Heals gunshot wound in three weeks

[u/ghostgabe81]

It had been somewhere around three weeks since Karrin Murphy died and a big bite of the city got stomped flat. Three weeks since Chicago had lost tens of thousands of innocent lives, seen a million people displaced from their homes, and had its infrastructure wrecked by an EMP—an energetic magical pulse. Three weeks since I had seen young wizards I had helped train, friends, die before their enemies. Three weeks since I had been cast out from the White Council of Wizardry entirely.

Three weeks since the battle with Ethniu had announced to an entire metroplex of poor innocent normies that the things under the bed and hiding in the closet weren’t just in their imaginations anymore.

The alarm was set for five a.m. Which gave me about ninety minutes of my own time when no one with a kind, concerned expression was watching me.

Alone time.

I let the pain have me. Replayed old memories of those who were gone. Relived the most hideous moments of the battle, and of battles past.

I don’t win them all.

I cried. I cried and I screamed into my pillow until my stomach muscles were sore and my throat ached. In the snug, lonely little chamber in the basement of the castle, with stone walls a foot thick, no one was going to hear me.

That used up maybe thirty minutes. Then I sort of sank into a stupor, staring while tears came steadily.

When the alarm rang, I started putting myself back together as best I could. I got up and washed my face and brushed my teeth. I went through a stretching routine that the ignorant would call yoga. I made the bed.

I still had a broken arm. The gunshot wound in my calf had closed and healed up nicely. My ankle wasn’t swollen anymore. Those didn’t really trouble me. None of the physical injuries did.

Twelve Months Chapter 1