The village was quiet, but it didn't feel peaceful. Soft coughs floated from open windows, and pale faces peeked from doorways. For eight days, I had helped Porlyusica gather herbs, follow her directions, carry bundles, watch her hands move with that sharp, precise care. We had done what we could, but now I realized it was only the surface—letting people breathe easier, easing their aches. It wasn't the real cure.
Porlyusica moved through the houses, her hands steady, her eyes scanning each person. There was no scolding, no impatience, just sharp focus. Every slight tremor, every shallow breath, she noticed.
I felt the familiar hum beneath my skin. My magic was there again—not healing, not controlling—but helping me move carefully, pass ingredients steadily, and keep my mind sharp. I didn't think about it. I just felt it, and it made everything I did steadier, more precise.
"Arashi," she said, her voice soft but firm, "we're doing the proper medicine now. Follow me exactly."
I nodded. This was it—the moment when we actually tried to heal them, not just ease their pain.
We moved house to house, preparing poultices and teas exactly as she instructed. I mixed, measured, and passed herbs. She tasted each batch, adjusted a pinch here, a leaf there. I didn't second-guess her; I just followed.
I could see the difference almost immediately. Breathing steadier. Color returning. Small smiles flickering on pale lips. My magic pulsed faintly, keeping my hands calm and steady as I worked. It was subtle, almost invisible, but it made a difference.
By midday, nearly every villager had received the treatment. Some were even laughing quietly, coughing less, their steps a little lighter. Relief spread through me like sunlight through the clouds.
Then, I remembered the rare plant she had described weeks ago. My curiosity got the better of me.
"Porlyusica," I said carefully, "the plant you mentioned… will it help the villagers too?"
Her gaze met mine, sharp but thoughtful. A little hesitation, then a small nod.
"We'll look for it later," she said, her tone firm. "It's important… but not today. Right now, these people need us more."
I swallowed, my hands tightening around the satchel. I didn't know why the plant was so important, or who it would help, but I understood. It was a promise waiting to be fulfilled—a goal for the future.
As we finished the last house, I glanced at the villagers. Breathing easier, color returning, tiny smiles appearing here and there. The weight pressing on my chest felt lighter. My magic hummed faintly beneath my skin, a quiet echo of hope.
Porlyusica gave me a small nod, almost like a secret acknowledgment. Not a teacher praising a student, not an adult patting a child on the head—but a simple, silent approval that I had done what was necessary.
I knew this wasn't the end. Tomorrow, we would continue. And later… I might finally understand why that rare plant was so important.
For now, we had done enough. The villagers were safe, breathing easier. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt a spark of something more—adventure, danger, the next step.
But today… today we healed.
Author Puff: Hello readers, I found my story too soulless, so I tried to include some humor. I hope you like it; just see it as stress that his whole village almost died.
Morning came quietly.
No dramatic sunrise. No sudden miracle.
Just pale light slipping through the wooden shutters and the familiar smell of damp soil and boiled herbs.
I was already awake.
Dad was still lying on the cot, breathing slow and shallow. Better than before. Not good—but not getting worse. That mattered. I leaned closer, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest like it might suddenly decide to stop just to spite me.
"…You know," I muttered softly, rubbing my eyes, "if you're planning to scare me again, at least give me a warning first."
No response.
"…Right. Still not funny."
I straightened and stretched, my muscles complaining quietly. The faint vibration under my skin was there like always—nothing dramatic, just enough to make moving feel… possible. It had become so normal that I only noticed it when I stopped.
Outside, the village was already stirring.
Not lively. Just awake.
Doors opened slowly. People moved like they were afraid of breaking themselves. Miko sat on the steps across the path, coughing into her sleeve. Taro tried to carry a bucket and gave up halfway, setting it down with a sigh that sounded too heavy for someone his age.
The medicine Porlyusica had helped prepare yesterday was working—but only barely. It eased breathing. Reduced the pressure. Bought time.
It didn't fix anything.
Yet.
I stepped outside and took a breath of the cool air. Clouds hung low, gray but thin. No rain. Not today.
"Good," I muttered. "One less thing to worry about."
Porlyusica was already at the edge of the village.
Of course she was.
She knelt near a bundle of herbs laid out on cloth, inspecting them with the same sharp focus she always had. Pink hair tied back, sleeves rolled up, expression unreadable.
She glanced up when she heard my footsteps.
"You're late," she said.
