Everlasting Dream-Chapter 116: Impossible choice

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[Prof. Ryn Kraine]

The howling wind whipped against the shuttered window, causing the foggy glass to rattle and shake with every gust. Outside, the trees swayed and creaked, their branches rattling in the night. Thunder boomed in the distance, somewhere far out at sea, echoing across the empty streets of Mildecia, an old and unremarkable port city located way up in the Northeast, known mostly for its smugglers and thieves.

Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the darkened room, its brightness flickering off the wooden walls. Ryn, an even more unremarkable man than the city outside, sat hunched over his desk, alone in his study, with a quill pen held firmly between his trembling fingers. Before him was a sheet of parchment, a small jar of ink, and a candle, its light casting long shadows across the cluttered surface. Scrolls and books littered the wooden desk, stacked high on either side, threatening to topple over.

His hand hovered over the parchment, his fingers poised to write. But no words came. None could describe the events happening outside, the misery, and the horror. None could adequately convey the feelings he had in his heart.

So, instead, he sighed heavily for the tenth time tonight, leaning back against his chair, which creaked even louder than the storm outside. His robe, a brown garment worn only by scholars of the Alchemy Guild, reached almost to the floor, hiding the scrawny body underneath. 'Why did I agree to this?' he wondered, staring blankly at the shuttered window, wrinkles etched deep into his pale face. 'It should have been simple, nothing more than a minor inconvenience, and then back home to finish my book.'

What was supposed to be a simple assignment from the Alchemy Guild, a mere request to investigate a strange disease affecting the nearby village south of the city, had turned into a nightmare unlike any other. No amount of books and scrolls, no amount of knowledge could have prepared him for the hellish sight that awaited him once he arrived.

Ryn shook his head and sighed again, running his fingers through his dark, unkempt hair, feeling a bit of grease on his fingertips. He glanced back at the parchment, his brows furrowing as he focused on the yellow sheet before him. After a moment, he dipped his quill into the ink jar and began to write, trying his best to maintain the formal style expected of someone as educated as he was.

"To my dearest friend, M. Alchemist Gavius," he mumbled as he wrote, his voice barely above a whisper. The soft sound of the pen scratching against the parchment filled the otherwise silent room. "Words can hardly capture everything that has happened since we parted ways. I hope your situation is still as simple as you expected it to be, for mine has certainly taken a turn. An illness unlike any I've ever read about has swept through the land, taking down the young and the old alike, leaving nothing but death and misery behind."

Ryn paused momentarily, dipping his quill in the ink jar before continuing. "The situation is especially dire in the villages, where bodies are piling up in every street and house, left unburied to rot, as there's hardly anyone left healthy enough to care for them. The village I was sent to was but the beginning, this I'm sure of. As I write this, neighboring towns and cities are meeting the same fate, and I worry this could spread even further, from coast to coast. I've already written the letter to the Guild, but I don't think they can do anythingto prevent it."

The sleeve of his brown robe slipped down his wrist, interrupting his writing. With a frustrated grunt, he pulled it back up and continued. "Given the disturbing similarity in our assignments, I can't shake the feeling that we're up against the same unseen enemy—the Black Breath, as the people here call it. And if not, the illness is spreading fast, and soon enough, it might reach you. My concern for your well-being weighs heavily on my heart, especially since you lack the protection of the Light that shields me. Still, I have no doubt you'll come up with some utterly expensive potion to keep yourself safe, just like you always do if you haven't already. You wealthy bastard." Ryn paused, smirking, the corners of his lips turning up for the first time in days.

For a brief moment, his mind wandered back to happier times, memories of their apprenticeship flooding his mind. Researching the weirdest of subjects just for fun, brewing strange-smelling potions, getting into all sorts of trouble, and laughing about it afterward. However, the smile quickly faded away, replaced by the same tired, weary expression he had been wearing for far too long. "I'm writing not just to inform you of what's been happening, but also to seek your advice. While I'm adept in theory and research, you shine when it comes to practical applications, and that's exactly what I need right now. I have a few observations to share, and perhaps, if the Gods are still smiling upon us, we can work this out together. Here are my findings thus far..."

He paused, chewing his lower lip, thinking carefully about his following words. Everything had to be precise and clear, leaving no room for misinterpretation. "The sickness comes in three stages, progressing at varying rates, often influenced by the age and overall health of the patient. Those in the first stage experience constant fatigue and a dry mouth, but no cough or any other notable symptoms. This phase typically lasts two to four days, during which the patient is highly contagious and must be kept in isolation. But... as you can probably guess, due to the mild nature of the symptoms, the local populace has been largely dismissive of its severity and does not follow proper precautions, believing it's merely a passing ailment that will eventually subside."

