First Step in the new World

James lay motionless on the bed, his body sinking into the mattress as the fever weighed heavily on him. His forehead glistened with sweat, and his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Every now and then, a cough rattled his chest, leaving him more exhausted than before. Despite the discomfort, the warmth of the blankets and the relative peace of the room allowed him to find a semblance of rest. He closed his eyes, his thoughts wandering to Ofelia.

When she gets back, I'll have her ask Marlin for chicken noodle soup, he thought groggily, a faint smile tugging at his lips. That's always the best remedy for a cold. A little rest, some soup, and I'll be fine. Comforted by the idea, he let himself drift into a light sleep, the fever pulling him into strange, fragmented dreams.

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The sudden crash of the door being kicked open shattered the silence of the room. The noise jolted James awake, his heart pounding as his eyes snapped open. His vision swam, his ears rang, a migraine was attacking him and for a moment, he couldn't tell if he was dreaming or awake. Blinking rapidly, he tried to focus, his eyes filled with drowsy tears, but all he could make out were dark, blurry shapes rushing into the room. He tried to wipe his teary eyes, but he was tangled in his blanket, shaking it off frantically.

"Wha—what's going on?" he croaked, his voice hoarse and barely audible. Panic started to set in as his mind struggled to process the situation. Am I being attacked?

The figures moved closer, their movements swift and purposeful. His fevered mind couldn't make sense of their actions, and the haze of sleep and sickness left him feeling sluggish and vulnerable. His ears kept ringing, but he was almost certain one of the shapes barked a command, their voice sharp and unfamiliar: '...You two, hold him down.'

Before James could react, two of the figures lunged at him. The first grabbed his shoulders, forcing him back down onto the bed with an unrelenting grip. The weight of the hold pinned his arms, rendering him helpless. The second figure seized his legs, pressing them firmly against the mattress. James struggled weakly, but his body was too drained to resist.

"Stop! What are you—" he tried to protest, but his words were cut short by his own coughing. His throat burned, and his voice cracked as panic surged through his chest. His breaths became rapid and shallow, his fear growing as he realized how completely immobilized he was.

Why can't I move? What are they doing? Are they here to kidnap me? Torture me? Kill me? The questions raced through his mind as adrenaline and terror battled against his fevered exhaustion. He squinted through the blur, trying to make out the faces of his attackers, but all he could see were vague silhouettes.

"...Open.... mouth,...." the commanding voice barked.

A hand grabbed his jaw roughly, the fingers digging into his skin as they forced his mouth open. James tried to twist his head away, but the grip was unrelenting. His heart pounded in his ears, and he let out a muffled noise of protest, his voice lost beneath the fear and confusion.

Then, something cold and bitter was poured into his mouth. The liquid hit the back of his throat, and he gagged, his body instinctively trying to reject it. The taste was sharp and medicinal, burning faintly as it slid down his throat. He tried to spit it out, but a hand clamped over his mouth, forcing him to swallow. His throat convulsed as he gulped down the liquid, his body shaking with the effort.

"Stop! Please!" he tried to shout, but the words never escaped his lips. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes as the bitter concoction made its way to his stomach, leaving a sickening warmth in its wake.

The moment the last drop was forced down, the hands released him. James slumped back onto the bed, gasping for air as his body trembled violently. His head spun, and his limbs felt heavy, as though they no longer belonged to him. Desperately, he tried to focus on the figures above him, his blurred vision narrowing to the vague outlines of their forms.

"Who are you?" he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. "What… are you doing…?"

None of the figures seems to answered him. Instead, James felt an unnatural warmth begin to spread through his body. It started in his chest and radiated outward, a heat that was both comforting and alarming. His thoughts became sluggish, his panic fading as an overwhelming wave of drowsiness washed over him. His vision darkened, and his body grew heavier with each passing moment.

He managed one final thought before the darkness claimed him: Why is this happening? Why are they trying to hurt me?

The last thing James felt was his body sinking deeper into the mattress, his fevered mind unable to hold on any longer. The room blurred into shadow, and his consciousness faded into nothingness.

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Ofelia ran through the village streets as though her life depended on it—though in truth, it wasn't her life but James's. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in frantic gasps as the chill morning air burned her lungs. The world around her blurred into a smear of cobblestones, walls, and vague shapes of villagers. Every thought in her mind was consumed by one thing: James needs help. If I don't hurry, it'll be too late.

Ofelia was remembering the last time she saw him. He lay motionless, his face pale and drenched in sweat. His chest rose and fell in shallow, labored breaths, his lips slightly parted as though he were struggling to pull in air. The blankets were tangled around his body, and his face, usually so full of life, was slack and lifeless. He looked… broken.

Behind her, Hegor's heavy boots thudded against the ground, and the alchemist followed at a brisk pace, his satchel of supplies clinking with every step. Ofelia barely noticed them, her focus solely on getting back to the inn. Her legs burned with effort, but she didn't slow down, didn't stop.

They reached the inn in what felt like both an instant and an eternity. Ofelia shoved the door open with such force that it slammed into the wall, the loud crack echoing through the quiet common room. Several patrons turned their heads in surprise, but Ofelia didn't care. Without a word, she bolted up the stairs, her feet pounding against the wooden steps. Hegor and the alchemist followed close behind, their expressions tense as they exchanged brief, concerned glances.

At the top of the stairs, Ofelia reached James's door. Her trembling hands didn't hesitate—she pushed the door open with all her strength. The wood hit the wall with a deafening bang, rattling the frame as it bounced slightly."Wha—what's going on?" James croaked his voice hoarse and barely audible.

