THE RETURN OF THE HEALER

The great hall of Arkwright Manor trembled not from wind or thunder, but from the whisper that cracked through the room: “He has no power.”

Ray Graham stood at the center of the marble floor, the ceremonial robes of a groom hanging awkwardly on his thin frame.

Around him, nobles gleamed in bright silks and polished armor, a sea of eyes sharpening like blades. Lady Celene Arkwright, his bride stepped back as if he carried disease.

“Is it true, Ray?” she demanded. “You can’t even summon a spark?”

Ray swallowed. “Celene… you know I’ve been sick since childhood. I ”

“That’s not an answer.” Her voice rose. “Show them magic.”

“I… can’t.”

The hall erupted. A noble laughed. Another spat on the ground. Someone muttered, “A powerless man marrying into the Arkwright line? Disgrace.”

Ray’s fingertips trembled. Not from fear, he was used to insults, but from the burning pressure beneath his skin, the strange heaviness he’d always carried. The “sickness” that never healed. The same sickness that made mana refuse to obey him.

Celene sneered. “You’re useless, Ray. I refuse to chain my future to someone who can’t even light a candle.”

The Duke, her father, stepped forward, voice cold as stone. “This marriage ends now.”

Ray stiffened. “The ceremony”

“Was a mistake,” the Duke replied. “You bring nothing. No strength. No magic. No value.”

“But”

Celene cut him off. “I annul our vows. Immediately.”

Ray stared at her, searching for even a flicker of the girl who once told him she didn’t care about power. But her eyes were shards of ice. “You never loved me,” he whispered. Celene didn’t deny it.

Within minutes, Ray stood outside the manor’s gate, stripped of title, honor, and dignity. Nobles crowded the balcony above him, whispering and smirking as if watching a beggar thrown into the dirt.

A cold drizzle began to fall. Ray exhaled shakily. It’s fine. I’m used to this. I don’t need them. But the wound in his chest pulsed, a sick twist of humiliation and something deeper, something that felt like a sleeping beast shifting inside his ribs.

His voice cracked as he muttered, “I just wanted a chance…”

A voice answered behind him. “A chance was never theirs to give you.”

Ray spun around. A girl in ragged clothes stood by the gate’s pillar, rain dripping down her dark hair. Her eyes, sharp, strangely knowing, studied him like she’d been waiting. Ray frowned. “Who are you?”

“Lira,” she said. “I live in the slums. And you’re Ray Graham, the ‘powerless groom.’ The nobles are still laughing about it.”

Ray winced. “Of course they are.”

Lira stepped closer. “Tell me, didn’t anything feel… wrong in there?”

Ray blinked. “Besides being humiliated?”

“No,” she said urgently. “Inside your body. Like your blood screamed.”

Ray froze. “…How did you know that?”

“Because I’ve seen it before.”

Ray swallowed hard. “My illness?”

“Not an illness,” she whispered. “A seal.”

Ray’s breath caught. “A… a seal?”

Lira nodded slowly. “Magic that locks away abilities. Very old magic. And very dangerous.”

Ray shook his head. “No. I’m just sick. Since childhood. The doctors said”

“They lied,” Lira murmured. “Or they didn’t know what they were looking at.”

Ray stared at his trembling hands. “A seal? On me? Who would do something like that?”

“Someone afraid of what you could become.”

Ray laughed weakly. “What could I possibly become? I can’t even cast a basic spell.”

Lira stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Because the seal is suffocating you. Power doesn’t vanish, it sleeps.”

Ray’s heart pounded. A strange memory flickered, shadows, cold hands pressing against his head, a whisper he couldn’t understand.

He shook it off. “Even if that’s true, what am I supposed to do?”

She smiled faintly. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“To a place where no one will spit on you for being weak,” she said. “Where your power might actually… wake up.”

Ray hesitated. He had nowhere else to go. “…Fine,” he murmured. “Lead the way.”

The slum district was a maze of narrow alleys crammed with rotting stalls and patched tents. Children ran barefoot. Smoke curled from half-broken chimneys.

Healers here were rare, most fled to richer districts. Ray followed Lira to a small, collapsing clinic leaning at a dangerous angle.

She pushed open the wooden door. Inside, coughing patients lay scattered on worn mats. The air reeked of herbs and damp cloth. Ray frowned. “This place is… barely standing.”

“Just like its patients,” Lira replied. “The old healer died last week. Someone needs to take over.”

Ray stared at her. “You want me to replace a healer? I can’t even cure myself.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

She placed a hand on his chest.

Ray jerked back. “Lira”

“No one is watching,” she said softly. “No nobles to laugh. Just suffering people who need help… and a man who has something inside him begging to be freed.”

Ray’s throat tightened. “I’m not a healer.”

“Maybe not yet,” she whispered. “But something in you reacts to pain, doesn’t it? When others hurt… you feel it?”

Ray’s breath caught. “How did you know that…?”

“Because that’s the mark of a Celestial Healer.”

Ray stared at her as if she’d spoken impossible words. “That’s a myth.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” Lira murmured.

A weak voice interrupted them. “P… please… someone…”

An old man lay on a mat, his chest rising shallowly. His daughter knelt beside him, tears streaking her cheeks. “Is anyone here a healer?” she begged. “My father, he can’t breathe”

Lira looked at Ray. “Help him.”

Ray froze. “I, No. I’ll kill him. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

She gripped his arm. “You’re the only one who can.”

Ray knelt beside the old man. His hands shook violently. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m not a healer. But I’ll… I’ll try.”

He placed his palms on the man’s chest. Nothing happened. Then, something snapped inside him.

A rush of warmth surged from his core, flooding through his arms. His vision blurred. A symbol, glowing, ancient, flashed in his mind.

The old man gasped violently as invisible threads of light rippled beneath Ray’s hands. Ray tore his hands back, horrified. “I, I didn’t mean, did I hurt him?”

The daughter’s eyes widened. “Hurt him? His breathing… it’s normal! He’s alive! He, he’s standing!”

The old man sat up, touching his chest in disbelief. “I haven’t breathed this easily in years…”

Ray stared at his hands, trembling. “What… what did I just do?”

Lira’s voice was soft. “You performed a Celestial Healing.”

Ray staggered back. “No. That’s not possible.”

“Then explai the miracle,” she whispered. The patients had begun to sit up, staring at him with something he’d never seen before, Hope.

Then the door burst open. A man stormed inside, breathless, eyes wide. “You!” he shouted, pointing at Ray. “What happened here… people are saying you healed a dying man!”

Ray froze. The man’s face twisted in fear. “That’s forbidden magic. Someone like you shouldn’t have that kind of power. I’m reporting this to the Arkwrights!”

Ray’s blood ran cold. The nobles who humiliated him would not ignore this. Lira grabbed his wrist. “They’ll come for you. Tonight.”

Ray whispered, “Why? Why are they so afraid of me?”

Her answer was barely audible. “Because they were the ones who sealed you.”

Ray felt the world tilt. His skin prickled. His heart pounded. The memories he’d buried scratched at the edges of his mind, begging to be remembered.

He whispered, voice breaking: “Lira… What am I?”

She met his eyes with solemn certainty.

“The last Celestial Healer,” she said. “And the kingdom’s greatest mistake.”

The rain outside intensified, drumming against the roof. And somewhere, far in the noble district, The Arkwright bells began to toll.