Ryn took a sip from the mug on the corner of his desk, wincing slightly at the foul taste of the herbal tea, a beverage that had become more popular than wine and ale combined among the locals during these trying times. He liked the taste of it as much as a horse would like being butchered, but its calming properties made his days a bit more tolerable. "Ugh... forgot to add honey again," he cursed quietly, putting down the mug. "Where was I? Ah, yes..."

He picked up his quill and continued. "That changed quickly when the second stage sets in, bringing on fever and a persistent, wracking cough, often accompanied by blood. The thirst grows stronger as well, to the point where the patient cannot control themselves, drinking every drop of water within their reach, often resulting in a painful stomachache and vomiting. By the end of the stage, their skin grows cold and clammy, and they lose consciousness for hours at a time, only to awaken disoriented and confused, often delirious. Two-thirds of those who fall ill usually overcome the disease by this point, and after a few days of rest, they fully recover. The remaining third..."

Just as Ryn was about to describe the third stage of the disease and share his recent findings—specifically, that the root of Bloodroot, a rare and costly herb, can slow the progression of the illness and prolong a patient's life, along with the peculiar observation that none of those who had a Blessing Stone fell ill—a soft knock at the door interrupted him, pulling him away from his writing. He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes with the tips of his fingers. "Come in," he said, his voice weary and drained of energy. It was a long day already.

The door creaked open, revealing a young, fair-haired woman wearing the same brown robe, her green eyes filled with worry. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Professor, but..." she trailed off, swallowing hard.

Ryn frowned at her expression, the creases around his brown eyes deepening. "What is it, Tiana?" he asked, putting down his quill.

"It's... It's the little girl, sir. Again," the assistant replied, her expression grave. "Her father, he's asking for you... more like begging, actually. She's getting worse," she said, her voice quiet and hesitant. "Are we going?"

Ryn sighed heavily and nodded his head. "Yeah. Go grab your stuff, I'll be there in a moment," he muttered, covering his face with his palms. He really hoped that the girl would make it through the second stage without any complications. She didn't deserve this, no one did.

Without another word, Tiana nodded at him and closed the door behind her. A soft murmur and quiet sobs echoed faintly from the hallway as she spoke to the desperate father.

Ryn stared at the half-finished letter before him for a moment, an empty, emotionless gaze in his eyes. The very thing he was just about to write about was something he was going to witness firsthand once again; he didn't want to. Ever since arriving in this godforsaken city, he had spent most of his time tending to the sick, mostly children, using all of his skill and knowledge to help them fight the Black Breath. Because of him, many families arrived in the city with hope in their eyes, thinking that their children could be saved by a man who came all the way from the capital, a scholar from the Guild, no less. Sadly, he failed most of them.

Each time one of them passed away, a small piece of him faded along with them. And now, another child was on the verge of joining countless nameless graves in the fields surrounding the city. With a heavy heart, he stood up, grabbed his medicine bag and warm coat, and stepped out of his study, quietly shutting the door behind him.

...

Once outside, Ryn shivered at the freezing air, his breath fogging before his eyes. The snowstorm raged on, the wind blowing fiercely, the air bitterly cold. Thunder rolled across the skies, the lightning flashes illuminating the city's empty streets, followed closely by a roaring boom that shook the house's windows from all around.

Ryn, Tiana, and the silent father hurried through the narrow, winding streets, their boots sinking into the deep, freshly fallen snow, their coats wrapped tightly around them to shield against the biting wind. The dim, flickering light from the lone lantern clutched in Tiana's trembling hands barely broke through the swirling haze of falling snowflakes. Although both had an affinity for Light, they refrained from using even a trickle of mana to illuminate their way, saving it all for the girl.

Every few steps, a wooden door would flash by in the dim glow, each marked with the same symbol—a simple cross drawn with a piece of charcoal, warning of a death within. Each time they saw it, Ryn's gaze would linger, a pained grimace briefly contorting his pale, tired features, until the door disappeared from sight. 'Ugh... how I wish I could find a damn cave somewhere far away and bury myself in it until all of this is over,' he thought with a heavy sigh, watching the snowflakes swirl in the air before his eyes, the cold air burning his lungs.

A church soon came into view, the occasional flashes of lightning briefly lighting up its tall tower looming over the nearby houses. Built almost two hundred years ago, it was the city's largest and most beautiful building, housing hundreds of sick children and their families. It was a sturdy structure, made of gray stone, with a red roof and stained-glass windows; an arched doorway stood between two pillars, the double doors closed tightly to block the freezing night air.

