“Magi-tec limbs represent a groundbreaking advancent in prosthetics, designed to replace limbs lost to disease, accidents, or other misfortunes. Originally conceived by Nowell Gollum, founder of Ember Gear College, these devices were ant to restore functionality and independence to those who could not afford the rare and exorbitantly expensive magic required for limb regeneration.
“Gollum’s vision was noble—to democratize limb restoration in a society where such miracles were reserved for the wealthy. Yet early Magi-tec limbs fell short. Though cheaper than magic, their intricate craftsmanship and reliance on aetheric manipulation made them unaffordable for the impoverished. Worse, most of the aetherless poor lacked the innate ability to power them, rendering the technology useless for those who needed it most.
“Faced with these limitations, Gollum shelved the project, leaving Magi-tec limbs a symbol of unfulfilled promise—until millennia later, when breakthroughs in aether batteries revolutionized their design. No longer dependent on the user’s aetheric ability, the limbs beca accessible to ordinary people. Advances in materials and manufacturing further reduced costs, making them a viable alternative to regeneration magic—especially for those with insufficient aether to undergo the process.
“Yet challenges persisted. While more affordable, Magi-tec limbs still required an initial investnt and ongoing costs for aether batteries, leaving many unable to afford them. Mages, who could power the limbs naturally, retained an advantage, perpetuating the divide between the aether-rich and the aetherless.
“Inspired by Gollum’s vision, a new generation of inventors and reforrs stepped forward, establishing community programs and subsidies to help the disadvantaged access the technology. Through partnerships with governnts and organizations, they worked to close the gap, offering grants and training to those in need.
“Though the road has been long, Magi-tec limbs have evolved into a tool of empowernt. As innovation continues, Gollum’s dream of equitable limb restoration endures—a testant to perseverance and compassion.”
—“Brief History Of Magi-tec Limbs” By The Union Disability Association
John stood frozen in the sudden silence, the shop's ambient sounds rushing back in to fill the void left by Onyx's departure. The weight of its ssage settled over him. Tragic souls coming to Graheel? His original promise to help those in need had been made in a mont of confusion years ago —Onyx declaring that he had a purpose for the place he found himself in—now he reflected montarily on that.
As he moved to lock the shop door, his reflection in the window caught his eye - the lines of his face seed harder sohow, the shadows beneath his eyes deeper. The man staring back at him was both familiar and strange, a far cry from the broken soul who had first stumbled into this reality.
As he turned the lock with a click, his thoughts circled back to Cid one final ti. The image of the young man slumped in that wheelchair, his body half-consud by stone, rose unbidden in John's mind.
“What the hell would possess soone to try manipulating ti itself?” The question burned in John's chest like swallowed lightning. At first, Cid's condition had been incomprehensible - just another inexplicable horror in a world full of them. But now, understanding the truth, the sheer audacity of it took John's breath away. In a world where magic flowed like water and horrors wearing human skin gave cryptic advice over tea, perhaps tampering with cosmic forces shouldn't surprise him. And yet...
“Why? Why would he even attempt it?”
The answer ca to John like a slow-spreading stain. He rembered their first eting - Cid's trembling hands, his eyes wild with desperate ambition. The boy had been consud by his hunger for greatness, poisoned by it. John had tried to exorcise that demon, had pounded the lesson into Cid's thick skull that day.
Apparently, the lesson hadn't taken.
John's knuckles whitened around the keys still clutched in his hand. The historical attempts Onyx had ntioned, all failures, all erased from existence. The chance to be first, to achieve what no mage before him had accomplished... “Of course he'd tried.” And the petrified ruin of his body stood as grim monunt to that hubris.
A bitter chuckle escaped John's lips as he finally pocketed the keys. He'd thought Cid was heading towards a better path, but he'd neglected the more insidious wound - that festering need for validation, for greatness, and it had nearly gotten Cid killed. The physical injuries would heal, thanks to Steph. But that sickness of the soul? That was John's responsibility.
He moved through the darkened shop, his fingers trailing absently along the ever changing shelves. The work ahead would be delicate - like untangling a spider's web without breaking the threads. Cid needed to understand that true worth wasn't asured in magical achievents or grand titles. That chasing greatness for its own sake was a fool's errand that left only emptiness in its wake.
