Morning mist hugged the villa like a lingering ghost. Elric stood barefoot in the courtyard, watching the chickens peck lazily at the ground. His robe hung loosely around him, ink stains blotched near the cuffs.
Lira approached quietly, holding a bundle of cloth in her arms.
"You asked for these, Your Highness."
He took them—a set of worn towels, a threadbare blanket, and what looked like a long-unused apron. "Perfect," he said, already turning away.
"Um... if I may ask," she said, hesitant, "why do you need old cloths?"
Elric didn't stop. "To prevent death."
She blinked.
"I'm making sothing," he added, "that can clean wounds better than any potion. But I need fabric that won't fall apart when boiled."
He disappeared into the villa before she could respond.
---
Inside, his study had transford into a bizarre workshop. Herbal dust floated in the air like pollen. A kettle hissed over fla, next to a pot of bubbling fat and ash—his second attempt at making soap with a stronger lye base.
On the table: several fruit slices with neat cuts, so turning black with mold, others still fresh—thanks to a thin salve he'd developed from basilisk leaf oil.
He scribbled notes furiously.
Observation #12: Mold slowed in presence of basilisk oil. Possible antibacterial property. Further tests needed.
"Still too slow," he muttered.
Just then, a knock.
"Enter," Elric called.
Lira stepped in, her nose wrinkling. "It slls like... burnt eggs and tree bark in here."
"Excellent. That ans it's working."
She walked up to the table, watching as he dabbed his mixture onto a cut fruit slice. "You're not just trying to heal people," she said slowly. "You're trying to... understand life."
Elric glanced at her, impressed. "You're smarter than most court scholars."
She flushed. "I just... observe."
He nodded, then pointed to the edge of the table. "There. That bowl. Take it to the kitchen and heat it—don't spill a drop."
She obeyed without question.
And as she left, Elric leaned back in his chair.
He couldn't tell her he used to practice dicine in a world of steel and glass, where lives were saved by machines and microscopes. He couldn't explain germ theory or intravenous drips. But maybe he didn't have to.
All he needed was proof.
If he could save a single life here—just one—his words would carry weight.
---
That evening, a knock ca at the villa gates. A noblewoman, disheveled and panicked, stood outside holding her young son. The boy was feverish, trembling, and barely conscious.
The local physician was away. And soone had whispered about a strange young prince in the hills who was building sothing... odd.
Lira opened the door. Her eyes widened.
"Prince Elric," she called. "We have... soone."
Elric walked into the courtyard, his gaze settling on the boy. One glance told him enough—heatstroke and infection, maybe more. He turned back toward the villa.
"Bring him inside. Quickly."
---
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