A Healer's Hands

Note: The associated image is from Ironage.media, specifcally their prompt 'The Messenger'. Also a follow up to The Godstorm Wakes

Bishop Quintus Aurelian stood transfixed before the glowing obelisk. The Godstorm had rippled the skies for a week, perhaps the longest week of his life, as the ancient symbols absorbed the energy coursing through the skies of Heirophont Prime. The return had been announced that first day when the storm woke him early one morning with a flash of emerald light.

As that first day ended, the Temple Totalus began to descend into arguments over the Aurelian's health, even the health of Friar Ptolemy, as the King had not yet appeared. It was not until breakfast the following day that the change in the obelisk was noticed. Its ordered esoteric lines and glyphs barely shone an inner light through what was presumably mere stone. Now, the lines were like the sun shining through window slits, and a humanoid shape had been drawn upon the northern face of the tower.

The shape was easily three times the height of even the tallest of the monks, and the light shone brightest from the breast. As Aurelian watched it, desperate to understand every detail of this miracle, he saw the light acting strangely.

It was pooling at the transition between smooth stone and base rock, sludging like lava as it slowly fell to gravity's will.

"Bishop, the light, what is it doing? What does it mean?" Friar Ptolemy whispered beside him, fear hiding within his tone.

The Bishop wracked his mind. No prophecy, not one, detailed how the King would return—only its signs. He considered a guess, in truth, a lie, nearly giving it voice until a lightning bolt fired out of the obelisk. The potency of its thunder deafened the gathered monks, cracking every stone in the courtyard save the obelisk itself.

The storm swelled in response, a torrent of its own lightning coming down, alighting upon stone and flesh alike. While the screams came to their ears as nought but whispers snatched away by the wind, they felt every bolt rattling in their chests, and the smell of burnt cloth and roasting flesh impregnated every breath of air. The light in the obelisk grew in leaps and bounds now as lightning bolts slowly wound tighter and tighter to the glowing stones. The stairs at her base now wept with light, a swift stream pouring out of the stone as those spared by the lightning shielded their eyes.

Even as Ptolemy tried to shield Aurelian from the lightning and the impossibly bright light, Aurelian could see. Through his own eyelids, his hands that covered them, through the Friar's body between him and the obelisk. The King had returned.

Suddenly, the light vanished, quick as any switch might plunge you into darkness. It ended. It all ended. The lightning was no longer rattling Aurelian's bones. His ears heard the low moans of the wounded, the heavy breaths of those who could move, struggling to aid their fellows. All smelt clean again.

And there he stood, towering above all, their King. His eyes shone with a dim light as he stared at his hands, moving each finger slowly into fists. Finally, he spoke, "And so I live once more, bound to simple flesh. Who is Lord here?"

"You are, Your Majesty." Friar Ptolemy spoke first, pushing himself off of the Bishop as he answered the King's questions. "We are the Brothers Totalus, whose task was to await and herald your return. We are your servants." He said, bowing after he finished helping the Bishop to his feet.

"Totalus?" The King chuckled. "Faithful bastard. But you are not the leader of these men, are you sir? No, I can see it is him, the man you shielded from the pillar. Your names?"

"Quintus Aurelian, Bishop of this Temple, and Friar Andreas Ptolemy, Sir." The Bishop answered this time as the crowd gradually pulled itself together, the spared aiding their injured brothers.

"Quintus? A good name. Is there a chamber in your temple that none could open?"

"Aye, there is."

"Meet me there, with your wounded." The King raised his voice to be heard by all, asking, "Are there any who can neither move nor be moved?"

"Over here, Your Majesty." A Brother called in answer. "Brother Eudorous' leg is trapped under these stones. If we move them, he may bleed out."

"Tie your belt above his knee. And son, you'll feel a bit of pressure." The King said calmly, and as the monk's leg was tied off, he broke what was left of the ragged limb off at the knee, knowing that the leg couldn't be saved. Brother Eudorous screamed for a split second before the agony knocked him out cold, while the King simply carried him like a babe to the Temple doors.

The Brothers swarmed after their King, fury and fear radiating from each man as they saw his seeming callousness. His great strides quickly left even the hale and hearty behind, navigating the twisting corridors as though he had walked them before. Soon, the Brothers were left following the thin trail of blood from Eudorous' leg to what had been known as the Unopenable, save it no longer deserved the name.

Inside was a pristine and utterly foreign room. Sets of armour lined the walls, weapons of all sizes hung from the high ceiling, and strange tombs were laid out all over the floor. Eudorous was already bound within one, his face peaceful behind glass so clear it was nigh invisible, save for a refraction of light on its surface.

"Good, you brought them. Critical injuries first, I shall attend any who there is not a pod for." The King had dressed in what looked to be a butcher's gown, several knives clearly visible in specialized pockets all over the vestments. No one dared approach. "Oh, for pity's sake, he's neither dead nor harmed." The King turned a monitor around, various lines appearing rhythmically across its surface, before speaking again, "See? His heart rate is stable, his blood pressure is good, and his leg is already 5% repaired. He'll have it back before the day is out. Now bring the wounded in unless you want them to die mere steps from a doctor."

At first, only the lightly injured approached the King, but as he swiftly dealt with each, the Brothers truly believed that he'd do no harm to any left in his care. The pods filled quickly with those burned by the King's return. Hours passed as the King healed each and all, with Eudorous being released from his pod as the last injured brother was healed by the King's hands. To all but the King's surprise, he walked from the pod on two legs, an impossibly quiet "Told you" slipping from the King's mouth, though none had caught it.

The evening meal was buzzing with excitement as the Brothers shared all they'd seen that day with those who had other duties, keeping them elsewhere. The King sat at the head of the room, nearly twice as tall as any other, even seated.

As the day ended, Bishop Aurelian spoke privately with the King, not about the medicine he had practiced that day but about the weapons and armour in that same room.

"Do you truly believe none will oppose my return, dear Bishop?" The King asked, a strange smile upon his face at Aurelian's naivete. "There are no Lords you know of who wouldn't welcome me as Lord over them? Not even one? I do not think such is possible Bishop. Power, does not like to be shared, and few are those who can give it up to another, even when necessary. It is for them, that those weapons were made. And it is they, who I would ask you all to fight, in my name."