"I know," I replied. "I was busy not letting my father die."
She stared at me.
"…That was a joke," I added quickly. "A bad one. Sorry."
She turned back to the herbs. "You should eat."
"I did."
"When?"
"…Define 'eat.'"
A pause.
Then—barely noticeable—she exhaled through her nose.
I took that as a win.
I crouched beside her and started sorting the plants the way she'd shown me. Hands steady. Careful not to bruise anything. My body moved almost on its own now, small vibrations helping me keep balance when I shifted weight.
"You didn't take the medicine," she said without looking at me.
"I don't need it."
"That wasn't a question."
"I know." I shrugged. "But my body's doing… whatever it does. You said yesterday it wasn't fighting the illness, just holding steady."
"That's unusual," she replied flatly. "But not impossible."
"So I'm not a miracle."
"No."
"…Good."
She finally looked at me. "You sound relieved."
"I am."
She returned to her work.
For a while, we didn't speak.
The rhythm was familiar now. Pass a bundle. Set it aside. Discard the wilted leaves. Wrap the usable ones carefully. Around us, villagers rested in doorways or lay on blankets in the shade, breathing a little easier than yesterday but still far from well.
This wasn't recovery.
This was survival.
After a while, Porlyusica spoke again.
"The medicine you helped prepare yesterday will keep them stable for a few days," she said. "That's all."
I nodded. "That's what I thought."
"You're not surprised."
"I'd be worried if you told me it was that easy."
She paused, studying me. "You're an odd child."
"I've heard."
"No." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You listen when you should be panicking."
"I panic later," I said. "Usually when no one's watching."
That earned me another quiet pause.
By midday, the village looked… less fragile. Not better—just less like it might collapse if someone sneezed too hard. People could sit up. Talk. Drink on their own.
Dad managed to sit outside for a while, wrapped in a blanket, watching me with tired but clear eyes.
I walked over and crouched in front of him.
"You look terrible," I said seriously.
He blinked. "…That's your idea of comfort?"
"I was going to lie, but I figured we'd both notice."
He let out a weak laugh that turned into a cough. I placed my hands lightly on his shoulders without thinking. The familiar hum flowed—soft, steady. Not healing. Just easing the strain.
"…You're getting better at that," he murmured.
"I practice on myself," I replied. "Mostly when I'm stressed."
"So… always?"
"…Pretty much."
He smiled faintly. "I'm proud of you."
That hit harder than I expected.
I looked away. "Don't say things like that out of nowhere."
"I'll say them when I want."
"Unfair."
Porlyusica watched us from a distance.
She didn't interrupt.
Later, when the sun began to dip and shadows stretched long across the fields, the sound of footsteps reached the village road.
Heavy ones.
I looked up just as Garron emerged between the trees, pack slung over his shoulder, face drawn tight with worry.
He froze when he saw the village.
"…I came back too late," he muttered.
"No," I said quickly, standing. "You didn't."
He looked at me—really looked—and then at the people sitting up, talking quietly.
"You helped," he said.
"We all did," I replied.
Porlyusica approached then, finally standing. "You're the hunter," she said.
Garron stiffened. "You're… not from around here."
"No."
He nodded once. "Figures."
The three of us stood there for a moment, the weight of the last days settling.
That night, Porlyusica finally spoke to Dad directly.
Not gently. Not harshly. Just honest.
"The illness hasn't passed," she said. "Your people will recover slowly if nothing worsens. But this isn't something I can fully treat here."
Dad listened. Quiet. Thoughtful.
"And my son?" he asked.
Porlyusica glanced at me. "He's… unusual. His body adapts instead of resisting. I don't know why. But it's helping him endure."
Dad was silent for a long time.
Then he said quietly, "If staying here limits him… I won't be the one to hold him back."
I felt my breath hitch.
"What?" I said. "No—wait, that's not—"
"Not now," Dad added calmly. "Just… something to think about."
Porlyusica turned away. "Rest," she said. "All of you."
That night, I lay awake longer than usual.
Bad jokes didn't come.
Neither did panic.
Just thoughts. Slow. Heavy.
Tomorrow, we'd keep working.
Tomorrow, we'd look for the plant she mentioned—rare, stubborn, not something you find by accident.
Tomorrow, things would change.
I stared at the ceiling and muttered quietly, "I really need better timing."
Outside, Date Village breathed—still weak, but alive.
And that, for now, was enough.