Does not heal all wounds. My scars from the spellwork are a grim testament to the futility of my actions. Yet they do not heal. Not in the centuries I have searched for myself, though the time to reflect has mended outrage and tempered my focus.
Somewhere near Neo Rome I caught wind of mystics who’s renown exceeded the normal legacies of time. I’d been skirting the boundaries of Neo Rome for months and yet I’d seen markings of their power long before and long since. Not unheard of, but curious.
That they knew my plight and knew how to help was more curious. Centuries I’d spent plumbing timelines, haunting ruins and scouring libraries. For a time I had thought this a futile effort.
What they asked of me was more curious.
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