Jareth’s heart raced, a surge of urgency propelling him forward. He knelt beside Gabe, taking in the sight of his wounds—angry and raw, magic still simmering at their edges, a reminder of the demon that had wrought such pain. A pang of empathy tugged at him, echoing the old fears that whispered in the recesses of his mind.
Jareth took a slow breath, grounding himself in the chill of the night air. His fingers hovered just above the wounds that marred Gabe’s side, blood seeping through the torn fabric in thick rivulets. It smelled sharp, like iron.
Closing his eyes, Jareth reached inward, drawing on the magic that thrummed through his veins. He could feel the power there—subtle and restless, like a river waiting to spill over its banks. His hands began to glow, the light soft at first, like the rising sun cresting the horizon. The air thickened with the familiar pulse of magic, a rhythm as ancient as time itself.
With a slow exhale, Jareth pushed the magic outward. The glow intensified, a golden aura spreading from his fingertips like tendrils of sunlight, weaving through the air before settling over Gabe’s wounds. It pulsed in time with their heartbeats, a quiet thrum, echoing in the silence.
The warmth followed—a comforting heat, not unlike the feel of standing close to a fire after a long winter's night. Beneath the aura, the jagged edges of Gabe's injuries seemed to soften, knitting themselves back together, the flow of blood slowing to a trickle. The magic did not simply mend—it soothed, calming the pain and coaxing life back into broken flesh. The deep gashes began to heal, threads of light stitching muscle and sinew back into place, leaving behind nothing, not even a scar.
Jareth’s expression softened, the glow in his eyes flickering in tandem with his magic. He could feel the exhaustion settling into his bones, but it was worth it.
Ah, nothing like a brush with death to keep things lively,Jareth murmured, his tone teasing yet sincere.
I’d say it’s not for the faint of heart, but here you are, proving me wrong.
This little fellow,he said, gesturing to the wisp,
is here to help. Think of it as my assistant for the evening.
Jareth took a slow breath, grounding himself in the chill of the night air. His fingers hovered just above the wounds that marred Gabe’s side, blood seeping through the torn fabric in thick rivulets. It smelled sharp, like iron.
Closing his eyes, Jareth reached inward, drawing on the magic that thrummed through his veins. He could feel the power there—subtle and restless, like a river waiting to spill over its banks. His hands began to glow, the light soft at first, like the rising sun cresting the horizon. The air thickened with the familiar pulse of magic, a rhythm as ancient as time itself.
With a slow exhale, Jareth pushed the magic outward. The glow intensified, a golden aura spreading from his fingertips like tendrils of sunlight, weaving through the air before settling over Gabe’s wounds. It pulsed in time with their heartbeats, a quiet thrum, echoing in the silence.
The warmth followed—a comforting heat, not unlike the feel of standing close to a fire after a long winter's night. Beneath the aura, the jagged edges of Gabe's injuries seemed to soften, knitting themselves back together, the flow of blood slowing to a trickle. The magic did not simply mend—it soothed, calming the pain and coaxing life back into broken flesh. The deep gashes began to heal, threads of light stitching muscle and sinew back into place, leaving behind nothing, not even a scar.
Jareth’s expression softened, the glow in his eyes flickering in tandem with his magic. He could feel the exhaustion settling into his bones, but it was worth it.
There,Jareth murmured as the final tendrils of light faded from his hands, their work complete.
Good as new.
10-04-2024, 02:49 PM
