After a night of deep, untroubled sleep, I crept downstairs to the inn’s common room, where the faint scent of something hearty and warm greeted me. On the table sat a steaming bowl of stew, its rich aroma curling up in little wisps like mischievous smoke.

  The kobold innkeeper, small and scrappy with bright, keen eyes, glanced up from polishing a battered mug. “How’s the food?” he asked, voice gruff but friendly.

  “It’s quite good, thank you,” I replied, spooning up a generous mouthful.

  “If you want more, just say the word,” he offered, a flicker of pride crossing his face.

  Once I had finished, feeling fortified for whatever lay ahead, I stepped outside into the crisp morning air, ready to seek out a job and begin the day’s adventures.

  I might have a small fortune jingling in my pocket, but such things never last forever. With that thought in mind, I set off in search of the city hall, which I guessed would be nestled somewhere near the bustling heart of town.

  As I walked, my eyes drifted to the shop windows, each display beckoning with curious and colorful wares. Then I came to a sudden halt before a grand, imposing shop with a sign that read Dragon’s Hoard Emporium in curling, golden letters.

  Curiosity tugged at me, and I pushed open the heavy wooden door, stepping inside. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and strange herbs. Shelves groaned under the weight of staffs, amulets shimmering faintly in the dim light, bubbling potions, and all manner of curious trinkets.

  A lizard-like humanoid, scales glinting like polished jade, appeared from behind the counter. “Welcome to the Dragon’s Hoard. What can I do for you?” he asked, his voice a smooth hiss.

  “Just looking around,” I replied, my eyes still drinking in the enchanting treasures.

  “If you find anything that catches your eye, just let me know,” the shopkeeper said with a sly grin.

  I wandered through the aisles, admiring the glittering trinkets and curious artifacts, until something in the far corner caught my attention. There, resting on a velvet cushion, lay a red amulet that seemed to pulse with a slow, ominous glow. Intrigued, I picked it up and turned to the shopkeeper.

  “What is this?” I asked, feeling a strange chill.

  “Ah, that one,” he said, eyes narrowing. “It’s one of our less popular items—mostly because it’s cursed.”

  “And what does it do?” I pressed.

  “It immensely enhances the user’s magic,” he replied smoothly.

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” I said, hopeful.

  “Ah, but it requires the sacrifice of one of the user’s organs,” he added with a wink.

  I swallowed hard. “Right. That does sound bad. How much is it?”

  “Five gold,” he said without hesitation.

  “Wow. Do you have anything cheaper?”

  “The amulet is the cheapest item in the whole store,” he said, as if daring me to bargain.

  It seemed my small fortune was indeed small—and lacking any real fortune. With a sigh, I left the shop, refocusing on my original goal.

  Time slipped by as I wandered through the twisting streets of the city, until finally, I stood before the towering doors of city hall.

  In front of the grand city hall sat a dog, its coat matted and a limp slowing its steps. Fresh cuts marred its face, and it whimpered softly as I approached.

  “Hey there, little one,” I whispered, kneeling down. The dog’s eyes met mine with a flicker of hope. If only I could help you, I thought.

  Then, a sudden memory struck me—the wound on my own body from yesterday, now completely healed. Maybe, just maybe, I could do the same for this poor creature.

  Reaching out, I laid my hand gently on the dog’s head. Instantly, a flood of images and sensations rushed through my mind—every inch of the dog’s body, from snout to tail, every ache and pain laid bare.

  I gathered all my will, focusing on the ragged wounds that pained the dog most. Slowly, as if touched by some unseen magic, the cuts began to close. The limp eased, and the whining ceased.

  The dog, now calm, pressed its rough tongue against my cheek in a grateful lick.

  “Alright, alright,” I chuckled, brushing its fur softly. “You’re welcome. But I’ve got to go—try not to get hurt again, okay?”

  I stepped into the grand hall of city hall, its high ceilings echoing with the soft murmur of busy officials and visitors. Making my way straight to the receptionist’s desk, I caught the woman’s eye.

  “Hello,” she said with a polite smile. “How may I help you today?”

  “I’m looking for a job,” I replied, “something with low entry requirements.”

  She nodded and pointed to a large wooden board on the wall. “The public notice board is just to your left.”

  “Thank you,” I said, moving over to the board.

