Shadows Over Arcadia Chapter 67: 66. Anomaly

Read chapter 67 of Shadows Over Arcadia by Zacheas on NovelPedia.

I am Willow. At 5,096 years old, I am one of the most ancient and powerful fae in existence, bound to a ridiculous contract with a devious god, guardian of Ren Drakemore, apothecary proprietor, and glorified babysitter to two mortal children. https://shadowsoverarcadia.com/api/storage/objects/uploads/e36e5201-b5f5-4e9c-bdf0-03b5ea1f4af9 The next customer enters the treatment room and begins describing whatever trivial issue has brought him here today. His words are a distant drone in my ears as my gaze drifts out the window. A hawk circles above the grain stalks in an ocean blue sky. Master Ren has spent the day renovating farms and teaching the Hyperions how to tend their fields. To think I spent so much of my life cultivating Ren’s immense potential, and now he uses it for the most senseless act of charity I have ever seen. I can’t help but smile at the absurdity of it. It may not be the most efficient use of his time, but he is still growing his mana capacity. Meanwhile I’m stuck here playing the role of healer and caring for his collection of strays. But I haven’t left him unguarded. I have kept a close eye on him with an enchanted hawk, and he has also tasked that monstrosity of steel he calls T.A.L.O.N. to watch over him from above. “Ehm, Lady Willow,” says the stray half-demon Alastor, drawing my mind back to the room. He’s sitting behind me in the treatment room clutching a vial of blood. “Manage to activate Diagnostic Eye yet?” I ask sweetly, knowing full well he hasn’t. He won’t be able to cast it for at least a week. But I have to at least pretend as if I care about the magical training of Ren's little friend, even if I know he doesn’t play a major role in my plans. “Uh, not yet, ma’am,” Alastor responds sheepishly, then points toward the man on the treatment bed. “But the customer…” He trails off as I slowly turn back to the nondescript man sitting there. It’s not that I forgot he was there, it’s more that his presence is so non-consequential that it briefly escaped my awareness. “One vial of blood,” I say in a friendly tone, holding up a small knife and the glass vessel. He eyes the blade warily for a moment before giving me a weak nod. In a flash I’ve seized his arm, sliced it open, and harvested a vial of the delicious fluid. Before his little mind can react to the pain, I’ve already healed his injuries and am waving the confused man toward the exit. “T-that’s it?” he stammers. “You healed everything just like that?” “Not everything, you’re still mortal,” I say, guiding him by the arm out of the treatment room. “I’m afraid that’s terminal and beyond my abilities,” I add solemnly as I shove the befuddled man through the doorway. The next customer, an elderly woman, files in and begins rambling about her slew of maladies before I manage to close the door. I return to my seat and look the woman up and down with an internal grimace. Her skin is loose and spotted with age. It’s like she’s melting before me, wine way past its vintage that has likely gone sour. Today’s buffet of meat sacks is a bit of a mixed bag, true, but I don’t particularly mind this arrangement. It’s a welcome change having my food come to me, willingly offering up their blood, and even thanking me for taking it. It’s been four hundred years since I’ve been this well fed. Regrettably, it does remove the thrill of the hunt and the fun of tricking feeble minds. “Are you listening to me?” the elderly meat sack asks. “Not in the least. One vial for the healing,” I respond with a wide smile and sing-song tone, brandishing my blade again. The woman looks briefly like she is inclined to be offended but is quickly overtaken by my aura. She agrees, and I repeat the process with her. I heal her and usher her out of the room. Through the open door I see Ren’s other stray, Lyra, thanking another in a long line of customers joyfully as, with a series of clinks, she deposits more coins into the heavy chest at her feet. She’s really taken to this work. With prop