39.8°C.
Helios furrowed his brow as he looked at the thermometer. The heat radiating from the feverish little body before him was almost palpable. His gaze wandered to the child lying in bed, breathing heavily. Every breath seemed to exhaust it, as if even the air had become a burden.
"Do I have to die, Doctor...?"
The child's voice was barely more than a whisper. Its glassy eyes reflected no hope, only dull exhaustion. The fever had held it firmly in its grip—for two days now. Its parents had tried everything, had called doctors, administered medicine, applied fever-reducing wraps. But nothing had helped.
Helios sat down on the edge of the bed and gave the child a gentle smile.
"I'm not a doctor, but I will help you," he said. "Will you show me your tongue?"
Hesitantly, sluggishly, the child stuck out its tongue. Helios gently placed a hand under the boy's chin, lifted it slightly, and shone a small lamp into his mouth. But it wasn't the tongue he was interested in—it was the throat. The mucous membrane was reddened, irritated, covered in tiny blisters.
His suspicion was confirmed.
Calmly, he let go of the child's chin, washed his hands, and disinfected them—not because it was necessary, but because it had become a habit for him.
The child hadn't caught an illness. Nor was it an ordinary fever.
It had been poisoned.
Helios opened his case and began mixing a potion. He always carried everything he needed for his visits to the clinic—herbs, powders, essences—and his ingredients were so potent that even a small amount would be enough to create a powerful antidote.
As he worked with focused precision, he asked casually, "Have you been nibbling on a bush recently?"
The child flinched slightly, as if caught. It cast a timid glance at its mother, who was watching with tear-filled eyes. She gave an encouraging nod, whereupon the child turned back to Helios and hesitantly nodded as well.
"Some berries… and then my stomach hurt so badly…"
Helios continued mixing the potion without pause. "Did you spit blood?"
The child shook its head weakly.
"He vomited and had severe diarrhea," the mother answered, her voice trembling. "But there was no blood."
A moderate poisoning, then. But even that could be dangerous if left untreated.
Carefully, Helios weighed the fine powder and added a liquid that instantly combined with it. The mixture had to be precisely balanced—adjusted to the child's height and weight. A remedy too strong could cause harm; one too weak would be useless.
He stirred thoughtfully as the potion slowly changed color. Then, he poured the healing liquid into a small glass vial.
Helios handed the vial to the mother.
"Give him this," he said, his voice calm yet firm, as he set about preparing another potion. The ingredients clinked softly in his case as he measured out a fine, golden shimmering liquid with practiced movements.
"He has been poisoned with Daphne mezereum—commonly known as mezereon." Helios' tone was firm. "His symptoms clearly indicate it."
The mother gasped in shock. "Mezereon? What is that?"
"A shrub that typically grows in forests, though some people plant it in their gardens because of its beautiful pink blossoms in spring." Helios poured the liquid into seven small glass bottles, carefully numbering them with black ink. "All of its berries are poisonous—whether red, orange, or yellow. But the red ones are particularly tempting. At first, they taste sweet, but then suddenly turn sharp and bitter as they burn the mucous membranes."
He turned back to the child. "Did you spit out the berry?"
The boy gave a weak nod.
Helios offered him a reassuring smile. "That was very smart. Otherwise, you would be in a much worse condition right now."
He stood up and handed the mother the numbered vials. "Give him one of these each day, in the correct order. The antidote works slowly but reliably. He will be better soon."
The woman sobbed with relief and grasped Helios' hands. "Thank you… thank you, young master! Without you, my little boy would have died. Thank goodness you were here today!"
Helios gently pulled his hands away and closed his case. Then he adjusted his glasses and took a few steps toward the door before looking at the child's mother one last time.
"Come back here in exactly one week. I will examine him again then, but I have no doubt he will recover."
With those words, he left the room. The moment he stepped into the hallway, his bodyguards closed in around him. Two moved ahead, two followed behind, their eyes sharp, hands ever ready to draw their weapons.
It was nothing unusual. After all, someone had tried to kill him just yesterday.
Helios had long grown accustomed to living under constant threat. But it was his guards who ensured he always made it out alive. His father allowed only the best of the best to serve at his side—men and women willing to fight to the bitter end for him.
A good deal, at least on paper. A generous salary, the promise that their families would be taken care of after their deaths—yet Helios often wondered if it was truly worth it. At least for them. He himself had always survived, no matter how many times he was attacked.
"Young master."
One of the guards at his side—Sergeant Davis—addressed him. An experienced man with a cool gaze, whose steady presence was often more reassuring than an entire army.
"What is it, Sergeant?" Helios asked without breaking his stride.
"We must hurry if you wish to be on time for your appointment with your father."
Helios raised an eyebrow. "Oh? That was today?"
Of course, he hadn't forgotten. He would never miss an appointment—especially not one with his father.
Sergeant Davis studied him with a long, assessing look. Helios met his gaze with a pleasant smile.