  I scanned the notices pinned there. Most were calls for monster hunts and escort missions—two things I was clearly unqualified for. Then came apprenticeships, but their terms were barely better than slavery, demanding long hours and little freedom. Crafting commissions required skills I did not possess, and the rest were odd jobs and errands—small tasks that might keep me busy, but hardly enough to change my fortunes.

  I sighed, realizing the path ahead would be far from easy.

  After scanning the notice board for some time, I finally settled on a position as a helper at the Sanctum of Vitality—a place that sounded much like a hospital, though with a hint of magic woven into its purpose. The requirements were simple enough: either medical training or healing magic. Luckily, I had the latter.

  I figured I could manage well enough, healing whatever ailments came my way.

  Grabbing the note from the board, I returned to the receptionist. “I’d like to take this job,” I said, hopeful.

  She gave me a sharp look. “You’re not supposed to take the note from the board.”

  “Sorry,” I murmured, quickly replacing it.

  She softened and handed me a small slip of paper with directions. “Here’s where you need to go.”

  “Thank you,” I said, clutching the paper and already imagining the work ahead.

  I stepped out of city hall and made my way directly to the Sanctum of Vitality. The building loomed ahead, its walls humming softly with the promise of healing and hope.

  Inside, I found myself before a woman who I guessed was the head nurse. She was busy with a patient ledger, her brow furrowed in concentration.

  “Excuse me,” I said hesitantly. “I came here for the job—to help.”

  She glanced up. “Wait just a moment...” After finishing her notes, she looked back at me with a polite but guarded expression. “All done. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m here about the job.”

  “Oh, right. Do you have any previous medical training?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Then do you have any skill with healing magic?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “How long have you been practicing healing magic?”

  “Since yesterday,” I admitted.

  Her expression froze, disbelief flickering across her face. “When you say yesterday... you mean you only started then?”

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  I nodded. “Yes.”

  She blinked, processing this. “And how many people have you healed since?”

  “Just two. Me, and a dog—although you probably wouldn’t count the dog, so just me.”

  She sighed, a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. “I’ll need to see a demonstration of your magic before I can accept you.”

  She led me through the quiet corridors of the Sanctum, guiding me to a patient’s room. There, a man rested, a long stitched wound running from the back of his hand all the way to his elbow.

  “This is the patient,” she said, her voice steady. “A minor wound—you should be able to heal this.”

  I nodded, recalling what I had done before. Placing my hand gently on his injured arm, I summoned all my will and focused. Instantly, the same flood of information washed over me—the intricate details of his body laid bare in my mind.

  I concentrated on the wound, willing it to close, to mend. Slowly, the skin began knitting itself back together, the scar fading until there was nothing left—not even a trace.

  She stared in astonishment. “Wow. How did you do that?”

  I shrugged, trying to keep my voice even. “What do you mean? I healed him.”

  “But you didn’t just heal the wound—you erased the scar entirely.”

  “That’s exactly what you asked me to do.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “That’s impossible. Removing a scar completely requires high-grade healing magic—and there was no sign you used anything of that level.”

  “So… did I pass or what?” I asked, looking at the head nurse expectantly.

  “You passed,” she said, though her tone was cautious. “But I’ll need to test you further to see your limits. Come.” She gestured for me to follow her, leading me to the room next door.

  Inside, she pointed to the patient lying motionless on the bed. “This individual suffered major injuries from a Shadow Leopard. He’s not expected to survive, so we’ve placed him in hospice care.”

  I froze as I took in the sight. The patient’s body was a wreck—three deep gashes ran down his torso, his eyes were gouged out, and both arms were entirely missing.

  “Right,” I muttered, trying to steady myself. I reached out as I had before, placing my hand lightly on his shoulder. I closed my eyes and focused all my will, imagining his injuries mending themselves.

  And then it began.

  The gashes slowly knitted themselves back together, the torn flesh smoothing out as if the wounds had never been there. His empty eye sockets shimmered faintly as new eyes began to form, and his arms—his arms—wove back into existence, bone, muscle, and skin appearing out of thin air. When it was done, the man lay there, whole and unscarred.

  The head nurse gasped audibly. “Amazing. You healed him without even breaking a sweat. And you—you brought his eyes and arms back into existence!”

  “What the…” a hoarse voice croaked. The patient stirred, blinking in confusion. “Is this… heaven?”

  “No, Mr. Galic, you’re still here with us,” the head nurse said gently.

