By the time Koran reached St. Luke’s he was nearly outbreath.

  “Senior Anatomist!” a priest called. “They’re waiting for you in the main surgery room!”

  Koran did not break stride as preceded to the aforementioned location.

  Inside, the scent of incense and medicinal alcohol hung thick in the air, the two smells mixing into a sharp haze that clung to the back of the throat.

  The main surgical hall had been sealed off from the rest of the hospital; heavy wooden doors stood closed, and a pair of lanterns burned on either side of the entrance.

  Two guards from the city watch stood at attention before the doors, hands resting on the pommels of their swords, their expressions tense and watchful.

  Beside them paced a young woman dressed in the dark green and silver livery of the duke’s household.

  Her composure was fraying and her hands kept clasping and unclasping nervously as she walked, boots tapping softly against the stone floor.

  Her eyes were red and wet, and every few steps she glanced toward the closed doors as if willing them to open.

  The guards straightened when Koran approached.

  One stepped forward, holding up a hand until the other produced a small slate and verified his name and position.

  Only after confirming his identity did they step aside and unbar the doors, allowing the senior anatomist to pass into the sealed surgical chamber beyond.

  Koran moved into the preparation chamber without a word. The Nurses were already waiting.

  He stripped off his coat and outer garments swiftly, scrubbing his hands and forearms in alcohol.

  After he made sure he was clear of miasma did a nurse helped him into the formal black robe of a physician.

  It was simple and severe, its only decoration a gold lining to signify Koran's rank. Over it, he tied a thick brown leather apron, worn soft from years of use and darkened by countless washings.

  Another nurse began reading from the patient file as he worked as he didn't have time to read it.

  “Eleonora Duanna. Sixteen years of age.

  Injured during an adventuring party engagement in the sewers.

  Attacked by a hobgoblin. Severe blunt force trauma. Crushed thoracic cavity. Suspected spinal displacement.

  Multiple rib fractures.

  Orbital fracture to the left cheek.

  Significant internal hemorrhaging prior to stabilization.”

  Koran dried his hands.

  “Duration since injury?”

  “Approximately two hours prior to arrival,” the nurse stated.

  As the doors opened, he could see even from the threshold the extent of the damage.

  Eleonora lay atop the surgical table, pale beneath the lantern light. Her body was completely naked showing the extensive bruising that mottled her torso in a myriad of violent purples and blacks.

  Her breathing was shallow and currently being aided by a mild sleeping spell to keep her from being conscious and aware of the pain.

  In fact, she looked more like a cadaver prepared for study than a living patient.

  He stepped closer to the table, his trained eye examining everything.

  “Who is assisting?” he asked calmly.

  A broad-shouldered man stepped forward from the far side of the chamber, hands already glowing faintly with the beginnings of spell casting.

  I am sir, the man said.

  “ Ah Morris,” Koran said simply.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Morris was a Bonemancer, a magical field that excelled at manipulating bone.

  In ancient times before better weapons and magic developed, bonemancers were some of the most powerful magicians.

  However, bonemancy had one flaw, it wasn't very precise.

  Especially when trying to manipulate a living creature's bones.

  Beside Morris stood a slender woman with steady eyes.

  “Ah and Ferah too,” Koran said, " I couldn't ask for a better team”.

  Ferah was a water mage who specialized in blood manipulation.

  She could halt bleeding by artificially clotting wounds and controlling the flow of blood within a patient’s body.

  With careful precision, she could also regulate the blood being supplied to the patient during treatment, ensuring that circulation continued even when the body itself was too damaged to manage it on its own.

  Koran allowed himself the smallest breath of relief as he looked at the team assembled. He should be able to succeed with them.

  They worked in disciplined silence as they prepared for the surgery.

  “Morris,” Koran instructed as he examined the alignment of Eleonora’s neck, “we need to correct the spinal column first.

  Focus on the thoracic region. Maintain a slow, controlled correction. I will monitor the process.”

