The world around Kasien felt like it was spinning out of control. His surroundings blurred into an indistinct wash of blood-soaked earth, charred buildings, and the wreckage of war. The taste of iron lingered in his mouth as the cries of the dying soldiers echoed in his ears. But it wasn't the blood or the suffering that tore at him. No, it was the quiet. The empty, suffocating quiet that followed every use of his powers.
He staggered forward, his breath shallow, barely able to hold himself up as he walked through the carnage. Why couldn't he stop? Why couldn't he just collapse, fall to the ground, and let the world go on without him?
The answer was simple: because they needed him. And if he wasn't there, if he didn't heal, if he didn't save, then it would be his fault. His fault that they died. His fault that people who still had hope would lose it. He wasn't just a healer. He was their savior. But the price of that salvation was beginning to break him.
"Lord Kasien," a voice called out, snapping him from his trance. Kasien's head snapped up, eyes bloodshot and glazed over with exhaustion. He saw a soldier standing in front of him, barely able to keep his weight off a crumpled leg. The soldier's face was a grimace of pain, but his eyes were full of hope—the kind of hope Kasien had always hated. It was the kind of hope that demanded more from him than he had to give. And yet, he was the one everyone relied on.
The soldier extended a trembling hand toward him. "Please, my comrades—"
Kasien didn't need to hear more. He had already raised his hand, the familiar tingling of his magic starting to hum under his skin. But the moment the power began to stir, the familiar hunger that always followed overtook him. His pulse quickened, and his vision wavered. He could already feel it—the drain, the loss, the emptiness that followed every time he used his abilities.
"Please," the soldier begged again, his voice breaking. "I… I can't lose anyone else."
Kasien's hand hovered over the soldier, and for a long moment, he hesitated. He knew what would happen next. He had healed countless soldiers, mended wounds, saved lives, and yet, every time, he felt the same gnawing emptiness afterward. The magic was destroying him, piece by piece, and yet, he couldn't stop. He couldn't let them die.
He closed his eyes, trying to push away the guilt, the self-loathing that had been building up inside him. But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
"Please, Lord Kasien," the soldier begged again, his voice growing desperate. "Don't let me die. Don't let us all die."
The words cut through Kasien's fragile resolve, and in that instant, he felt the magic surge through him, pulsing with a violence that made his body tremble. He could feel it pulling at him, draining him as he forced the healing light into the soldier's chest. The blood began to slow, the wound knitting itself back together under the power of his magic.
But Kasien didn't feel the usual satisfaction of saving a life. He didn't feel relief. Instead, he felt a hollow numbness, a sense of detachment, as if everything that happened around him—every life saved, every wound healed—was happening to someone else. It wasn't him anymore. He wasn't the person he used to be.
When the magic finally subsided, the soldier was breathing evenly, the wound sealed. Kasien dropped his hand, but he couldn't bring himself to look at the soldier's face. He couldn't face the gratitude in the man's eyes. The soldier didn't understand. He never could. No one could.
The soldier rose, weak but alive, and staggered off into the distance. But Kasien stood still, his body trembling from the exertion. His heart was pounding in his chest, but it wasn't from physical exertion. It was the crushing weight of the emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole.
A soft footstep broke his reverie, and he looked up to find Elara standing before him. Her face was pale, her expression weary but determined. She had seen him use his magic countless times, but something had changed in the way she looked at him now. She didn't see the healer who could save everyone. She saw Kasien. And she could see how much he was suffering.
"You need to rest," she said quietly, her voice tinged with concern. "You're not well."
"I'm fine," Kasien replied, his voice distant and hollow. He wanted to say more, to argue, to brush off her concern as he always did, but his body wouldn't obey him. The magic had taken everything. His strength, his energy, his will. He was empty, and yet, he had to keep going.
"No, Kasien," Elara said firmly. She stepped closer, her hand resting gently on his arm. "You're not fine. You can barely stand, and yet you keep going. Why?"
Kasien turned his gaze toward her, but he couldn't answer. The truth was too painful. He couldn't stop. If he stopped, everything would crumble.
"Why?" Elara repeated softly, her voice breaking through the haze that clouded his mind. She stepped closer, her fingers curling around his arm as if grounding him. "You don't have to carry this alone."
Kasien swallowed hard. His throat felt tight, constricted, as if the words he wanted to say were locked inside. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't say it. He couldn't tell her that he was afraid—afraid of what would happen if he didn't keep going, afraid of who he would become if he stopped using his powers.
The power that had once made him a savior was now making him into something less than human. And he was afraid of what would be left when the magic had taken everything.
"I don't know how to stop," Kasien whispered, his voice shaking. His hands trembled as they fell to his sides, fingers twitching in response to the overwhelming surge of magic still inside him. "I don't know how to stop it."
Elara's eyes softened with understanding, but her expression was still filled with worry. She could see it now—the depths of Kasien's despair. And it hurt her more than she could put into words. But there was nothing she could do to stop it. Not when Kasien had become so consumed by the idea of saving others that he had lost sight of the most important thing: himself.
"You don't have to do this, Kasien," Elara said, her voice breaking the silence. "You can rest. You can let others help. Let them carry some of the weight for once."
But Kasien couldn't hear her anymore. His mind was consumed by the gnawing hunger of his magic. It was always there, lurking beneath the surface, whispering to him, demanding that he heal, that he save.
"I can't," he whispered again, as if in a trance. "I can't stop."
And with that, he turned away, stumbling forward again. His legs barely carried him, but he kept moving. His body, his soul, they were fading with every step he took. But he couldn't stop.
He had to keep going.