Vastarael spent the next few days in frustration, exhaustion and fascination, testing out the limits and new quirks of his upgraded form.
The prosthetic arms Reynolds had given him were marvels of craftsmanship. They were indestructible, perfectly weighted, reinforced with the white crystal and his sapphire and capable of channeling and summoning enormous energy but they came with one glaring flaw.
They were completely devoid of sensation. They had no warmth, vibration or tactile feedback. He could move them perfectly, but every action felt disconnected from reality. Even the simplest tasks became exercises in trial and error.
He tried using his glaive but without being able to feel its weight, the balance and the faint feedback of its edge against his palms, every swing felt wild and uncontrolled. A light feint sent the weapon spinning half a meter too far and a controlled strike felt like hitting through a fog. He couldn't use it yet until he could calibrate his new muscles, the mechanics of his arms and the mystical energy coursing through the new prosthetics. So, reluctantly, he set the glaive aside for now. After all, he was a mage deep within.
Instead, he focused on… well, "simple" things.
Eating, moving objects, testing the limits of his strength, even trying to interact with animals. It was simple in concept but in execution, it was anything but. He picked up a spoon one morning, intending to eat a bowl of stew. The moment his fingers closed around the handle, he crushed it in half. Metal shards flew across the table, embedding themselves in the floor with little resistance.
Next, he tried feeding a small flock of sheep grazing near the citadel meadow. A simple pat on the head turned into a calamity. The sheep stumbled backward, a few fell over and one unfortunate creature didn't survive his accidental grip. He could only look at the crushed head in his hands as the others scattered. Miranda, who had been observing from a distance, was livid.
"Mr Veneri! Be careful! Those arms aren't toys!"
He could only mutter a dry apology. He had underestimated just how much precision relied on feedback, touch and subtle vibrations that his new arms simply could not provide. Even holding an empty cup became dangerous. It shattered under his unnatural strength. Opening doors, picking up books or even walking without inadvertently knocking things over became a constant series of disasters.
Punches were worse.
The moment he did a test and focused energy into a single fist, the air around him screamed as shockwaves caused devastating disaster. A few small creatures that had wandered too close were obliterated instantly. Miranda's scolding was endless.
"Stop it! You'll hurt someone if you don't slow down! Please stop killing my sheep, please!"
The underlying issue wasn't just strength.
Proprioception—the innate sense of where one's limbs were in space—was completely thrown off. Vastarael had spent years training his body but that relied on a living, breathing connection between his brain and the sensations of his flesh. Now, he had to learn to trust purely mechanical feedback added with mystical energy flow. Movements that had once been effortless became exercises in meticulous recalibration. Reaching for a cup, throwing a ball, even sitting down without smacking his own head on a table edge required conscious thought and painful trial and error.
It was physically and emotionally exhausting. Hours bled into each other as he repeated exercises endlessly, often lying on the floor, panting, staring at the ceiling and wondering if he would ever regain a sense of normalcy. Each failure was brutal. A miscalibrated swing of his arms could destroy a tree branch. A simple push could send a boulder rolling down a hill. He realized quickly that, at his raw strength level, "accidents" were catastrophic.
The Mystic Eyes of Awareness were extremely invaluable.
They didn't restore sensation of course, but they allowed him to perceive subtle cues like tiny distortions in the air, minute vibrations in the ground and visual feedback from moving objects that his brain could use to compensate for his lack of touch. Slowly and painfully, he began to develop a sense of virtual proprioception. He could judge the arc of a punch, the pressure required to pick up a fragile object and the correct amount of force to apply to an animal or a person. It was painfully slow. Every motion had to be deliberate. Every action had to be consciously calculated.
Still, even with the Mystic Eyes, challenges still rose. He knocked over a water basin, cracking its ceramic rim. He misjudged distances so often that even walking along a path became a test of precision and patience. But he persisted. He forced himself to try, to fail and learn. Every day, he grew incrementally more confident and attuned to the invisible subtleties that his senses had lost.
Emotionally, it was exhausting as well.
He could feel a gnawing sadness at the absence of sensation. He longed for the warmth of a hand in his own. That grief never went away, no matter how much he made himself believe that he gained a lot out of it. Yet, amidst the frustration, a faint ember of gratitude glimmered. These arms were now perfect tools of precision and strength. They could not be broken. They could channel his Omniphage, manipulate Sapphire Materialization with more control and endure trauma beyond normal comprehension. They were, in a sense, the ultimate weapon. He just had to learn to inhabit them fully and rewire his instincts and his mind to trust what he could see rather than what he could feel.