  His new eyes widened in disbelief. “I can see. And my arms… they’re back.” He looked down at himself, tears welling up. “Was all of it real? Or just a dream?”

  “Oh, it’s very real,” I said, grinning. “You were one foot in the grave, missing eyes and arms—but don’t worry, I fixed you.”

  “You… fixed me?” he said, his voice trembling. “How? Nobody can bring back limbs.”

  “Well, then you can call me Mr. Nobody, because I did,” I said with a wink.

  The patient’s eyes sparkled with awe. “...Are you a god?”

  Now, when someone asks you, ‘Are you a god?’ there’s only one answer. “Yes,” I said confidently.

  The head nurse turned to look at me, her expression caught somewhere between bewilderment and suspicion. Meanwhile, the patient stared at me like I’d just descended from the heavens.

  “Come here,” the head nurse said, motioning me to the side. Her voice was low and urgent. “How did you bring back his eyes and arms?”

  I shrugged. “The same way I healed the previous patient—I just focused on healing.”

  “You shouldn’t be able to do that,” she said, her tone sharp.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Only high-grade magic can do that,” I said dismissively.

  “No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “It can’t. All healing magic, regardless of grade, can only work with what’s already there. It cannot bring back what’s been lost.”

  I frowned. “What are you on about?”

  “What I’m saying,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, “is that what you’re doing isn’t healing magic. Just look at his eyes.”

  I glanced back at the patient. “They seem fine to me.”

  “They’re brown,” she said flatly.

  “So?”

  “They were supposed to be green.”

  “Oh… well, hold on.” I walked back to the patient and placed my hand on his head again, focusing on turning his eyes green.

  “What are you doing?” the patient asked, alarmed.

  “Just some aftercare. No need to worry,” I said lightly.

  I stepped back, examining his face. Sure enough, his eyes were now a vivid green.

  Turning back to the head nurse, I grinned. “See? No problem.”

  She stared at me, her expression unreadable, her lips pressed into a tight line. Something told me this conversation wasn’t over.

  “Do you need me to fix anyone else?” I asked, hopeful.

  The head nurse smirked, a twinkle of amusement in her eye. “Don’t you worry. I’ll find plenty for you to fix.”

  And so I spent the rest of the day wandering the halls, helping patient after patient, feeling a strange sense of purpose growing with each healed wound.

  At day’s end, I stepped outside with the head nurse, the fading light casting long shadows across the courtyard.

  “That was a lot of patients who needed help,” I said, wiping my brow.

  She nodded. “This is the first time the Sanctum has been empty since its foundation.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, smiling. “It was fun.”

  She glanced at me with a sly grin. “Okay, now for the thing you were looking for.”

  “Are you coming on to me?” I joked.

  “No, you idiot. Your pay.”

  “Oh, right. I’d almost forgotten,” I said sheepishly.

  She handed me a small pouch jingling with coins. “Here’s your half.”

  “Only half?” I raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure I did most of the work.”

  “Well,” she chuckled, “usually helpers only get one-tenth of the patients healed. You’re lucky.”

  I opened the pouch and counted—twenty gold, eight silver, and twenty-three copper coins. My eyes widened. “That’s a lot of money. I can’t wait to earn this every day.”

  She shook her head. “Keep dreaming. Most of the coin comes from patients with long-term illnesses—the very illnesses you removed today. Don’t even think about earning a hundredth of this again. Besides, we won’t be needing helpers much longer.”

  “Well,” I said with a shrug, “it was fun while it lasted.”

  “Yeah,” she said, smirking. “Just wish you’d stop telling every patient you’re a god.”

  I grinned. “Well, they’ve got to know who saved them.”

  She smiled, waving me off. “Alright then. I guess I’ll be going now.”

  “See ya,” I called after her, feeling the first real hope I’d had in a long time stirring within me.

  I returned to the inn just in time for dinner. The meal was roasted chicken paired with a mug of mead. The chicken was a touch overcooked, its edges a little crispier than I would have liked, and the mead tasted thinner than usual—but all in all, it was surprisingly satisfying.

  Heading up to my room afterward, I found the door slightly ajar. Cautiously, I pushed it open and spotted a gentlemanly figure seated in my chair, calm and composed.

  “I finally found you, Mr…?” he began.

  “Dim. I am Dim,” I replied, settling my nerves.

  “Well, Dim, I have a need for your services.”

