The streets of Cragmere bustled softly as the midday sun warmed the cobblestone paths. Kyle stepped away from Alex and Sebi, leaving the budding lovers to their awkward exchanges. He strolled through the village, his hands tucked into his pockets, the familiar rhythm of life around him a comforting lull.
In the market square, he spotted his mother standing at a vegetable stall, haggling with the vendor. She stood out even in the crowd, her poise and elegance undiminished by the years. Even through the loose-fitting gown that flowed down to her ankles, it was impossible not to notice the curves of her figure. From behind, the gown did little to conceal the fullness of her hips, and even Kyle knew that. Despite being nearly forty years old, her smooth skin and vibrant auburn hair gave her an ageless beauty, a benefit of her Shard abilities that also enhanced her vitality.
As Kyle approached, the vendor’s demeanor shifted. The man’s initial stubbornness melted away, and he lowered his voice.
“For you, Ma’am, only three copper coins for the lot,” the vendor said hastily, a nervous smile on his face.
Kyle smirked. “Generous today, aren’t we?”
The vendor chuckled nervously, avoiding Kyle’s gaze. “Ah, it’s always a pleasure to serve Illaria here.”
His mother gave him a sidelong glance, her expression unreadable. She handed over the coins and gathered the vegetables into a basket. “Thank you,” she said simply, then turned to Kyle. “Let’s go.”
Due to their previous interactions, the vendor had learnt never to let Kyle haggle with him. Everyone in the village knew that Kyle was more mature than his peers.
They walked side by side through the village, the quiet punctuated only by the occasional greetings from villagers. Kyle’s mother carried herself with a quiet grace that drew respect and attention. Kyle noticed the subtle glances from passersby, particularly the men. Some admired her openly, others gave her fleeting looks.
Kyle sighed. It wasn’t the first time he’d caught those stares, but it never stopped being uncomfortable.
“You shouldn’t drink so much, Kyle,” his mother said suddenly, her tone sharp.
He groaned. “It was just a mug. Hardly anything.”
“You’re not even sixteen yet,” she scolded. “You have no business drinking, especially if you plan to become a healer. People look to us for discipline and care, not reckless behavior.”
Kyle rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “I hear you, Mom,” he said, resigned.
“Good,” she replied, though her tone suggested she didn’t quite believe him. “Your father was the same at your age, always testing boundaries. But he grew out of it, and so will you.”
Kyle didn’t respond, letting her words hang in the air. They reached their modest home, its wooden frame sturdy but worn from years of weathering. From a distance, they saw something, and Kyle froze.
Three strangers were waiting by the door.
The tallest of the trio, a bulky man with a scar running down the side of his face, leaned casually against the wall. His leather armor was scuffed and worn, a testament to countless battles. Kyle recognized him instantly; he’d seen the man earlier at the tavern.
The other two were adventurers as well. One was a wiry man with sharp eyes and a perpetual smirk, the other a woman whose hood obscured her features. Her fingers drummed lightly on the hilt of a dagger at her hip.
“Is there a problem?” Kyle’s mother frowned, once they reached close enough.
The scarred adventurer shook his head, a tight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Nothing you need to worry about. We just wanted to get healed. Finally found your place after asking around.”Kyle’s mother studied them for a moment, then nodded and pushed the door to her home open wider. "Come inside, then."
Without another word, they followed her in.
The three adventurers settled into the modest wooden chairs at the table. Their movements were measured, each one sizing up the room, and the mother-son duo with the cautiousness of those who lived on the edge of danger.
The scarred man leaned back, the smirk never quite leaving his face. The wiry man tapped the table absently, and the hooded woman pulled her cloak tighter as if shielding herself from unseen eyes.
Kyle’s mother stood at the table, her hands resting lightly on its surface. Her calm, authoritative presence seemed to steady the room. She looked directly at the scarred man.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“When did you last use your Shard abilities?” she asked.
“A week ago,” he replied, his voice steady but weary.
She nodded knowingly. “I can feel your Eclipsing. It must be painful.” Her tone was factual, and professional, but there was a thread of sympathy beneath it. The toll on his body was evident in his stiff movements and the faint lines of pain around his eyes.
Then she turned to the hooded woman. “What about you?”
The woman hesitated, her fingers brushing against the dagger at her side. “I have a wound on my torso,” she said quietly.
Kyle's mother’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before shifting to the wiry man. “And you?”
Without a word, he rolled up the leg of his trousers, revealing a grotesque deformity on his calf. The swollen, misshapen mass was darkened and pulsing faintly.