John paused before the backroom door, his reflection ghosting in its polished surface. The face looking back at him now was set with quiet determination. He'd failed Cid once by not seeing how deep the rot went. He wouldn't make that mistake again.
So lessons couldn't be taught with words alone. They had to be lived, day by painful day. And John would be there for every step of it - not as so all-knowing ntor, but as a fellow traveler who'd walked his own path of broken dreams and hard-won contentnt.
The shop's lights winked out as he ascended the stairs. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new revelations. But for now, there was only this: the creak of wooden steps, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders, and the quiet resolve to help a lost young man find his way ho - to himself.
♦♦♦♦♦
The wheelchair's wheels clicked rhythmically against the cobblestones as Scarlett guided Cid through the awakening streets. Though the illusion cloaking them showed a dutiful granddaughter escorting her frail grandfather, the occasional sideways glances from passersby suggested not everyone was entirely fooled. A particularly sharp-eyed madam leaning against a gilded doorway narrowed her eyes at them, her ruby lips pursing in suspicion before she shrugged and turned back to her work.
As dusk deepened into proper night, the Redlight District stirred to life like so great, slumbering beast. Neon signs sputtered awake in cascades of electric pink and gold, their glow reflecting in the puddles left by that afternoon's rain. From shadowed doorways and velvet-curtained parlors erged figures draped in silks and secrets - courtesans adjusting their feathered masks, hustlers flashing gold-capped grins, and dealers performing their last-minute rituals for luck. The air grew thick with competing perfus - jasmine and animal musk, whiskey and sweat.
Cid shifted uncomfortably in his chair as a pair of giggling showgirls in feathered headdresses tottered past on impossible heels, their sequined costus catching the light with every step.
Cid: "I still don't understand why I had to be the grandfather," he muttered, pulling the blanket higher over his bandaged leg.
Scarlett: "Because watching a pretty young thing push around a crippled old man makes people look away in discomfort. A granddaughter caring for her elder tugs at heartstrings. A young boy in a wheelchair? That invites questions we don't want answered."
As if to prove her point, a dog mutant barker outside a cabaret called "The Velvet Viper" took one look at their illusionary forms and made an exaggerated show of tipping his hat, his practiced sympathy almost believable.
Mutant Barker: "Bless you, miss," he called, his voice thick with false sincerity. "Ain't many what care for their elders proper these days."
Scarlett nodded curtly and quickened their pace. The Night Tower lood ahead, its obsidian surface drinking in the neon glow rather than reflecting it. Between them and their destination lay the district's busiest thoroughfare, now pulsing with nightlife. A group of drunken office workers stumbled from a champagne parlor, their laughter sharp as broken glass. A street vendor hawked "love potions" that were clearly just colored gin. Sowhere nearby, a piano played a ragti tune that kept slipping into minor keys at odd monts.
The rhythmic squeak of wheelchair wheels filled the brief silence between them as Scarlett navigated the bustling street. The air slled of sizzling street food and perfud smoke, a stark contrast to the sterile dicinal scent clinging to Cid's bandages.
Scarlett: "So," she began, her voice uncharacteristically gentle, "how are you feeling now? I sensed... sothing shift while we were talking to John. Like the air pressure changing before a storm."
Cid stared down at his hands - the sa hands that had been trembling with agony just minutes ago, now resting calmly in his lap.
Cid: "I think... he took the pain away sohow." He flexed his fingers experintally, marveling at the absence of the constant, grinding ache that had been his companion for weeks. "Not just dulled it. It's gone completely."
A rare, genuine smile tugged at Scarlett's lips.
Scarlett: "See? I told you he wasn't unkind. That he'd help you." But even as she said it, her brow furrowed slightly.
Cid: "But how?" he twisted in his seat to look up at her, his eyes wide with wonder and confusion. "I didn't see him cast anything - no incantation, no gestures. I didn't even feel that... that aetheric buzz you always get when magic's being used." He rubbed his arms as if trying to summon the sensation. "Nothing at all."
Scarlett's pace slowed as she considered this.
Scarlett: "I don't know," she admitted, an unusual note of uncertainty in her voice. "And that's saying sothing. Detecting aether is what I do." She shook her head slightly. "But with John... it's different. He operates in ways even I can't perceive."