The creaking of the hinges sounded louder than usual as Ryn pushed the door open, letting Tiana and the father enter before him, then closing it shut and shaking off the snow from his coat. The familiar smell of urine and blood assaulted his nose almost immediately, the sound of crying children and coughing adults filling his ears. The place was packed with people, with almost every available space used to house someone sick.

"Please, hurry, she's getting worse," the father whispered, leading them through the hallway into the main hall, where rows upon rows of beds lined the walls, each separated by a makeshift curtain. The man, a simple farmer, judging by the tattered, torn clothes he was wearing, stopped beside a small cot near the far corner, his shoulders slumping as he looked at the figure lying underneath a pile of blankets. His dirty-blonde hair was disheveled and matted, his sunken eyes red and puffy, a week's worth of stubble covering his cheeks and chin.

— "Oh, little one..." Ryn sighed sadly, sitting beside the girl, whose tiny body was covered in sweat, as if she had been caught in a rainstorm; her blonde hair, identical to her father's, clung to her forehead. No older than five, the child's breathing was rapid and shallow, a network of pulsating veins covering almost every visible part of her body, her lips tinged with a blueish hue. Her once happy, joyful eyes were now dull and empty, gazing aimlessly at the ceiling above, blood trickling down her gaunt face instead of tears.

Without a moment's hesitation, Ryn placed his hand on the girl's forehead and started mumbling something under his breath, the words barely audible, yet repeating in a rhythmic chant. A soft, white glow began to radiate from under his palm, washing over her youthful face, causing her breathing to ease slightly. Ryn could feel the sickness resisting the embrace of his light, its cold tendrils clinging tightly all around her body and refusing to release their grip, no matter what he did to them.

After a minute or so, the glow faded, and Ryn removed his hand, his chest heaving with deep breaths. "What a stubborn thing, this disease..." he muttered, his gaze turning toward the small bowl beside the bed, filled with the black, slimy liquid the girl had coughed up before their arrival.

"Is she... Will she...?" the father whispered, unable to finish the sentence, fearing the answer.

Ryn hesitated momentarily, unsure how to reply, knowing the truth was not what the man wanted to hear. With a grunt, he stood up and faced the farmer, his brown eyes meeting the other man's reddened ones. "I... I don't know. She's fighting hard, but the disease is strong, too," he whispered so only the man could hear him, watching his apprentice sit where he had moments earlier, her gentle hand touching the girl's forehead in the same manner. The light emanated from her fingers, bathing the child in its soft, white glow. "It will ease her pain and help her rest for a while, but I'm afraid that's all," Ryn added, his voice low and filled with regret.

The farmer's lips quivered, tears streaming down his face. Without a word, he patiently waited for Tiana to finish, then sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to take the girl's hand, the child's eyes slowly turning to focus on him. "My little sunshine..." he choked out, a sob escaping his mouth, his voice hoarse and raspy. "I'm so sorry... Your mother... now you... I-I..." he paused, struggling to speak. "I'm so sorry, my sweetheart. It's all my fault."

"D-don't... d-don't cry, Papa," the girl rasped out, her lips turning into a weak smile. "Papa is strong... and he always s-smiles..." she whispered, but a cough overtook her again, dark liquid splattering her already stained nightgown.

Ryn couldn't help but glance away at the heartbreaking sight. His eyes met those of his apprentice, who was now standing beside him, also struggling to hold back tears. She had a hard time adjusting to the harsh reality of the world outside the capital, even more so than Ryn; he gave her a little pat on the shoulder, a weak attempt at comfort.

"If we... give our last bit of bloodroot..." she whispered in a hushed tone, the father too focused on his child to pay attention to their conversation. "Would it give her a chance?" She already knew the answer, but she had to ask.

Ryn shook his head, glancing down at his medicine bag. "Maybe, but only a very small one. Likely will just prolong her agony," he replied, his voice barely audible. "Besides..."

"Yeah, I know. We promised it to the boy," she finished his sentence, chewing her lower lip. Her long eyelashes glistened with tears in the faint light of the candles around them, hiding her green gaze beneath a veil of sadness.

Ryn sighed, grimacing as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes, trying to think of something, anything, that could help. But nothing came to mind. All the herbs and potions he carried were useless in this situation, except for one he had been saving for someone in equally desperate condition, a young boy, who had already passed the second stage of the Black Breath. 'Why is the world so damn cruel?' he wondered, staring at the high ceiling above him, where the paintings of various saints looked down at him with a pious, yet cold, and unyielding gaze.

