It was a stormy evening. Rain lashed against the mansion windows, and the wind howled through the cracks like a mournful dirge. In Rudra's chamber, a lone candle flickered, casting restless shadows across the boy's pale face.
Victoria sat at his bedside, her fingers gently clasped around his cold hand. Each shallow breath from Rudra made her heart ache, and with every rise of his chest she whispered the same desperate wish: Wake up… please wake up.
Unable to bear the silence any longer, she called for the maid.
The maid entered quietly, bowing. "How may I assist you, my lady?"
Victoria's voice trembled but carried resolve. "Where is the healer treating my son? I wish to see him. Now."
The maid lowered her head. "I will summon him at once." She left the room swiftly, her footsteps fading into the storm's chorus.
That night, a messenger was dispatched to the healer's home.
---
By morning, the mansion stirred with uneasy silence. At breakfast, Victoria sat beside Richerd, though neither touched their food. The rain had softened to a drizzle, but the sky remained gray, heavy with foreboding.
At the gates of the mansion, an old man appeared, leaning on a gnarled wooden staff. His cloak was weathered, soaked by the night's storm, and his eyes carried centuries of wisdom.
The guards crossed their spears. "What business do you have here, old man?"
"I am Tharion," he said, his voice steady despite his frailty. "Chief Healer of this city. My apprentices were tending to a boy here… but they have failed. They called upon me, for this child's injuries are beyond their skill."
The guard squinted, skeptical. "Wait here. I'll inform our lord."
Minutes later, the head maid arrived and led Tharion through the grand halls to Rudra's chamber. The boy lay unmoving, his breath shallow, the air thick with the faint, metallic scent of blood and burnt flesh.
Tharion studied the wounds with a grave expression. His lined face tightened as though weighed down by the sight.
Soon, Richerd and Victoria entered the chamber.
"Greetings, sir," Richerd said with a respectful bow. "I am Richerdwan Autohan, merchant of the capital. This is my wife, Victoria."
The old healer's eyes softened. "Ah… I know of you. Your caravans bring us much-needed medicines and herbs. It is good to finally meet you in person. I am Tharion, head of the city's Healing Council."
Richerd inclined his head. "Then we are fortunate indeed. Perhaps your wisdom will save our boy from this… tragic fate."
But Tharion shook his head, his voice carrying the weight of sorrow. "I am sorry to say… it is not so simple. These wounds are unlike anything I have ever seen. Fatal beyond the realm of ordinary medicine."
Victoria's breath caught. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes already glistening with tears she could no longer hold back.
Richerd's voice hardened, desperate. "Do not say such things! You are the best healer in the capital—if you surrender, then there is no hope left for us!"
Tharion raised a hand gently. "Calm yourself, my lord. Let me explain.
The old healer placed a trembling hand above Rudra's wounds, his eyes narrowing as if searching for something beyond flesh.
Tharion (low voice): "These are no ordinary wounds… In most men, torn flesh grows cold as life abandons the cells. But here—" he hovered his palm over Rudra's skin, feeling the heat radiating "—the fire does not fade. The boy burns from within, as if the wound itself is alive. My arts cannot touch it."
Victoria's lips trembled. "Are you saying there's no hope?"
Tharion bowed his head. "I do not say there is none… only that it lies beyond me. What I can do is buy him time—hold the fire at bay. But if salvation is to be found, it must come from beyond this city, perhaps beyond this kingdom. Post word in the guild halls of foreign nations. Somewhere in this vast world, another healer may have seen such affliction."
Richard leaned forward, desperate. "Then we cling to that silver thread. If illness exists, so must its cure."
Tharion sighed, eyes heavy with the weight of failure. "Then I will hold the line as long as I can. But understand… each day will be a battle against something not of this world."
Victoria bowed her head, her tears falling silently onto Rudra's sheets.
Richerd's stern composure cracked, his voice heavy. "You have given us a glimmer of hope in this darkness. Thank you, Master Tharion. If ever there is a way I can repay this debt, I shall."
The old healer shook his head. "It is not debt, my lord. It is the duty of all healers to fight for life."
Richerd turned to his wife, placing a hand on her trembling shoulder. "You see? There is still a chance. A silver lining. Perhaps things may yet return to how they once were."
Then, straightening, he called to the maid. "Send a messenger to summon Alex. Tell him I require his presence at once."
The maid bowed and hurried away.
---
By evening, Alex arrived at the mansion, rain dripping from his cloak. His jaw was tense, his eyes sharper than usual.
"Where is my brother?" he demanded.
"In the library, my lord," the maid replied. "Shall I escort you?"
"No need. I know the way." He brushed past her and strode through the halls.
Inside the library, Richerd was buried beneath mountains of books, dust rising as another stack toppled to the floor.
"Brother!" Alex's voice thundered through the chamber. "You summoned me. I'm here."
Richerd coughed through the dust, waving it away. "Damn it… now I'll be sorting these for days."
Alex scowled. "Stop playing the fool. Tell me why I'm here. I've already spent half the day dealing with the chaos that boy caused."
Richerd's smile faltered. His tone grew serious. "It's about Rudra. Today we met the city's Chief Healer. He says… he cannot heal him."
Alex froze. "What? Then why waste time telling me this? There must be a way!"
"There is," Richerd said quietly. "But I need your help."
Alex narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me you're trying to use my authority again."
Richerd chuckled bitterly. "Ah, Alex… I always thought you were just a musclehead with a sword, but I see you can be sharp when it matters."
"This isn't the time for your jokes."
"Listen," Richerd said firmly. "Only military officers are permitted to post quests in the guild halls of foreign nations. We need a healer—someone who can face this curse. And only you can make it happen."
Alex (snaps): "Spare me your wit! Tell me plainly—why should I stake my name and station on this?"
Richard (voice low, resolute): "Because he is family. Because if even you abandon him, then Rudra has no one left."
For a moment, silence pressed between them heavier than the dust. Alex exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
Alex cursed under his breath. "Another burden… but fine. I'll handle it. And what of the spell you were muttering about?"
Richerd gestured at the towering piles of books. "I'm still searching. But I need to be sure—one mistake could doom us all. And what of the witnesses? Did you silence them?"
Alex's lips tightened. "It cost me half my fortune to bribe them into silence. I never thought I'd live to see the day I had to pay to protect our bloodline."
Richerd placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. You're not broke yet. Just… make it quick. Time is slipping through our fingers."
Alex exhaled, the weight heavy on him. "Fine. But after this, don't you dare ask me for another favor like this again."
Richerd smiled faintly, though his eyes betrayed the storm within. "I pray that day never comes. I hate relying on my brother as much as you hate being used."
Without another word, Alex turned and left, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.
Richerd glanced once more at the frail boy in the chamber above, then turned back to the mountains of books. His hands trembled as he reached for another tome.
The clock was ticking. And time was their greatest enemy.