You looked Asher up and down frantically. The dark tar on his skin was spreading. You needed to do something. You rushed to the bookcase and flipped through pages, tossing books aside. Asher coughed. You winced. His cough sounded like pieces of him were being ripped into shreds. He spasmed again.

You shouldn’t have let this happen. You didn’t know he was over-exerting his magic. You didn’t even know he had healing magic. You caught him in the middle of the night, healing his wounds over and over again. Practicing.

And now he was sick. Dark red tar bubbled at his skin. It was thick and wouldn’t come off no matter how hard you tried. It always came back, seeping through his pores. His entire left arm was already infected by it. Mana sickness was lethal. You had to save him. Somehow. You scanned through the book in your hand. It said that mana sickness came from using too much magic for an extended amount of time, but it didn’t say anything about healing it. You groaned in frustration and tossed the book to the ground. You hurriedly grabbed another book and looked through it.

A soft moan came from his bed. He opened his eyes slowly and coughed.