[ Trait : Vital Resonance Tuning
(+35% effectiveness when adjusting magical resonance to reduce vitality drain or bodily distortion in living tissue)
(+35% precision when using spirituality to harmonize magic with a body's natural rhythms such as blood flow, breath, and spiritual pulse)
(+30% success in reducing unintended physiological damage when magic is applied to oneself or others over extended periods)]
[ Trait : Somatic Research
(+35% efficiency when researching spells or rune models related to flesh, blood, and bodily functions)
(+35% accuracy when predicting how magic will affect organs, muscles, nerves, or blood flow)
(+30% reduction in failed or harmful outcomes during experimental flesh-related magic)]
[ Trait : Controlled Grafting
(+35% success rate when grafting flesh, blood, or biological material using magic and spirituality)
(+35% stability when integrating foreign tissue into a living body)
(+30% reduction in rejection, necrosis, or spiritual backlash during grafting procedures)]
"Level 6 should be more than enough…" Aegon murmured.
The interface closed.
Without wasting another moment, he began the diagnosis.
He released his spirituality slowly. It flowed outward in a dense, controlled current, permeating the infected arm. Skin. Flesh. Bone. Each layer reflected back into his mind as the spiritual scan moved deeper.
The picture formed quickly.
Calcified dermal tissue. Same as he had checked before physically. The outer layer had hardened into stone-like plates. Beneath it, necrotic tissue spread along the nerves, which explained the pain when he tugged at the scale. The yellow pus beneath confirmed active infection. The body was still fighting, trying to reject the invasion.
The disease was primarily in the dermal layer. It spread gradually from the initial infected site, creeping outward across adjacent tissue.
Aegon studied her sleeping form.
He leaned forward and rolled the coverlet down.
Maegelle wore a plain white short-sleeved nightgown. Her chest rose and fell in a shallow rhythm.
Aegon moved carefully.
He extended his finger. A thin [Wind Blade] formed around it, stable and precise. He sliced cleanly through the nightgown fabric, from collar to waist, avoiding the skin beneath.
He folded the garment aside, revealing her entire chest, her naked upper torso.
Her breasts, bare now, rose and fell with her breathing. There was no change in Aegon's expression, only the same clinical focus, assessing the infected regions.
As expected, the greyscale covered her left breast and extended down along her ribs.
Calcified, necrotic upper layer. Sensitive, pus-filled flesh beneath. The pattern was consistent.
Satisfied with the assessment, Aegon rose and moved to the door.
He opened it slightly.
Old Fryda sat outside, hands folded tightly in her lap. She looked up.
"Septa Fryda," Aegon said quietly, "come in."
She stood immediately and followed him inside.
The moment she entered, her gaze fell upon Maegelle's exposed torso. She faltered, color rising faintly to her face.
"My prince…"
"I needed to examine the remaining infected areas," Aegon said calmly. "The assessment must be complete."
Fryda swallowed and nodded. "Of course."
"I have to check the rest of her body too," he added. "Please undress her. Avoid disturbing the affected tissue."
Fryda looked at Maegelle, then back at Aegon. After a moment, she nodded slowly. "Yes, my prince."
Aegon turned to the small table in the corner, pulled a piece of parchment, and began writing. Behind him, he heard the soft rustle of fabric as Fryda worked. The quiet sounds of cloth being folded. The gentle shift of Maegelle's unconscious body as she was moved.
He kept his attention on the parchment, listing what he would need.
Several minutes passed.
"Done, my prince," Fryda said quietly.
Aegon turned.
Maegelle lay on the bed, fully uncovered now. The greyscale marked her left side in stark patches: arm, breast, ribs… a creeping stain against pale skin. The rest of her body looked clean.
"Thank you," he said.
He walked over and handed Fryda the slip of parchment.
"I will need these prepared," he said. "If they cannot be arranged immediately, deliver the list to my father. He will understand the urgency."
Fryda scanned the list briefly, then nodded. "I will see to it."
She bowed her head slightly and left the room without another word.
Aegon returned to the bedside.
He extended his spirituality once more, letting it envelop her entire body. Thoroughly. Layer by layer.
No further spread.
The infection remained localized to the left side.
And…
No trace of magic.
That last part mattered most.
