The mirror reflected a figure that Dean scarcely recognized. It was no longer the weathered, middle-aged mage he had grown accustomed to over centuries. Instead, a young, handsome face stared back at him, brimming with vitality and vigor. The skin was firm, unblemished, with a healthy flush—like that of a pampered noble youth. Every wrinkle that age had etched into his face had vanished, replaced by the smoothness of prime youth. His brown hair, once streaked with gray, now gleamed with the rich, chestnut hue of his early years. Even his eyes, no longer clouded with age, sparkled sharp and bright like a hawk surveying the world.
Dean stood frozen, momentarily dazed. Three centuries of life had left him intimately familiar with every line and mark upon his face, yet here it was gone, replaced with a reflection both familiar and alien. Memories of his youth, long buried under the weight of endless years, surged to the surface. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he was looking at a stranger—or perhaps the man he had once been.
After an instant of bewilderment, he forced himself to snap back to reality. Habit, honed over centuries, demanded control. Dean could not allow himself to appear like a "green kid," not in front of his student, not in front of Karl. With a faint glimmer of mana, he cast a subtle Illusion upon himself. The youthful visage melted away, replaced by the steady, middle-aged countenance of a seasoned scholar. He gave a light cough, trying to assume the stern, authoritative expression he had always relied upon.
Yet something had shifted. Even with the Illusion in place, he could feel the surge of vitality within him, the unfamiliar lightness in his veins. Authority, once a second skin, no longer came naturally. A sigh escaped him. The act of masking his youth felt increasingly futile, especially before Karl, who had already seen through appearances. With a soft exhalation, Dean allowed himself to drop the stern mask entirely, his eyes now blazing with curiosity and concern as he turned to Karl.
"Karl, what you just used—" Dean began, but his voice was steady, tempered with measured caution.
"What is that power?" he asked again, sharper this time. "Did you gain it at the Temple of Melitele?"
Karl shook his head slowly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "It's related to the temple visit, yes, but only in part. I call it Divine Power—something I've been developing myself over recent months."
Dean's brow furrowed. "Divine Power?"
"Yes," Karl continued. "Right now, I'm essentially… walking the path to becoming a god."
Dean didn't respond with exaggerated shock. Instead, a flicker of complex emotions crossed his face—sighs of relief, a flash of disbelief, and the subtle jolt that comes when long-held beliefs are overturned. He had lived centuries, studying everything from the essence of Chaotic Magic to ancient elven ruins. Alchemy, life's mysteries, the very foundations of magic—all had been his obsession. And yet, here was his own student, revealing firsthand that what Dean had long theorized was not just possible but unfolding in front of him.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Dean's lips. There was pride, certainly, but also a touch of self-mockery. "I never thought that, as an old man nearing the grave, I'd witness a true miracle." He waved vaguely, a gesture almost of disbelief. "Even less that my student would become a near-god."
Dean's attention shifted, returning to more mundane matters, though not without hesitation. "I came to ask you to join the Enforcers. There's a senior mage—he's secretly been studying Conjury and brewing an Immortality Elixir. Dangerous fellow; his knowledge could wreak havoc if left unchecked."
Karl, however, did not seem distracted. "No need," Dean continued, realizing Karl's expression had already made his position clear. "Your growth matters far more than mortal affairs. If there's a threat, you'll handle it yourself?"
Karl's nod was calm, resolute. "I'll take care of him. But Master… there's something you should know. The surge you feel, the vitality—" He smiled wryly, "It's no Illusion."
Dean's sharp eyes narrowed. "Explain."
Karl stepped closer, his expression serious yet easy, like a student explaining a simple experiment to a mentor. "The Divine Power I used… carries a part of my own life force. So, in a sense, healing you meant sharing a portion of my lifespan with you."
Dean's face changed instantly. He sprang to his feet, anxiety flooding every feature. "What? Karl! Why didn't you tell me this sooner? Can this… can it be undone? I won't extend my life at your cost!"
Karl's response was calm, measured, and confident. "Master, truly, there's no need for concern. To ordinary deities, Divine Power is precious—every drop matters. But for me… it's just a small fraction of my life. My life, my life Origin, is vast. What I shared with you is but a single drop in an endless ocean."
Dean studied him carefully, searching for strain, hesitation, anything that might betray a hidden cost. But all he saw was certainty, unshakable and absolute. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. He exhaled, relief washing over him. Trust, centuries in the making, told him that Karl would not lie, would not endanger himself needlessly. As long as Karl's Foundation remained intact, Dean could allow himself to revel in the gift he had been given: a few more centuries of life, renewed vigor, and the chance to continue guiding this extraordinary student.
"Good… good," Dean murmured softly, the corners of his mouth lifting into a genuine smile. His mind raced, imagining the possibilities. The very thought of centuries more, alive and strong, ignited a passion long buried under the weight of age.
Their conversation shifted, naturally, as Karl raised another matter, practical and strategic. "Master, do you have any data on Witcher Mutagenic Potions?"
Dean's eyes sharpened, seeing Karl's intent. "And any spellbooks or notes on mind and spirit?" Karl pressed, his tone firm but not greedy. "I need them. My forces must grow stronger, for unknown and powerful foes lie ahead."
Dean regarded Karl thoughtfully. The student before him showed no trace of ambition for power or hunger for forbidden knowledge. Instead, his gaze was steady, calm, foresighted. Every request, every decision was measured, deliberate—designed to prepare for threats that others could not even perceive.
"Yes," Dean said slowly, a spark of pride lighting his eyes. "I have Witcher Mutation records. I can provide them. As for the spellbooks… there are a few old tomes and notes on mind and spirit, though some are fragmented. I'll gather them for you."
Karl nodded, satisfied. "Thank you, Master. With this, I can ensure our forces are ready for whatever challenges lie ahead. It is not power I seek for myself, but preparation for what is to come."
Dean leaned back, his newly youthful vigor coursing through him, a thrill he had not felt in centuries. He thought of the years ahead, the knowledge yet to uncover, and the student who would one day surpass even the gods themselves. For the first time in an age, he allowed himself to feel hope—not the cautious hope that had kept him alive for centuries, but a deep, boundless hope that surged like fire in his chest.
"I suppose," he murmured, almost to himself, "that even an old man can still witness miracles… if he is patient enough to see them."
The sun outside shone high in the sky, casting golden light across the room. Dean felt it not just on his skin, but in his very bones. The centuries ahead stretched endlessly before him, full of promise and uncharted adventure. And for the first time in a long while, Dean felt truly alive—youthful not just in appearance, but in spirit, invigorated by the bond he shared with the student who carried the essence of gods themselves.
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