The Boundless Prophecy

Chapter 1 (1.1 The Boundless World)

"Sage Wallace, are you sure about that?" asked the timid elf, his big round eyes glistening with tears under the morning sunlight.

Wallace cocked his head and closed the distance between his nose and the big gash on the elf's forearm. The gash stretched almost halfway down his forearm, splitting open like a gutted fish and revealing the pulsating arteries and nerves underneath. Wallace carefully wiped away the thin trail of blood oozing from the wound.

The elf held his breath, waiting for Wallace to confirm the diagnosis. Suddenly, an old, raspy voice interjected, "Surely you didn't come to the Sage Wallace's office in the Crissaven Sanatorium to challenge his diagnosis. I have never seen him make a mistake."

Wallace raised an eyebrow and cast a quick glance at the old figure leaning nonchalantly against the window.

Larc had been a curator at Crissaven Sanatorium for as long as anyone could remember, even the dean himself could not say exactly how many years he had served there. Every healer promoted to 'Grand Antler' would be paired with a curator.

But a curator was more than a mere assistant to a healer. They collected medicinal flora and fauna, herbs, and medical equipment from the sanatorium and sometimes off-the-record sources.

When the healer tended to the patient, the curator would start preparing the necessary cure and treatment according to their instructions.

Larc was known to be temperamental, made worse by his years of experience and talents. Wallace was the twentieth healer that Larc had been paired with and so far, had not received a complaint yet.

And Wallace was the first healer in the last century in Crissaven Sanatorium, perhaps ever, to be paired with a curator even without being promoted to be 'Grand Antler'.

Larc's open admiration and compliments towards Wallace's skills and knowledge were such an unseen phenomenon that the whole sanatorium had been talking about it for a while.

Standing and stretching his back muscles from prolonged stooping to examine the wound, Wallace held his firm brown gaze on the elf, "Arlen, I'm quite certain of it," he said. "The moment I first saw the gash, there is no doubt, it was caused by Twisted Woodbine."

Arlen's head dropped in resignation.

"Well, I guess you just have to surrender to your fate," Larc said before turning into the small room next to Wallace's office.

Wallace strolled to the window and let his eyes relax and wander the lush meadows that enveloped the sanatorium - a ritual to prepare himself before performing any procedures on his patients.

Situated on the fifth floor, Wallace's office offered a breath-taking vista - the expanse of green as the wind weaving through the glassy grassland. The lofty snow-capped mountain range lay about fifty miles distant.

As the void in his mind set in, the distant memories of the world before arriving here crept stealthy into his mind. Memories were dim shadows - dark alleys, hunger, bone-chilling nights, and a haunting sense of fear.

The nightmares only ceased when he was brought to The Boundless World by a person he felt forever indebted to - Jaglee, the proprietor of the Harmonica Hurricane Bar.

"Sage Wallace, everything is ready," the same raspy voice sounded behind Wallace's back, pulling him out of his reverie.

On his table sat a pot filled with a plant named Hollow Bitterweed. The slender plant had deep green stalks and delicate sprays of purple petals. Its stem appeared hollow, with fine and soft threads that almost seemed translucent in the light, earning it its name.