She sighed, a deep weariness in her expression. “Curse,” she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to them.
Turning to Kyle, she said, “Take her to the storeroom. Check the wound and find the correct ointment.”
Kyle sighed but didn’t argue. He gestured for the hooded woman to follow him and led her to the storeroom, a small space packed with shelves of jars and vials. He pointed to a stool in the corner.
“Sit,” he said curtly.
The woman complied, pulling back her cloak and lifting her tunic to reveal a gash running diagonally from her left breast to the right edge of her stomach. It was partially healed but red and inflamed. Kyle grimaced but forced himself to focus. He scanned the shelves, pulling down a jar filled with a green, viscous ointment.
“This should help,” he muttered, handing it to her. “Apply it twice a day, and rest.”
She gave him a slight nod. “Thanks,” she said, her voice softer now.
Meanwhile, in the main room, Illaria knelt beside the wiry man. She placed her hands over his mangled calf, her palms glowing faintly as her Shard power activated. The deformity began to shrink, the pulsing slowing until it became a faint thrum. The man let out a shaky breath of relief.
“Try not to push yourself for a while,” she instructed him, standing up.
She turned to the scarred man, who had been watching silently. “You’ll need to wait a bit longer,” she said, her tone brisk.
The man nodded, his expression unreadable. “Take your time,” he said. “I am not in a rush.”
Once the man and the woman had been tended to, Kyle’s mother escorted them to the door. The woman clutched a small pouch of ointments, murmuring her thanks, while the man offered a gruff nod.
“Albert will pay for us as well,” The woman told Kyle’s mother.
"Alright. Be careful," Illaria said, her tone firm but kind. "Avoid any strain for a few days, and if the pain returns, come back to me."
The two adventurers exchanged a glance, nodded again, and disappeared down the dirt path toward the village center. The door shut with a soft click, and the air inside the house grew quiet once more.
Kyle leaned against the wall, idly tracing the hilt of his dagger with his fingers. His mother turned to him, brushing her hands on her apron, though they were spotless.
"Kyle," she said, her voice carrying a note of finality. "I want you to leave as well."
He straightened up, he knew this was coming. "Alright," he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets.
She walked past him, gathering a few jars and tools from a nearby shelf. "Why don't you go and collect a few herbs?" she suggested. "We’re running low on Avenroot and Brimgrass. They’re in the eastern woods, near the stream. You know the spot."
Kyle nodded silently, turning toward his room. Inside, he grabbed his bag and checked its contents: a small cloth for wrapping herbs, a flask of water, and his sturdy dagger. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he stepped back into the main room, ready to leave.
His mother wasn’t there. So, he waited until she came out.
His mother emerged moments later, her steps light and purposeful, but what she wore made him pause. That short dress wasn’t her usual attire for healing duty, except on occasions concerning Eclipsing patients.
It clung to her figure, revealing most of her cleavage, the hem swaying halfway her thighs, and the subtle glimpse of a small scar on her leg caught his attention. Kyle quickly brought his eyes back to his mother’s face.
"You’re still here?" she asked, smoothing her dress with a flick of her hands. Her voice was calm, but an edge of impatience was evident in her tone.
"Yeah, I was waiting for you," Kyle replied, his gaze fixed firmly on the bag in his hands.
"Go on, then," she said, nodding toward the door. "Don’t waste daylight. Remember, we need Avenroot and Brimgrass for the tinctures."
Kyle nodded and made his way to the door, but stopped briefly. His eyes darted once more to his mother and the scarred man, who was now seated with a heavy air of familiarity, his arms crossed and his gaze following Kyle like a shadow.
"You’ll be okay, right?" Kyle asked, his voice low but steady.
His mother gave him a small, reassuring smile. She was currently walking towards the man. "I’ll be fine, Kyle. Just focus on your task."
Kyle stepped out into the warm sunlight, the door closing softly behind him.
But just before it shut completely, his gaze involuntarily flicked back one last time. Through the narrowing gap, he caught a glimpse of his mother standing before the scarred man, her resolute hands reaching for the hem of her dress, beginning to lift it.
Only a single sigh escaped Kyle’s mouth.
As he walked away, the weight of an unspoken tension lingered in his chest. He glanced back only once, seeing the faint silhouette of the scarred man through the window.
Shaking his head, Kyle adjusted the strap of his bag and headed toward the woods. He had work to do, and whatever was happening back home wasn’t his business to pry into.
He had no reason to pry into it, he already knew what was happening.
Unlike most people, Healers could form multiple contracts.