“Nurses prepare the IVs,” Koran called out.

  Two nurses stepped forward immediately.

  Goose-quill tubing was inserted into prepared veins at Eleonora’s arms. Tubing connected to suspended glass bottles containing preserved blood and diluted healing solution.

  Blood transfusion was an expensive miracle of imperial medicine.

  It was something only high-ranking nobility or the absurdly rich could afford. The process required specialized magical preservation chambers to keep donor blood viable. Donors themselves were rare specific universally compatible blood type, maintained under strict diet and health regimens to ensure their purity and that their blood was free of miasma.

  As the blood and health potions flowed slowly into Eleonora’s veins, color began to creep faintly back into her face.

  Koran drew in a slow, steady breath. Now came the part that separated a true anatomist from a mere healer. He held out his hand without looking away from the patient. A nurse immediately placed a scalpel into his palm.

  “Incision,” he said calmly.

  The room seemed to quiet further as he positioned the blade against Eleonora’s abdomen. With practiced precision, he drew the scalpel upward in one smooth, controlled motion from just above her navel to the base of her collarbone. His hand never wavered. Years of study and hundreds of operations guided the motion.

  The cut was clean. Deliberate. Blood welled along the line almost immediately, but Ferah was already working, subtle currents of water-aspected mana slowing the bleeding before it could spread.

  To an untrained eye, the procedure would have looked disturbing and almost indistinguishable from the beginning of an autopsy. But to Koran it was simply the fastest and safest way to access the organs that had likely been crushed by the hobgoblin’s grip.

  “Retractors,” he ordered quietly, already preparing for the far more delicate work to come.

  Two nurses stepped forward immediately. Polished metal hooks were set carefully along the incision, pulling skin and muscle apart to hold the surgical field open. The wound widened under controlled tension, exposing the layers beneath. Blood welled along the edges of the cut, dark and steady.

  “Ferah.”

  The water mage stepped forward at once.. As she focused, thin threads of liquid extended from her like delicate fingers. The strands slipped into the incision, moving with eerie precision as they sought the bleeding vessels within.

  “Maintain pressure on the left hepatic branch,” Koran said, his eyes already scanning the exposed tissue. “She’s leaking there.”

  Ferah’s brow furrowed as she concentrated. The water-thread tightened around the damaged vessel, compressing it with just enough force to slow the bleeding without cutting off circulation entirely. Almost instantly the steady flow lessened to a controlled trickle.

  “Good,” Koran murmured.

  More blood still pooled within the cavity, but now it did so slowly enough for him to work. A nurse dabbed carefully with folded cloths while another adjusted the IV lines feeding diluted healing potion and donor blood into Eleonora’s veins.

  Koran leaned closer over the table, his voice calm despite the severity of the injuries before him.

  “Hold her stable,” he said. “Now we begin the real work.”

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  “Morris. Sternum.”

  The bonemancer stepped forward at once. Morris lifted his hands and held them a few inches above Eleonora’s chest, his fingers spread slightly as he focused. Mana gathered around his palms, invisible but palpable to those trained to sense it.

  “Steady,” Koran said quietly.

  With controlled precision, Morris directed the magic downward. Bone responded to his command. The sternum trembled faintly before a thin guided fracture formed along its centerline. Slowly, carefully, the bone parted under his control rather than shattering as it would under force.

  The sternum opened like a hinged door.

  The ribcage separated just enough to grant access, the halves held apart by the bonemancer’s magic so that no splintering or tearing occurred.

  A faint cracking sound echoed through the chamber as the final tension released.

  Koran leaned forward over the exposed cavity, his expression sharpening as he examined the damage inside.

  Bruised lungs. The left showed a small tear where one of the broken ribs had nearly punctured through.

  The liver was badly contused, the surface mottled dark purple from blunt trauma.

  And the spleen…

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at it.

  The spleen was partially ruptured and blood had pooled dangerously around the organ before Ferah’s earlier intervention slowed the hemorrhaging.