"James!" she cried, her voice filled with panic, rushing to his side. Behind her, Hegor and the alchemist entered the room. The cold air from the hallway rushed in, and as it swept over James, his body began to convulse.

His arms and legs jerked violently, his head turning sharply to the side as though trying to escape something unseen. His chest heaved as his breathing turned erratic, and his eyes, though closed, darted back and forth beneath his lids.

Ofelia froze, paralyzed with fear, her hand hovering helplessly over him. "What's happening to him? What's wrong?" she cried, her voice breaking.

The alchemist stepped forward, his sharp gaze fixed on James. His expression hardened as he muttered under his breath, "It's a seizure… we're too late."

Those words were like a dagger to Ofelia's chest. Her knees buckled, and for a moment, she thought she might collapse. "No!" she screamed, spinning to face the alchemist. "You can't say that! Help him! Please, help him!"

The alchemist ignored her, his voice sharp as he barked out orders. "You two, hold him down. Now!"

Hegor moved without hesitation, stepping to James's side and gripping his shoulders firmly. The veins in his arms bulged as he used all his strength to keep James's upper body still, while James continue his struggle. "Ofelia, his legs!" he shouted, his voice snapping her out of her panicked daze.

With shaking hands, she moved to the foot of the bed. James's legs kicked violently, his body wracked with uncontrollable tremors. She placed her hands on his legs, pressing down with all her weight. The force of his convulsions made her arms ache, but she held on, her tears falling freely now. "James… please," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Please stay with me."

The alchemist worked quickly, pulling two vials from his satchel. One contained a pale blue liquid, a very strong sedative, and the other a deep red substance a very good Febrifuge to control the fever, that seemed to shimmer faintly. With practiced precision, he uncorked both vials and poured their contents into a small mixing flask. He shook the flask vigorously, the liquids combining to form a cloudy purple mixture.

"Open his mouth," he commanded, his voice steady despite the tension in the room.

Hegor hesitated, his face pale and his jaw tight. He glanced down at James, his expression a mixture of fear and determination. "Hold him steady," he muttered to Ofelia before using one hand to grip James's jaw. He pried it open gently but firmly, his other hand still pressing down on James's shoulders.

The alchemist stepped closer, holding the flask above James's open mouth. "Tilt his head back," he instructed, and Hegor complied. Then, without hesitation, the alchemist poured the purple liquid into James's throat.

James reacted immediately, his body jerking as the bitter mixture hit the back of his throat. He gagged, his chest heaving as though he might vomit. His eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, wide and wild, but they were unfocused and glassy. He let out a muffled noise of protest, but the alchemist clamped a hand over his mouth.

"He has to swallow it," the alchemist said sharply, his eyes narrowing.

James's throat convulsed, his body trembling as he was forced to gulp down the mixture. The room was silent except for the sound of his labored breathing and the occasional cough as the potion went down.

Finally, the alchemist stepped back, nodding at Hegor and Ofelia. "Let him go," he said.

They released him cautiously, and James's body slumped back onto the mattress, motionless except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Ofelia knelt beside him, her trembling hands brushing against his sweat-soaked hair. "James?" she whispered. "Can you hear me?"

His eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, she thought he might respond. His lips moved faintly, and a weak, slurred voice rasped, "Who… who are you? What… are you doing?"

Before she could answer, his body went still. His eyes rolled back slightly, and he exhaled a shaky breath before falling unconscious.

The alchemist stared down at him, his face impassive. "He's entering the delirium phase," he said coldly. "His brain is already fried. He's as good as dead." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked toward the door. "I'm sorry. Good day."

Hegor stood frozen for a moment, his broad shoulders slumped as though the weight of the world had fallen on him. His lips parted, but no words came. He turned to Ofelia, his face pale and his eyes red with emotion. "I… I'm sorry, lass," he said quietly, his voice thick with grief. "When… when this is over, come find me. I'll take you in. You won't be left alone on the street."

Without another word, he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Ofelia sat motionless for a long moment, her emerald eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears as they stayed fixed on James's face. Her trembling hands clenched the fabric of her shirt, knuckles white, as her breathing grew shallow and uneven. Then, as the full weight of the alchemist's words crashed over her, the dam inside her broke. A wail of anguish escaped her lips, raw and broken, as she collapsed onto the bed beside James.

Her sobs came in violent waves, shaking her fragile frame as she buried her face against his chest, her tears soaking through the fabric of his shirt. She clung to him as if letting go would mean losing him forever, her fingers gripping his arm desperately. Her thoughts spiraled in a torrent of pain and helplessness.

He's the only one who ever cared. The only one who gave me a home, feed me, who showed me kindness. He can't die. He just can't.

Time became meaningless as she wept, her anguish filling the room like a palpable force. The daylight streaming through the window dimmed, but Ofelia barely noticed. Her throat ached from crying, her chest felt hollow, and yet the tears wouldn't stop. Each breath she took was ragged, a painful reminder of the possibility of losing the one person who had brought light into her otherwise dark existence.

As the hours dragged on, her body began to falter under the weight of her grief. Her sobs grew quieter, the heaving of her shoulders slowing. Exhaustion overtook her at last, and she curled up beside James, her slender frame pressed close to his. Her head rested gently on his chest, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing offering a fragile sense of solace.

She wrapped her arms around him, as though her embrace could shield him from the cruel fate the alchemist had foretold. For what might be the last time, she allowed herself the comfort of his presence, the scent of his skin, the warmth of his body. Her tears dried slowly as her mind and body succumbed to sleep, her last waking thought a silent plea to whatever force might be listening.

Please… don't take him away from me.