Fix 'Em

Tern was a guard for a large prison. He enjoyed his work, because he knew it helped the community. Hundreds of dangerous folk were kept soundly under-sheild, so that the victims of their crimes could visit them, and law-enforcement could make use of them. The job was simple, although not always easy. Some of the prisoners were immensely powerful, and keeping them in check was a constant effort. Tern's acetic gifts of dampening others aces was in high demand.

One day, during a particularly gruelling shift, Tern was caught unaware, and received a brutal blow to the skull by a raging brawnic. The netic he was keeping subdued also suffered the rage of the boss, and the two were put under the watch of several haelen.

When he awoke, Tern found himself seemingly restrained by the efforts of the haelen, and angrily struck out with his gift, nearly escaping, but captured and placed under-shield by his very coworkers. After a lengthly fury, he calmed, and quietly fumed.

Nearby, he saw the netic, now healed, watching him closely. "Why do you rage so," he asked, "they were only trying to help you."

Tern found he could not answer. This only made him angrier, and he acetic gift surged within him in a way he had never before felt. He lashed out wide, knocking the light from every guard, leaving them powerless. The prison erupted into chaos.

As the facility decended into madness, Tern fled for freedom, but suffered a stealthy blow to the heart, seeing the face of the netic loom over him as the pain filled him, and gave to darkness.

Tern again woke under the care of haelen, although a different set than before. He tried to move, but felt dead of body.

"Lie still, star." A short haelen leaned in closely. "You are not yet well. And there is much you must learn of."

The haelen and the lead-guard explained to him that the netic had saved his life, carrying his dying form to help, and then helping the guards battle the rampaging prisoners. Once all was under-shield, the netic kneeled to the guards in submission.

"That netic is a monster, I have dealt with him for a very long time. Why did he help the guards?" Tern was as confused as he was dizzy.

The haelen bowed in apology. "For the same reason you did just the opposite."

Tern stared in silence, and the haelen explained. "The brawnic caused extensive damage to both of your heads. We healed that damage in the netic, and he became calm and just. We failed to heal you, and you became one of rage and violence."

"I do not rage now, nor seek violence," said Tern. "I feel only regret."

The guards shifted, uneasy, and a terse argument broke out, one Tern could not follow in his condition. The elder haelen snapped a command for silence, and stepped forward, speaking for the first time.

"We of haelenica have reached a desicion while you slept in pain and sickness. The world has come to see new light upon the darkness of evils and injustice."

Tern was awed. "What is it the haelen have found?"

"A new layer of understanding, between the works of healing, and the works of justice. It has been summised thus: criminality is an illness."

It was obvious now, why the gaurds were unhappy of the subject. Everything they knew was twisted by this new appraisal of their prisoners. Tern felt shame as he unavoidably suffered a selfish fear.

"Was I under this sickness you speak of, haelen?"

She regarded him quietly. "Yes. You lost your light-within to a slight of your form. You were cast into a darkness borne from one of many illnesses that seem to have this effect. We healed your form, as haelen do, and in doing so, healed your light as well."

Many years later, Tern resigned his commission at the prison, as did many guards. Over time, the people came to accept the realities of sicknesses of the light-within. It became a habit, and then a custom, to alter the heads of those who previously would have received imprisonment. The haelen perfected this shade of their art with an urgency, pledging to Sol a new acetica: psycica.

--

Cindre settled into silence, ending the story. Ben was lost in thought, eventually speaking up.

"That doesn't sound like brain surgery."

Layph rumbled. "It is not. Not precisely. It is far more subtle than that."

Ben got up, paced, went to speak, and remained silent, staring the beast in the eye, unsure. Slowly, he turned, and ported with a flash.