He had feared something else. There were quite a few legends attached to it, after all. Greyscale. Old tales named it Prince Garin's Curse. They spoke of divine punishment and sorcery. If magic had been woven into the disease, the matter would have been far more dangerous. Complicated.
He had also feared the involvement of Fate.
But nothing.
Repeated scans confirmed it.
If Fate were really involved, his spirituality would have warned him again. Just like when he had tried to create the destiny related class.
The disease. It was purely biological. No magic. No Fate-curse or anything of that sort.
Aegon exhaled slowly. He looked at Maegelle's sleeping face, at the rise and fall of her chest, at the slow, steady pulse in her throat.
The first obstacle was cleared.
Time to move to the next step.
Hours later.
The candles had burned low. The chamber was lit only by the fire sconce above. Well past midnight.
Schliik.
Thwip.
Aegon removed a bloody strip of greyscaled skin from Maegelle's forearm and dropped it onto the metal pan beside him. The pan was already covered with bits and pieces of excised flesh. The sharp knife in his right hand glistened in the low light. It slowly dimmed as the [Wind Blade] spell was removed.
He immediately focused on the bleeding area and activated [Spell: Minor Heal]. Just enough to stop the bleeding from the flayed patch. He did not heal it completely. The yellow infection pus still needed to be cleaned out, and healing over it would trap the infection beneath.
The method was straightforward. Remove the dead, infected tissue. Clean the wound. Let the body heal, with magic assisting where it could.
Just like how Samwell had cured Jorah in the series, though without the magic.
He set the knife down on the tray beside the pan. From the same tray, he picked up a clay flask and one of the clean cloth strips folded next to it. He uncorked the flask, wet the cloth with its contents, and began to clean the exposed area. Slowly. Methodically. Wiping away the pus that had welled up from the raw flesh beneath.
A pungent medicinal smell filled the room.
The flask held a concoction he had prepared himself after Fryda brought the ingredients: warm wine, diluted vinegar, and crushed garlic paste. Simple things. The [Physician] class had already supplied the knowledge and memories of treatments that worked and those that did not.
The warm wine acted as a solvent, helping to loosen debris and increase blood flow to the area. He had not boiled it or the alcohol would have evaporated.
The vinegar, diluted four parts water to one, provided acetic acid that could penetrate bacterial biofilms without damaging healthy tissue.
The garlic paste was the primary antimicrobial, crushed fine enough to dissolve into the mixture.
It was crude. But it would work better than anything the maesters used.
He cleaned the newly skinned flesh carefully, dabbing, wiping, watching. Every few moments, he glanced at Maegelle's face to observe any reaction. A twitch. A grimace. Anything that might indicate the pain was breaking through.
She did not move. Her breathing remained shallow but steady.
Earlier, it had not been so easy.
In the beginning, he used the [Wind Blade] on the knife, letting the spell edge the blade for faster, cleaner cuts. Then he would seal the wound immediately with [Minor Heal], a new spell, an improvement on the earlier [Haemostasis]. It could restore damaged tissue, regenerate small cuts, speed the natural healing process significantly.
But it had a side effect. A sharp, intense itching sensation where it was applied.
The combination, pain from the cutting followed by the maddening itch of forced healing, had nearly made Maegelle cry out. Even with the poppy milk sedating her. The double assault had been too much.
Aegon had been forced to knock her unconscious with [Forced Sleep], another of his spells.
After that, the work had proceeded smoothly, more or less.
He had started with the left arm, from the fingers up to the midpoint of the forearm. It was the oldest infection, the first region afflicted. The greyscale had sunk deeper there than anywhere else. Layer after layer of dead, calcified tissue had to be scraped away, cut away, peeled back until he reached living flesh beneath.
At first, he had considered amputation. The infection was that deep. That extensive. But after probing with his spirituality, mapping the damage, he decided against it. The bone was still sound. The blood vessels, though narrowed, still carried flow. With careful, patient work, he could save it.
It had taken hours. The forearm now looked dangerously thin. Literally skin and bone in places. But it was clean. The new regenerated flesh was pink, not grey.
It was alive.
He glanced toward the window. Through the thick glass, he could see the sky beginning to lighten. The faint grey of early morning, not yet dawn.
He had to finish the forearm.
The rest of the body, the upper arm, the ribs, the chest, would have to wait. But he needed something to show. A visible result. Proof that the process worked.