Until a cure for this disease is found, the only way to fight it is to give the body time to overcome it naturally, and the bloodroot does exactly that. It's the only known herb that, for some reason, slows down the progression of the illness. But sadly, it is also extremely rare, and as a result, expensive, costing more than its weight in gold. Even more now that the disease is spreading and demand has risen drastically, and will likely continue to do so. Which means that only those who can afford it have a real chance of surviving, often those who least deserve to be saved.

After some consideration, Ryn finally came to a decision. Animpossible, horrible one. "Let's give it to her. The boy is older, so maybe..." he trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence as it would be a lie. He felt like the biggest scum ever to walk the land, choosing between one child and another. His eyes flickered to the girl, who was trying her best to comfort her father, despite being the one dying. "Maybe boy's father can afford another one... This little one deserves a chance," he added after a brief pause, a bitter taste forming in his mouth.

"O-okay..." Tiana nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, sniffling quietly. "I'll, umm... go prepare it."

Ryn nodded, watching as she took his bag and left toward the small room in the back, a kitchen, where a fireplace burned day and night, water boiling inside. It shouldn't take too long. He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, his eyes focusing on the girl and her father, who were quietly whispering to each other.

A few minutes later, Tiana returned, carrying a steaming mug of dark, bitter-smelling liquid. "Here, this should help her," she said, placing the mug on the nightstand beside the bed. She kneeled beside the child and began helping her sit up. The father held the girl's frail body, supporting her back and neck, and then Tiana put the cup to the girl's pale lips, letting her take small sips between the coughs.

"What's that?" the farmer asked, his brows furrowing, looking at them with a puzzled expression, his sunken, red eyes darting between Ryn and his apprentice.

Not wanting to give the man false hope, Ryn shook his head. "Just some herbal tea. It should help her breathe a bit easier," he muttered, keeping his eyes glued to the girl.

"I see," the father muttered, his face turning into a sad frown. "Thank you... for everything," he whispered, looking down at his daughter, his hand gently stroking her damp, blonde hair.

Ryn didn't reply, just kept watching the child, whose coughing eased slightly, the color slowly returning to her face. Once she finished drinking, she slumped back against the pillows, her eyelids growing heavy. "We will visit you two tomorrow, first thing in the morning," he told the father, reaching out to grab his medicine bag from Tiana's hands. "If anything happens, you know where to find us. Take care," he added in a low voice, giving the man a small, sympathetic nod.

"Do I-I... owe you anything?" the man asked hesitantly, reaching into his pants pocket.

But Ryn shook his head, gesturing for him to stop. "Better buy her some fruits or honey if you can," he said, patting him on the shoulder, and then turning to leave. A quiet "Gods bless you" followed him out of the curtain, the words almost inaudible.

With sad smiles, Ryn and Tiana left the man behind, their steps echoing quietly through the hall, the sound of crying children and moaning adults fading with each step. When they stepped out of the hall and were out of sight, Tiana spoke in a low voice, "Sir... we should tell the boy's father that we don't have any more bloodroot left, so that he can start looking for it."

Ryn grunted in agreement, feeling the cold air creeping in through the wooden door leading outside. "Indeed. Let's find him before we leave," he muttered, passing by the heavy door and turning toward the stairs at the end of the hallway, leading toward the rooms on the second floor. Muffled coughs and groans of pain could be heard through the doors lining the corridor, each one a tragedy of its own.

However, one particular door was slightly different. Instead of sobbing or groaning, a quiet and barely audible prayer could be heard through the door, a familiar man's voice. "...I did lots of wrong in my life, I know that. I don't deserve your mercy, nor forgiveness. But please... help the boy. Take me instead if you must, just save my son. I beg of you," the voice pleaded, deep and rough, sounding exhausted beyond belief.

"Umm... sir?" Tiana whispered, nudging him gently.

— "Yeah, right. Sorry," Ryn mumbled, shaking his head and knocking twice. The prayer immediately stopped, replaced by the shuffling of feet and the creaking of the bed. A moment later, the door opened, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man, his dark hair reaching his shoulders, graying slightly at the temples.

The moment his golden eyes met Ryn's, he knew it wouldn't be an easy conversation. "Professor Kraine, Miss," Haldor said, giving them a polite nod, his face devoid of emotion, just pure exhaustion. Dressed in simple black trousers, leather boots, and a brown tunic, he looked much the same as the last time they met.

Behind him, on a narrow bed, was a young boy, maybe eleven or twelve at most, his breathing heavy and labored, dark locks plastered against his forehead. Once golden eyes, identical to his father's, were now dull and bloody, sunken deeply into his sweaty, pale face. The lack of veins on his face told Ryn that the boy still had some time, unlike the girl. "Something wrong?" the man asked, noticing the troubled expressions on Ryn's and Tiana's faces.

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