"The new bodyguard starts today. They say he's exceptionally good at what he does."
"Father told me the same." Helios slid his free hand into the pocket of his coat. "He wants this bodyguard to stay by my side at all times—unlike you. He seems to hold him in very high regard."
Davis gave a short nod. "He has survived many severe injuries and can still perform his duties."
"So, he doesn't die easily?"
"Hopefully not." Davis' tone remained as gruff as ever, but there was a glint in his eyes—a mix of respect and skepticism.
The sergeant had been at Helios' side for almost a year now. He had witnessed and survived countless assassination attempts, understood the dangers that came with this job, and yet, he had stayed. While others had long since fallen or been replaced, Davis remained, always vigilant, always ready to protect Helios with his own life.
"It would be nice if someone stayed by my side a little longer." Helios let his gaze drift into the distance as they exited the clinic. "There are only a few who last long enough for me to remember their names."
He took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air—far more pleasant than the sterile, disinfectant-laden scent of the hospital. With a casual motion, he removed the specially designed mask he always wore inside the clinic.
He came here once a week. It was one of the few places where he could truly help—where his medical knowledge saved lives. But that didn't mean he was reckless. The mask he had developed filtered out harmful substances and pathogens with precision. Every week, he replaced the filter in his lab after he was done in the hospital—a habit that had served him well.
He patted Davis on the shoulder. "Few are as steadfast as you, Sergeant."
"Watch out!"
The warning cracked through the air like a whip.
Then—a gunshot.
Everything happened in the blink of an eye.
A powerful shove sent Helios crashing to the ground, and before he could process what was happening, he hit the pavement hard. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and for a moment, all he could hear was the dull pounding of his own heartbeat.
A body landed heavily on top of him—a bodyguard who had thrown himself in the way at the last second, pushing Helios out of the line of fire.
A sharp pain flared in his side. He already knew he would be covered in bruises again.
A small price to pay for his life.
Chaos erupted around him.
"Damn it, again?!" Davis' furious outcry cut through the tense silence.
Footsteps echoed across the pavement, orders were shouted, weapons drawn.
Another attack. Another failed attempt to kill him.
At least—for now.
His bodyguards formed a protective circle around him, while Helios still lay on the ground. The weight of the bodyguard on top of him was crushing. Why did these muscle-bound giants always have to be so heavy?
"We need to move! Get up!" Davis' voice cut sharply through the chaos.
There was no time for pleasantries now—clear heads and quick decisions were crucial for survival.
"Get off me." Helios tried to push himself up, but the body on top of him remained motionless. Too motionless. Helios sighed annoyed. "Davis, he's dead. Help me."
A quiet curse escaped the sergeant's lips. "You—help him up! Now to the car!"
A moment later, the heavy weight was lifted off him. Strong arms pulled him to his feet—not gently, but efficiently. Helios grabbed his case before being yanked forward by one of the bodyguards.
Then—another gunshot.
A pained groan sounded right next to him.
Helios felt something warm and wet splatter against his face. Blood. The bodyguard leading him clutched his shoulder, staggered, but didn't let go. Even wounded, he refused to break formation—if he collapsed, only two men would be left. And then, the next bullet might find its mark.
The car came into view.
"Faster!" Davis barked.
Another shot.
Helios was shoved forward, nearly thrown into the vehicle. He slid across the leather seats, just in time before being flanked by his remaining bodyguards.
"Go!" Davis roared as he slammed the passenger door shut.
The driver hit the gas. The car lurched forward, its armored windows easily deflecting the hail of bullets.
Helios leaned back, catching his breath. "No need to shout, Davis. The car is bulletproof."
Davis shot him a measuring look. "You should still work on your stamina."
Helios waved a hand dismissively. "That would mean spending less time in the lab."
The sergeant huffed but let it go. Instead, his sharp gaze scanned Helios. "Are you injured? You have blood on your face."
Helios frowned, recalling the warm splatter on his skin. He touched his cheek—the blood wasn't his.
"No. It's his." He gestured to the wounded bodyguard at his right.
Davis handed him a cloth, which Helios accepted with a nod of thanks. As he wiped the blood from his face, his eyes drifted back to the injured man. His breathing was uneven, his body sagging strangely forward.
Too weak. Too pale.
Helios turned to face him.
He lifted the man's chin, meeting his gaze. His eyes were unfocused, staring into nothingness. Helios recognized that look instantly.
"You should notify his family." His voice was calm, but final. "He won't make it."
Davis' expression darkened. "Damn it."
Helios watched the dying man for a moment longer, until his last breath faded. Then, he let go.
"He's dead."
Silence settled over the car, broken only by the low hum of the engine.
The rest of the ride passed without further incident.
When they reached the company headquarters, Helios was immediately escorted inside. A glance at the clock told him that, despite everything, he was still on time.
At least he wouldn't be late for the meeting.
Alongside Davis, he stepped into the elevator, which carried them soundlessly to the top floor.
His father was already waiting.