His grandparents needed hope. If they saw the small patch of healthy skin where greyscale had been, they would believe. They would let him continue.
He picked up the knife again, reactivating the [Wind Blade] around its edge.
He bent over Maegelle's arm and continued his work.
Morning light touched Alysanne's eyelids before she fully woke. A thin band of gold stretched across the chamber ceiling. For a moment she did not remember where she was.
Then she did.
Maegelle.
She jerked upright, her heart already hammering. The bedsheets tangled around her legs. She pressed a hand to her chest, forcing herself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
The bed beside her was empty. Cold. Jaehaerys had not shared her chamber in years; separate beds, separate rooms, the way age made things. She was alone.
"Someone," she called, her voice still scratchy from sleep.
A maid entered within heartbeats, young, brown-haired, wearing Hightower grey. She dipped into a bow. "Your Grace."
"My robe. Quickly."
The maid fetched it from the chair by the window and helped her into it, fingers swift and careful. Alysanne was already moving before the last tie was fastened, her feet carrying her into the corridor.
A handmaid fell into step behind her. Their footsteps echoed against the stone.
The corridor seemed longer than Alysanne remembered. Every step felt heavy, as if the air itself pressed against her. She reached the chamber door and stopped.
Inside, she found Septa Fryda slumped in a chair by the wall, head tilted slightly, hands still folded in her lap. Asleep. The maid behind began to cough, meaning to wake her, but Alysanne raised a hand.
"No. Let her be."
It was obvious Fryda had worked all night.
"Wait outside," Alysanne told the maid.
The girl bowed and left, pulling the door closed behind her with a soft click.
Alysanne stood alone in the outer chamber. The silence settled. Through the inner door, the one that led to Maegelle's sickroom, she could hear nothing. No voices. No movement.
She knew Aegon was inside. Either asleep or still tending to Maegelle.
She tried to step forward. But her feet would not move.
Her heart thumped against her ribs, hard enough to hurt. What would she find? What if Aegon had failed? What if her daughter was worse? What if—
The door opened.
Aegon leaned out. His face was pale, drawn tight with exhaustion. Dark circles ringed his eyes. His clothes were rumpled, stained with something dark along the sleeve.
Then he saw her.
And he smiled.
It was a tired smile. Weary, but real. It reached his eyes.
Hope exploded in Alysanne's chest. She could not speak. Could not move.
"Come inside grandmother," Aegon said softly, and disappeared back into the room.
Alysanne gathered herself. She pushed off from the spot where she had been frozen and walked forward, through the doorway, into the chamber.
Morning light streamed through the window, painting everything in soft gold. The air smelled of wine and vinegar and something coppery beneath it. Blood.
On the table near the wall, she saw flasks and jars, a knife streaked with rust-red stains, a metal pan covered by a cloth. Something dark had seeped through the fabric at the edges.
She barely glanced at it.
Her eyes found the bed. Found Maegelle. Found Aegon standing beside her, holding something in his hand.
Maegelle's hand.
But it was different. Changed.
Where grey stone-hard skin had covered the fingers, the palm, the wrist, reaching up the forearm, to the elbow, there was now pink. Healthy pink. Like new flesh, tender-looking. Alive. No grey. No cracks. No flaking stone.
Aegon held that hand carefully, gently. He looked at Alysanne and smiled again.
"We can cure her."
The words did not seem real at first.
Then they landed.
Tears flooded Alysanne's eyes. She crossed the distance without knowing how her legs carried her, and reached out, and took Maegelle's hand from Aegon's grasp. Her fingers trembled as they touched the new skin. Warm. Soft. Yielding.
Not stone.
Not stone.
Her knees gave way. She sank down beside the bed, still holding that hand, pressing it to her cheek, feeling the warmth of it, the life in it. Tears streamed down her face, dropping onto the bedsheets, onto her daughter's arm.
"Oh," she breathed. Just a sound. There were no more words for this.
She looked up at Aegon through her tears. He stood there, exhausted, rumpled, stained with blood, and she had never been so grateful to anyone in all her long life.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Then again, stronger, her voice breaking.
"Thank you."
Aegon said nothing. He just smiled. Warm. Heartfelt.
Alysanne bowed her head over Maegelle's hand and wept quietly.
***
📜 Milestones:
200 Power Stones → +1 Chapter
***
Thanks for reading!