Linvin checked under Anvar’s bandage and found no mark of the crushing blow anywhere. “Are you completely healed?” Linvin asked in astonishment. Anvar modestly nodded as he sipped some water.
“That’s impossible,” Rander said as he looked for himself, “I saw the hit you took and was surprised it didn’t kill you. To be healed in a day, is...is...”
“Magic,” Anvar interjected. “That same energy which flows through me to give me my magic also heals injuries at a greatly increased rate.”
“You mean you can’t be killed?” Bander asked. Anvar smiled and shook his head while using his hand to seemingly wave off the idea. “Oh, I can die as surely as any of you,” he offered. “The difference is, if I am merely hurt, the magic I channel restores my body to health far more quickly than normal. Even with this ability, I have a point of injury, like you, from which I cannot come back.
It would take more energy to save me than my body has the strength to channel. If I am hurt that much, my fate is sealed. That was not the case this time.
“Make no mistake, though,” he continued, “healing is just as taxing on me as using my magic any other time. Instead of releasing the power, it repairs damage to my body.”
Linvin could not help but wonder what other bits of knowledge Anvar had yet to disclose to the company. It seemed his secrets had no end. While many people would have worried about such things, Linvin felt little concern. His faith in his uncle and his intentions would not be swayed. Whether it was denial or trust could be debated with vigor. The fact remained that Linvin would not match wits with his uncle. To do so would be as a harvest reaping only the fruits Anvar would choose to provide. He had given all the information he was willing to give for the time being. The matter was closed.