  “What sort of services?” I asked, curiosity piqued.

  “You know the kind—and I need it done discreetly.”

  I nodded. “Alright. Where’s the patient?”

  He motioned toward the door. “Follow me.” Outside the inn, a carriage awaited, pulled by a large, scaly lizard that looked both fierce and reliable.

  “Inside,” he said, pointing toward the carriage.

  After a brief ride through twisting streets, we arrived at a grand mansion. The heavy doors swung open, and together we stepped inside, the air thick with mystery and unspoken secrets.

  “Your client is upstairs, third door on the right,” the gentleman said.

  I climbed the creaking staircase and found myself before the third door on the right. A stern guard stood watch, arms crossed.

  “I’m expected inside,” I said.

  The guard gave me a once-over, then stepped aside, opening the door with a heavy creak.

  The first thing that hit me was the smell—a foul blend of rotten eggs and spoiled milk, as if old, forgotten socks had been left to fester in the corner of the room.

  Inside, a figure lay in bed, pale and frail, surrounded by what I assumed was family: three men and two women. Their skin was an unnatural shade of grey, their ears pointed sharply like a fox’s, and their eyes glowed a deep, unsettling red. I made a mental note to remember that last detail.

  All heads turned toward me, and one of the women, her voice sharp, demanded, “Who’s this?”

  One of the men spoke up, his tone cautious. “He’s the one Kunni found—the healer who supposedly performed miracles at the Sanctum.”

  “Miraculous?” the other woman scoffed. “He’s just another con man. Get him out of here.”

  The man raised a hand to silence her. “Hold on. At least let’s see if there’s anything he can do.”

  The woman glared at me and then fixed her gaze coldly. “Fine. But you’d better be the real deal, or you’ll find yourself in a world of pain.”

  “Okay,” I said quietly, moving closer to the figure in the bed. As I approached, I noticed the patient was veined with dark, twisting black lines that snaked across his skin like creeping shadows. His eyes were entirely black—empty, like deep wells of darkness.

  I placed my hand gently on his chest and focused all my will on him. Slowly, the black veins began to retreat, pulling back as if chased away by some unseen force. A collective gasp filled the room as his eyes shifted, the darkness fading to reveal their natural, fiery red.

  The patient stirred, blinking as consciousness returned. “What… is… going… on?” he murmured, his voice weak but alive.

  Tears welled suddenly in the faces around him. “Dad, you’re alive!” one of the women cried, clutching his hand.

  “Of course I’m alive,” he said, confusion flickering in his gaze. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You contracted the Spider Plague,” the man said solemnly, “and we thought you were lost.”

  The patient’s brow furrowed. “Wait… the Spider Plague is incurable. How am I still here?”

  “You have it all to thank—um, what’s your name?” the man asked, hesitation in his voice.

  “Dim. I am Dim,” I said quietly, feeling the weight of the moment settle around us all.

  The patient smiled weakly, his voice warm with gratitude. “Well, thank you, Dim. I’m quite wealthy. If you ever need anything, just say the word.”

  I grinned, unable to resist a bit of mischief. “Worship me like your god.”

  The room fell utterly silent; everyone froze, eyes wide.

  I added quickly, “...Or just give me money.”

  A hearty laugh broke the tension. “I like you,” said the patient. “Alder, go fetch him one of the pouches from the safe.”

  Alder, the first male, stepped out briefly and soon returned with a small, heavy pouch, which he handed to me with a respectful nod.

  I opened it and counted—one hundred gleaming gold coins.

  Looking up, I noticed everyone watching me with expectant smiles.

  “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be on my way,” I said, pocketing the pouch.

  “See you, friend,” the patient called after me. “If ever you’re in need, you know where to find me.”

  I stepped outside, the sky already shifting to a deep, dusky gray as twilight crept over the town. The day was drawing to a close, and I made my way back to the inn, the familiar creak of the wooden sign swinging overhead.

  As I pushed open the door, a sudden thought struck me—I hadn’t asked a single soul their name today. It seemed a good time to start.

  I approached the kobold behind the counter, who looked up from polishing a mug. “What’s your name?” I asked.

  He smiled, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. “I’m Pryd.”

  “Dim,” I said, offering my own name in return.

  With that, I climbed the stairs to my room. At last, I sank onto the bed, the softness a welcome relief after the long day. As I closed my eyes, a sense of quiet settled over me—it was finally time to rest.