentence. He didn't know what he was anymore. He had become defined by his magic, defined by his ability to save and heal, but there was nothing left of him. Every time he healed, every time he used his abilities, he felt more empty. It wasn't just a physical exhaustion. It was deeper than that. His soul felt weary.
Elara hesitated for a moment before stepping forward again, placing a hand on his arm. "Kasien, please. Come with me. You've done enough today. There are others who can—"
"No," Kasien snapped, pulling his arm away. His eyes locked onto hers, filled with a desperation he couldn't hide. "I can't stop. You don't understand. They need me."
Elara's face softened, her hand falling back to her side. She wanted to say something, but the words seemed stuck in her throat. The truth was that she did understand. She could see it in his eyes—the weight he was carrying, the brokenness inside him. But even if she understood, it didn't change the fact that he couldn't stop. Not now. Not when they needed him.
"I can't let them die, Elara," Kasien continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I stop, if I don't keep going, I'll fail them. I'll fail you. And I can't live with that. I can't live with the thought that I could have done more and didn't."
Elara's expression softened with sorrow, but she said nothing. She just stood there, staring at him, her eyes filled with an unspoken sadness that seemed to reach into the depths of his soul. Kasien turned away, unable to bear her gaze any longer.
He started walking, though he didn't know where to. His feet carried him, as they always did, toward the front lines of the battle. Toward the next casualty, the next soldier who would need him. He didn't know how long he could keep going. He didn't know how long his mind would hold out before it snapped entirely.
The world around him seemed to blur as he walked, his vision clouded by the weight of his own thoughts. He had done this too many times. He had healed too many wounds, broken too many boundaries. His magic had saved hundreds, thousands. But every time he used it, the cost grew higher. His mind was teetering on the edge of something dark. Something irreversible.
His steps grew unsteady, and his body was starting to betray him. His muscles were weak from overuse, his energy drained from constantly channeling his power. Every movement felt like he was walking through a thick sludge, and yet his pace didn't falter. He couldn't slow down.
The cries of soldiers filled the air. Some were victorious, some were defeated. Others were simply in pain, waiting for someone—anyone—to come and save them. Kasien's eyes darted to the nearest wounded soldier, a man with a gash across his chest, blood pouring out onto the ground. He could feel the magic inside him stir, calling to him like a hungry beast, urging him to act. He couldn't ignore it. He never could.
But as his hand moved instinctively toward the soldier, a sudden wave of dizziness hit him. He stopped, his hand hovering over the man, unsure. His breath quickened as the sensation of the magic burned through him. He could feel it draining his very soul, like a leech sucking away his life force.
His chest tightened, and for a brief moment, he felt like he couldn't breathe. His magic was always with him—always pulling him, always demanding more. More healing. More saving. More power. More of him.
But the price was too steep. It always was.
"Please," he whispered to himself, closing his eyes, willing himself to step back. "Please, just let me be free."
But the moment passed. Kasien's eyes snapped open, and the soldier in front of him was still waiting. He was still in need of healing. And Kasien was still the only one who could help him.
A flash of memory hit him—his mother's voice, soft and loving, warning him as a child not to let his power consume him. She had always known. She had always seen what he was becoming. But she was gone now.
Kasien's hand fell to the soldier's chest, and the power surged through him. Magic exploded from his fingertips, the healing light engulfing the wound. The soldier's breathing slowed, the blood stopping its flow. The soldier was healed, but Kasien didn't feel the satisfaction that had once come with such an act.
Instead, all he felt was emptiness.
He pulled his hand back, staggering away from the soldier as the world around him spun. His vision blurred, his legs gave way beneath him, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse right there.
But he couldn't. He couldn't stop.