  Without surgery, the girl would have surely bled out slowly over the next few hours.

  Koran exhaled once through his nose, already shifting into motion as begin to focus on the task before him.

  “Ferah, maintain suppression on the splenic artery,” he said. “If that rupture widens, we lose her.”

  The water mage nodded immediately, thin strands of liquid tightening deeper within the cavity to control the flow.

  Koran reached for the next instrument.

  “Scalpel,” he said calmly.

  Around the table the room remained utterly silent except for the faint clink of tools, the quiet breathing of the anesthetized girl, and the steady, patient rhythm of controlled magic holding her broken body together while the surgeon began the long work of saving her life.

  He worked quickly but not frantically.

  “Ferah…seal that vessel.”

  “Done.”

  “Healing solution…localized application.”

  A nurse handed him a measured vial of concentrated potion. He applied it directly to the torn lung tissue. The potion shimmered as it soaked into flesh, accelerating cellular repair without overwhelming the body’s balance.

  He moved organ to organ, addressing damage systematically. He did not flood her system recklessly. Healing potion was powerful—but uncontrolled application could strain the heart, overload the humors, or seal contaminants inside tissue.

  Every dose was deliberate.

  Every instruction precise.

  Hours passed.

  Sweat gathered at his temples but his hands never shook.

  At last, the internal bleeding had ceased. Organs were intact. Structural damage repaired.

  He exhaled slowly.

  “One final measure,” he said.

  He made a smaller incision along her stomach lining and poured a full-strength potion directly within. This would replenish what systemic reserves had been drained—restoring vitality from the inside out.

  “Close.”

  Morris sealed the sternum seamlessly, bone knitting without visible scar. The ribcage settled back into natural alignment.

  Koran stitched muscle and skin in layered precision. As the final seam closed, he poured a thin stream of diluted healing potion across the exterior wound.

  Flesh sealed.

  The long incision faded from raw red to a faint pink line.

  The girl's breathing was steady and even now. The sleep spell still held her in gentle unconsciousness, allowing her body to recover from shock of the injuries and the surgery.

  The nurses began cleaning instruments in exhausted silence.

  Ferah lowered her arms at last as her shoulders sagged.

  Morris rolled his neck stiffly.

  Koran removed his gloves and stepped back from the table.

  He studied the girl for a long moment as if taking stock of his work.

  “Monitor her through the night,” he said quietly. “Low-dose stabilization potion every two hours. Watch for internal swelling. Send for me at the first sign of fever.”

  “Yes, Senior Anatomist,” the head nurse replied.

  Koran untied his leather apron slowly.

  Exhaustion now pressed against him now that the danger had passed.

  I’m currently thinking about two possible story ideas to turn into a book. A poll will be included at the end so you can vote on which one you’d like to see!

  1. Tentatively titled: Reincarnated as the Supreme Leader

  The main character is reincarnated into a fantasy world that is about a hundred years ahead of Earth technologically. As they grow up, however, they slowly realize something horrifying—they’ve been reborn as the only daughter of the Supreme Leader of this world’s version of North Korea.

  Oh, and they’re a foxkin now, too.

  Caught at the center of a ruthless authoritarian state, they must learn to navigate politics, paranoia, and power. Will they manage to escape with their head intact… or will ruling the system be the only way to survive?

  2. Tentatively titled: Cowboy Paladin

  A 60-year-old alcoholic, chain-smoking cowboy dies in a cattle stampede and wakes up in the realm of the Five Goddesses of Chivalric Duty. They want him to become their saint, their champion, and a shining symbol of true chivalry.

  There’s just one small problem.

  The five sister goddesses may have gone behind the back of their mother—the Goddess of Knighthood—to do this. So instead of a glorious summoning ceremony, the cowboy awakens buck naked in the middle of nowhere.

  Oh, and there’s another complication…

  He’s now she and an elf.

  which story idea do you like the best?