  As he spoke, the nurses carefully turned the girl onto her stomach. Koran ran his fingers along the ridges of her back, feeling for the subtle misalignments of bone beneath the skin and bruised muscle. With practiced precision, he guided Morris’s magic, directing the bonemancer where and how to apply the correction.

  Morris closed his eyes, steadying his breathing as his hands hovered a few inches above Eleonora’s back.

  Mana gathered around his fingers, coiling through the air like invisible scaffolding forming around a fragile structure.

  Slowly, with painstaking care, he began the adjustment. Under the influence of his magic, the displaced vertebrae shifted as the bone slid into place and settled back toward their natural alignment, guided by the precise anatomical knowledge Koran had spent decades mastering.

  Koran stood beside the bed, watching closely. His gaze moved constantly as he observed the process. Any sign of distress and he would halt the process immediately.

  “Two degrees left,” Koran murmured calmly. “Slowly… slowly… stop there. Now compress.”

  Morris obeyed, tightening the controlled pressure of his magic just enough to seat the bones firmly in place.

  A faint pop echoed within the chamber as the vertebrae settled into proper orientation, the sound small but unmistakable.

  For a moment no one spoke, the room holding its breath as Koran continued to observe the girl for any sign that the delicate correction had caused harm.

  “All right, let’s place her on her back again,” he said, gesturing to the nurse.

  The nurse moved carefully, supporting Eleonora’s shoulders while another attendant steadied her hips.

  Together they turned the girl slowly, ensuring the newly aligned spine remained stable as they eased her onto her back once more.

  Koran watched every movement with sharp attention, his eyes following the line of her neck and shoulders, ready to halt them at the slightest sign of strain.

  Once she was settled, he stepped closer to continue the examination.

  “We will take care of the orbital fracture next,” Koran continued.

  Morris shifted his focus to her cheek. The collapsed bone beneath Eleonora’s left eye began to reform gradually, drawn back into place like softened clay shaped by unseen fingers.

  Compared to the delicate work of the spine, this was far simpler. The orbital bones were smaller and easier to guide, requiring far less precision than the vertebrae that protected the spinal cord.

  Even so, Morris worked slowly, coaxing the fractured pieces back into their proper alignment while Koran watched closely, ensuring the bone set correctly without placing pressure on the eye itself.

  Within moments the hollow distortion beneath her eye began to smooth, the structure of her cheek restoring itself to its natural shape.

  Finally came the broken ribs.

  Several had been driven inward by the crushing force of the hobgoblin’s grip.

  Two were splintered badly, and one had shifted dangerously close to the lung, the jagged end threatening to puncture delicate tissue if it moved even slightly.

  “Realign before knitting,” Koran said calmly, though his eyes remained fixed on the girl’s chest. “Do not seal anything until I confirm the spacing.”

  Morris gave a short nod and began the work. His hands hovered above Eleonora’s torso as threads of mana slipped beneath the skin, gently surrounding the broken bones.

  Tiny fragments began to shift. Slowly at first, then more confidently as if invisible fingers were guiding them back into place. The splintered edges rotated and slid together, each piece settling into its proper position with careful precision.

  Koran leaned closer, watching the subtle rise and fall of her breathing while studying the alignment of the ribs beneath the skin.

  “Hold… stop there,” he murmured. “The second rib needs a slight rotation inward. Two degrees.”

  Morris adjusted immediately.

  The fragment shifted again with a faint internal click as it settled in place.

  “Good. Now knit everything together."

  Soft pulses of mana flowed through the fractures.

  Hairline cracks sealed first, then the larger breaks fused as new bone formed along the edges.

  The process was delicate as too much mana and the bone could thicken or grow unevenly, while too little and the fracture would remain weak.

  Within moments the ribcage had regained its structure, the bones sitting evenly once more along the curve of her chest.

  Koran watched another full breath pass before finally giving a single nod.

  Now came the most nerve-racking part.