By the end of the week, Vastarael was still clumsy but he was no longer helpless. He could walk, move, pick up objects, interact with the environment and even fight lightly without causing massive destruction. The process was excruciating, painstaking and often humiliating but he was learning. Slowly, he was becoming the master of his own body once again. Deep beneath the frustration and grief, he believed that perhaps this too was part of the high-risk, high-reward cycle of his life.
°°°°°°
Vastarael was leaning against the trunk of a broad, old tree. A blanket had been laid out beneath them. They were having a picnic. He wasn't doing much and for once, that was enough.
Phaenora sat close with one knee tucked beneath her. She held a small bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. She scooped up a bite and held it near his mouth. He hesitated for a second, then leaned forward obediently, opening his mouth like this was the most natural thing in the world.
He still wasn't used to feeding himself.
Technically, he could. Runes made it trivial. A simple Manipulation Rune could animate a spoon, adjust pressure perfectly and even account for tremors or overcorrection. However, Phaenora had shut that down immediately.
So here they were.
Shimmer, lounging on the other side of the blanket, grinned openly.
"You know, Dad, most people would kill to be fed like that."
Runner nodded in agreement, her tone more amused than teasing. "Yeah. You're definitely winning right now."
Phaenora shot them both a look. "I can feed you too, you know."
Both girls stiffened immediately.
"Nope," Shimmer said without missing a beat.
"Absolutely not," Runner added, shaking her head. "That's weird."
"So I can feed him, but not you?"
"That's different," Shimmer replied instantly.
"How? I used to feed you girls before you left for the Fallen Bridge."
"Because," Shimmer said, glancing at Vastarael, "he's Dad. And also, he's injured. And also very dramatic."
Shimmer's expression shifted as her gaze wandered past the picnic. Asenane stood far off, tending to the sheep. She hadn't come closer since he woke up.
"Mom hasn't talked to you e since you woke up. Did you two argue?"
Vastarael didn't answer immediately.
"We did. And as much as I want to talk to her, she needs time."
Phaenora paused mid-motion. "Darling—"
"It's my fault. I ended up like this because I pushed myself too far. I can't exactly blame her."
Phaenora clicked her tongue softly and brought the spoon to his mouth anyway.
"Open."
He did.
After he swallowed, she spoke again.
"It is not your fault that we fell into the Sucking Void. Don't say that just to punish yourself."
He didn't argue. He rarely did when she spoke like that.
"She just needs time and honestly, so do I."
Shimmer turned toward Asenane again and raised her voice slightly.
"Mom! Come eat with us!"
Asenane looked over, met Shimmer's eyes and then shook her head, before turning back to her work. Shimmer sighed and was about to stand when Runner gently caught her sleeve.
"Don't. There's no need to force her."
Shimmer hesitated, then sat back down.
"I don't get it. Why is she acting like this?"
Vastarael didn't answer. Phaenora did.
"She's hurting. And she probably doesn't know where to put that pain yet. That being said, you've been doing great this past week, Darling."
He looked at her skeptically.
"I mean it. Yes, you won't be using a glaive for a very long time but you're still a mage. A terrifying one, actually."
Shimmer perked up. "She's not wrong."
Runner nodded. "You're adjusting faster than most people would."
Phaenora set the bowl aside and shifted closer.
"Now all you need to do is hold me."
She reached for his hand.
"There's no use. I can't feel anything."
"I can."
"Phae—"
"I know what I'm asking. Just because you can't feel doesn't mean you can't let others feel."
He exhaled before squeezed gently. He did it too gently and yet not enough. Her hand was crushed. Vastarael's eyes widened in panic.
"I'm sorry...."
Body and Soul Reconstruction activated reflexively. Her hand was whole again in less than a second. He stared at it, horrified.
"I... Phaenora, I shouldn't have—"
She cut him off, smiling.
"Don't. This is progress. If I asked you to do that before you trained, my hand wouldn't have been destroyed."
That… didn't make him feel better. Shimmer scooted closer but her her expression serious now.
"Dad."
He looked at her.
"We're not kids anymore. We're seventeen. We can help."
Runner nodded. "And it's really rare seeing you ask for help. So we're not letting this go."
Phaenora smiled at them as she giggled at the sight.
He usually does everything himself. It's kind of nice seeing him forced to rely on others."
Vastarael grimaced. "I'm not happy about it."
"I know. I'm not either. But I can allow myself to be selfish for once, right? If the others were here, Narisva and Adelasta would already be doing this. They wouldn't give me the chance."
Shimmer snorted. "Yeah. They'd fight over it."
Runner smiled faintly. "Violently."
He ended up sighing.
"That is true. Okay. Just don't ask me to hold you until I've adjusted my strength. I don't want to keep shattering your bones."
"Alright."