“I am… fine?” Mannat’s said whilst he inspected his body.

How could he be fine? He had absorbed miasma, a poison for goodness sake! He should be dead, comatose, or screaming in pain like Pandit’s brother. He should be many things but fine. Yet, he was. He was exactly that. Not a drop of sweat poured out of his pores or shiver went down his back.

His body had only reacted to the unprecedented situation by giving him goosebumps on the arms.

“Did I really—” Mannat whispered, staring at his shaking hand.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” The shrill voice, cold and serious in its tone, came just at the moment to bring the red-haired boy back to his senses, pouring a bucket of cold water over his head.

Peering, Mannat found the Witch grabbing her staff and coming for him.

Something was different about her in that instant. Mannat thought it was weird. Her mana bubbled, rather boiled, and pushed against his will. This sudden and violent attraction from the old hag repulsed Mannat so much his expressions devolved into a frown.

It was almost as if the stupid, old coot was… excited.

“What are you doing?” Mannat asked backing up, believing she was up to no good and he was right.

The Witch advanced unreserved, relentless as the morning rooster, too serious, too scary. Those burning eyes and that madding grin proved she was in no mood for jokes. She swung her staff, which Mannat could not evade for some mystical magical reason.

The Bitch had used magic on him!

Mannat covered his head in haste, only for the hard crystal blob of the Witch’s ancient and smelly wooden staff to press against his heart. It glowed brightly under his chin, enveloping his torso in blinding light, penetrating his skin and muscles, bringing his veins and organs to light.

He saw his heart! It was big, it was red and it was alive, beating, pounding actually, or starting to, as he grew nervous. That wasn’t all. He could see his veins too, some of which were thick and broad. They were the pathways his mana had taken and restructured. As fascinating as they were to watch, the light grew brighter, penetrating his heart and showing him the bright blue tornado occupying more than half of the chamber, silently revolving with a turbulent flow, unchecked by the organ or his blood.

That was his mana, resting inside his heart to be beckoned for his bidding. There was no speck of darkness corrupting its radiance. Implying, the miasma he had absorbed had completely disappeared from his body, or as Mannat said, turned into mana.

Fascinating, as was the sight, it came to a sudden end when the Witch’s staff stopped glowing and became a simple old raggedy cane once again. She pulled it back as Mannat’s awestricken eyes followed it from his chest to her feet.

“Do you want the stick, boy?”

“Yes!” Mannat blurted out emphatically. Excited, he raised his head and saw his master grinning from eye to eye. That was when he realized she meant to beat him up instead of gifting him the magical tool and the fear of owning another bump on his head replaced the luster that his eyes had retained from the previous experience.

A snort was the Witch’s response to his sudden fearful gaze. She shook her head in a display of her generosity and finally, Mannat could breathe again.

“So? What do we do?” The boy asked, his heart becoming lively again with the understanding that he might finally have a chance still to save his mother.

“Now I do nothing.” Replied the Witch, glancing beyond the boy, at his mother exactly. “While you-” she emphasized, rounding her eyes back to him. “-wait.”

Mannat disagreed and defied her with a strict and resolute resolve.

“No.” He said aloud, louder than he was hoping to speak, but quickly resolved himself into believing he had done the right thing.

“I’m not going.” He faced his mother who, in her static state, was a crystal display of peace and serenity. “Not now.” His voice grew silent but firm. “Now I can—”

“You can do nothing.” The Witch came raining on his parade of emotions with a sneer. “You think you can handle the miasma in her body? Is that what you think?”

Mannat glared at her in hate and she responded back in anger.

“A fool you are, nothing more! You see what you want to see while understanding nothing!”

“But you saw it!” Mannat fought back with equal force in his voice and fire in his heart. “I can change miasma!”

He knew he was right when the Witch didn’t instantly refute his claim, proving it was the truth. He had changed miasma, changed it into mana, and absorbed it for himself. The silence lead to a stalemate, which led to a staring contest between two predators waiting for a chance to steal their prey.

In the end, Mannat was the first to relent. He was too naïve, too inexperienced at this game. The Witch had been a player for too long. She knew all the rules and the tricks and knew how to toy with smelly little boys who were all bark and no bite.

“I finally have a chance.” Mannat pleaded softly. His eyes wavered, as did his voice. “I can save her.”

The Witch sighed. “Your mother is safe little shit. It’s you I am worried about.” She said. However, the carrot failed to bring the boy to reason.

“I—” Mannat couldn’t say another word before the Witch lost her patience and started shouting.

“Do you want to lie beside your mother and count days pass in your dreams? Is that what you want?”

Finally, her words had some results. A wave of realization undulated from the boy’s mana. She should have thrown the carrot into the garbage and started with the stick.

“Nothing is going to happen to me,” Mannat said without any strength in his voice. He was as meek as a helpless puppy stuck on the staircase.

“You might think so, but the truth is clear in my eyes.” The Witch hammered the final nail. “You might have absorbed the miasma, but it wasn’t without its effects.”

What she said was also true. Mannat’s pupils had dilated. There were still goosebumps on his arms. He was fervently tapping his left foot, a sign of nervous agitation. He was also starting to sweat. Surely, it was warm in the underground chamber, but it was not hot. At least not so hot that he would sweat.

He was in a state of shock and his pounding heart proved that. It was singing in his ears, blocking his thoughts and pushing him down a hasty path.

“You might not feel the fire, but it can still burn you, boy.” The Witch waited for Mannat’s reaction and continued none came. “Come back tomorrow when you are calm—”

“I AM CALM!” Mannat yelled, inciting a chuckle from his old master.

She was right, Mannat realized it at that instant and he hated the feeling, the sadness that came along with it.

He was many things, but calm was not only of them.

He tried to speak, but the sullen breaths he exhaled stole his voice. He couldn’t speak.

The Witch gave him the benefit of the doubt and ignored the last embers of his fight. “Tomorrow, we’ll see if your act was a fluke or if you really did perform a miracle, because believe me,” She locked his eyes. “It was exactly that. Now let’s go. It's time we leave this place. We have been stuck here for too long.” [:)]

The Witch turned around and started walking and reluctantly, Mannat followed her. Both hugged quiet, as the sound of their footsteps arose in the underground chamber, which slowly returned to silence behind them as they climbed up the stairs and walked out of the chamber.