"It looks... well, it looks exactly like my old ones."
Professor Kettleburn squinted at the prosthetic arm for a long time, trying to find some hidden complexity. From a purely aesthetic standpoint, the new limb was indistinguishable from the one he'd been using for years.
To be certain, Kettleburn unlatched his current prosthetic and laid it on the counter next to the new one. Aside from the lack of deep gouges and singe marks, he truly couldn't see a difference. Yet, he knew better than to trust appearances; Alaric Thorn had promised him the finest craftsmanship he could muster, and Alaric wasn't given to empty boasting.
Noticing the professor's bewilderment, Alaric offered a small, knowing smile. "Put it on, Professor. Experience it for yourself."
Kettleburn nodded, gingerly picking up the ebony arm and sliding it onto his stump. The moment the wood made contact with his skin, a faint, rhythmic pulse of magic rippled through him.
Almost instantly, his eyes widened. He could feel it. From the shoulder down to the tip of each finger, every phantom nerve seemed to sync perfectly with the wood. He lifted the arm slowly, his gaze fixed on the dark fingers as they curled and uncurled with fluid, effortless grace.
It was more responsive, more "alive," than any magical prosthetic he had ever tested. As the look of sheer astonishment deepened on the professor's face, Alaric's smirk widened.
"This... this is unbelievable!" Kettleburn barked.
Alaric gave a modest tilt of his head. "That, Professor, is merely the baseline. There is a far more remarkable feature to discuss."
He gestured for Kettleburn to place the arm back on the counter. The professor arched an eyebrow but followed the instruction, unlatching the limb once more and laying it flat across the wooden surface.
"And what exactly are you planning?" Kettleburn asked.
Alaric drew his wand, offering a mysterious glint in his eye.
"Confringo!"
Before the professor could even process the words, a Blasting Curse erupted from Alaric's wand, slamming directly into the center of the brand-new prosthetic.
"!"
Kettleburn's face contorted in horror. He lunged forward to stop it, but it was too late.
BOOM!
The shop echoed with the sharp crack of the explosion. Debris from the counter's surface flew into the air, and as the dust settled, Kettleburn stared in stunned silence. The desk was splintered, and his pristine new arm had been blasted clean in two.
He looked at the smoldering halves, then back at Alaric, his jaw working but no sound coming out. He couldn't fathom why Alaric would destroy his own masterpiece.
"What... why?" he stammered.
"Ah, it's been a while since I've used a Blasting Curse," Alaric said, looking at the ruined table with a hint of embarrassment. "I'm a bit out of practice with the output."
After a brief moment of mourning for the furniture, Alaric reached down and retrieved the two pieces of the prosthetic. He handed the upper half—the portion that connected to the shoulder—back to Kettleburn. "Put it back on, Professor."
Kettleburn took the jagged half-limb, looking highly skeptical. "Is there any point? It's broken, lad."
He snapped the stump-piece into place regardless. It still fit perfectly, but the sensation of "missing" the forearm and hand was jarring. However, as he adjusted the fit, the wood suddenly began to pulse with a low, emerald-black light.
"Gah! It's biting me!" Kettleburn yelped, jerking his shoulder as if he'd been stung.
"Stay calm, Professor," Alaric soothed. "Look. It's reacting."
Kettleburn looked down. The dark green light was flickering rhythmically, and he felt a strange, tingling pressure at the break-point of the wood. Within seconds, the splintered end began to look... fuller.
"Don't resist the flow of your own magic," Alaric reminded him. "Treat it as if you were channeling a spell."
Kettleburn took a breath and focused. He understood now; this wasn't just a prosthetic—it was a biological extension. As he released his mental guard, the dark wood at the fracture began to split and unfurl like a sprout breaking through topsoil. It surged forward, weaving and expanding before his very eyes.
Kettleburn watched with a mix of awe and reverence. In less than a minute, the entire forearm and hand had completely reformed. The new wood was slightly lighter in color than the rest, but the structure was perfect.
The process had clearly taken a toll; Kettleburn rubbed his temples as a dull ache throbbed behind his eyes—the tell-tale sign of rapid mana depletion. But he didn't care.
"You're a genius, Alaric," he breathed, flexing his brand-new fingers. "I suppose my days of ordering replacements by the dozen are over."
Alaric basked in the praise, his eyes narrowing with quiet satisfaction. "I utilized a specific strain of magical ebony that possesses innate regenerative properties," he explained. "With a bit of... alchemical refinement, it becomes the ideal medium for long-term use."
Intrigued, Kettleburn asked, "Do you have any of the raw material on hand?"
Alaric nodded and retrieved a small, dark rod of wood from a nearby cabinet—a scrap left over from the pruning of his Level 3 Ebony tree. Kettleburn took the sample, turning it over, rubbing the grain, and even giving it a sharp experimental bite.
"Magnificent stuff," he noted. "But Alaric, don't you think using such rare material for a prosthetic is a bit... wasteful?"
Alaric paused, looking at his mentor. He expected the old man to suggest a more "noble" use, like wand-making.
Kettleburn gave a mischievous grin. "Do you mind if I take this scrap with me? Little Zork is teething, and he's been in desperate need of a proper chew-toy."
"..."
Alaric was speechless. That was the less "wasteful" alternative? For context, "Little Zork" was Kettleburn's pet Murtlap—a creature essentially resembling a very large, aggressive rat with an anemone on its back.
Ultimately, Alaric let him have it. The wood wasn't exactly a precious resource for him; he had several of those trees thriving in Conservatory Two.
"One more thing, Professor," Alaric added, his tone turning serious as he saw Kettleburn to the door. "There is a core within the base of each limb. If that central node is destroyed, the regenerative ability will fail entirely. Try to keep that part away from any... hungry dragons."
"Don't you worry," Kettleburn said, patting his new shoulder. "I'll treat 'em like my own skin."