A group of rowdy revelers spilled out of a nearby club, forcing Scarlett to steer them sharply to the side. When the path cleared, she continued, her voice lower now.
Scarlett: "What's stranger is how direct he was tonight. Normally when John affects things, it's... subtle. Like the world rearranges itself around him without him lifting a finger. But this?" She gestured at Cid's pain-free body. "This was imdiate. Intentional."
Cid swallowed hard, rembering the way John's expression had darkened when he'd pleaded for help.
Cid: "He didn't like that, did he? begging like that."
Scarlett exhaled through her nose.
Scarlett: "No, he didn't. And that's the other strange part. That feeling you got? That foreboding? I sensed it too, barely. It seed more directed at you than . But it wasn't just discomfort or annoyance. It was... deeper than that. Like you'd accidentally scratched at so old wound or sothing else."
The lights of the Night Tower grew brighter as they approached, casting long shadows ahead of them. Cid sat quietly, turning Scarlett's words over in his mind. The absence of pain was miraculous but the mystery of how it had happened lingered.
Scarlett: "Whatever the reason, you're better off now than you were an hour ago. And tomorrow, Steph will take care of the rest. Just be sure to be more careful what you say to John next ti."
Cid: "Do you really think she can help?" Cid asked, his fingers absently tracing the edge of his petrified skin where it peeked out from beneath the bandages. The question had been gnawing at him since they left John's shop.
Scarlett: "She's one of John's patrons. Of course she can." A rare note of admiration colored her voice. "I watched her regrow all four limbs on a soldier who stepped on a landmine. Full functionality, nerves and all. Compared to that?" She gave his shoulder a light squeeze. "You're child's play."
Cid absorbed this, then voiced the question that had been bothering him most:
Cid: "Then why couldn't John just fix himself? If he's as powerful as you claim..."
Scarlett: "Rember what he said, 'beyond my power at the mont.' If my theory's right, and he is an Outsider, then he's almost certainly bound by rules we can't even comprehend."
Cid: "Sorry, I skipped Outer taphysics in university," he said dryly, referencing the obscure academic discipline that studied beings from beyond their reality. "Care to enlighten ?"
Scarlett exhaled sharply through her nose.
Scarlett: "When Outsiders manifest in our world, they're constrained by specific paraters based on their nature." Her voice took on the cadence of a lecturer. "Demons—the most common and well-docunted—are bound by contractual obligations. Fail to fulfill their end of a bargain, and they're banished permanently. That's why they're so ticulous about the deals they make."
She adjusted their course to avoid a particularly another rowdy group spilling out of a brothel.
Scarlett: "Now, if John is so unprecedented type of Outsider—"
Cid: "Big if," he interjected.
Scarlett: "—then his restrictions might involve direct intervention. Maybe his whole 'clueless shopkeeper' act isn't just a ga. Maybe it's a requirent for his continued presence here." Scarlett's voice dropped. "He couldn't heal you outright because that would violate whatever outsider rules bind him. But easing your pain? That might have been subtle enough to slip through the cracks."
Cid: "I don't know, Scarlett," he said finally. "I'm not convinced he's an Outsider like you think."
Scarlett let out a long, exasperated sigh that made several nearby pedestrians glance their way.
Scarlett: "You're just like all the others," she muttered. "Next you'll be pulling a Fenny and claiming he's just so eccentric human with a lucky streak."
Cid held up his hands in surrender.
Cid: "I'm not saying he's normal. The man's about as normal as a three-headed chicken." He glanced back towards the direction of John's shop, now quite far behind them. "I'm just not ready to declare him an extraplanar entity based on circumstantial evidence."
Scarlett opened her mouth to retort when a sudden commotion ahead caught their attention. A group of black-clad figures were dispersing the crowd near the Night Tower's entrance. Her posture imdiately stiffened.
Scarlett: "We'll continue this debate later," she said tersely, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Right now, we've got more pressing concerns."
As they approached the tower's looming gates, Cid couldn't help but bring his thoughts back to conversation with John, his mind swirling with unanswered questions. Whether John was an Outsider, sothing else entirely, or just an extraordinarily strange man, one thing was certain—nothing about him was simple, and every answer only seed to breed more questions.
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