Damaviena

Fríġdâ, the 27th of Ostaramonað in the year 267

The vardo creaked forward, cutting through the bleak atmosphere of the day, its lanterns illuminating the encroaching shadow cast by the heavy, brooding clouds that hung low over the parish. William sat atop a cushioned chair on the platform, his gaze fixed on the distorted outlines of buildings and structures that loomed closer with each passing moment. Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a flicker atop a distant hill; flames danced among tall standing stones, casting a ghostly light upon an ancient temple that glared down ominously at the settlement below.

As the vardo rolled on, Alaric and Marko stepped out into the chill of the day.
“I’ve surveyed ahead,” Alaric announced, a hint of frustration in his tone. “And we’ll be stopping just on the edge. Unfortunately, the vardo isn’t getting through the street. I’m not sure how horse and carts manage it.”

William nodded thoughtfully. “So our visit will be to the latest survivor?”

“Yes, Madeline Mikaelson,” Alaric continued, leaning forward slightly. “What I can tell from the information gathered by the Magisterium is that she is forty-six years old and a widow. Her husband was Pietr Mikaelson, and he, too, was a victim.”

Silence settled over them momentarily as William contemplated the information. He turned his gaze to the nearby buildings; their simple façades hid the hardships inside. Alaric took a seat beside him, sensing William’s introspection.

“How deceptive this is,” William remarked. “I mean, it looks like a quaint life, but in reality, I suppose it is harsh and taxing. Though is any existence truly easy? Do we not all have burdens we must shoulder? Although some more privileged individuals make their burdens lighter. Does that make them lesser?”

Alaric shrugged, a wry grin creeping across his face. “I don’t know. You’re my maker, so you tell me.”

William chuckled softly. “True, though that doesn’t mean I have all the answers, especially when you consider how I begot you.”

“Maker?” Marko echoed, a look of confusion washing over his features.

Both William and Alaric turned to face him, their expressions a mix of amusement and surprise.

“Yes, Alaric is my begotten son,” William explained, observing Marko’s puzzled expression. “In essence, I created Alaric from me, and thus, he’s my son. And you could argue that he’s my clone, and to some degree, that may be true, except I mixed enough of the essentials to create a distinct being from me.”

Marko nodded slowly, still wrestling with the abstract concept but willing to accept the extraordinary revelation. After all, William was a messenger of Kanum, a rare gift, not often seen by parish-folk.

William’s gaze drifted back to the hill, where the temple loomed like a stern judge, a persistent reminder of authority. ‘To have a simple belief system,’ he mused. ‘If these people truly knew the complexity of the divine, their heads would explode.’

Minutes slipped away in contemplative silence as they descended to the outskirts of the settlement, finally coming to a stop. After disembarking, they made their way along the rough, uneven path, flanked by stone buildings in an array of colours, shapes, and sizes, each telling its own silent story.

They walked for nearly twenty minutes through a labyrinth of streets that seemed to William like an erratic design, an intricate chaos that made no sense. Eventually, they arrived at a narrow thoroughfare, where he paused to inspect the slate-coloured stone of a small house before him, its lifeless walls seeming to stare back with an emotionless gaze. ‘I cannot imagine living in a place like this,’ William thought, shaking his head slightly. ‘Even Sänchestæn isn’t this dreary and certainly not this chaotic.’

The crooked, uninviting wooden slats of the window next to the front door hung slightly ajar, likely the result of the timber warping from years of weathering. The narrow street outside was lined with an array of buildings that stood like weary sentinels, some teetering precariously as if defying gravity. At the same time, the uneven stones beneath his feet made each step a careful negotiation.

Marko rapped his knuckles against the door, and though William could hear the soft stirrings of movement from within, nothing materialised in response. After a moment’s pause, Marko knocked again, his impatience evident; a series of muffled noises echoed from behind the shutters, yet still no one appeared. Marko delivered a third rap, more forceful this time, and low mutterings began to rise, thick with trepidation.

Finally, with a reluctant click, the door creaked open. William’s gaze was drawn to a man who stood at the threshold, his height matching William’s, but with dark, puffy eyes that seemed to sink into his pallid, colourless face. The man’s thin frame looked almost frail, and his murky, tattered clothes hinted at neglect.

“Alexi,” Marko said, attempting a diplomatic tone, “I’m, er, on official business.”

Alexi’s cold glare met Marko’s, an expression tinged with resentment and fatigue. “Uhm, Mama is ill,” he replied curtly.

Marko nodded solemnly, his expression softening with understanding.

“We’re busy at the moment. Leave.” Alexi’s voice cracked slightly on the last word, betraying the exhaustion beneath his hostility. With that, he swiftly shut the door, the finality of the action hanging thick in the air.

Marko stood, momentarily stunned, staring at the weathered planks. He turned to William, his eyes widening in a silent plea for intervention.

William sighed, a mixture of exasperation and determination coursing through him. “That went well,” he muttered before stepping forward and knocking loudly, the sound echoing through the stillness. This time, a frustrated rattling erupted from behind the shutter, followed by the door suddenly flinging open.

“I SAID …” Alexi’s voice faltered as he jumped in shock at the sight of William, whose imposing gaze pierced through Alexi’s bravado.

“Alexi, I am Lord William. I do not appreciate your tone and action,” William stated firmly, watching as colour drained from Alexi’s face, leaving it a ghostly white. “I am here to investigate the attacks that happened, and my investigation must commence immediately, beginning with your mother. Further, Marko did express that he was here on official business, which, for your information, pertains to me.”

Alexi swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. Behind him, William could see into the dim interior, three two-seater couches arranged in a peculiar square, their upholstery worn threadbare and stained with years of use. The stuffing poked through in places like exposed bone. Beside one of the couches rested a small table, upon which a wilting plant struggled for life in a cracked clay pot. A small stove fire crackled weakly, barely pushing back the chill that seeped through gaps in the walls. The air that drifted out carried the sour-sweet stench of illness, unwashed bodies, and chamber pots that hadn’t been emptied often enough.

William stepped closer, and Alexi instinctively recoiled. “I have informed you why I am here,” William pressed, his voice steady yet insistent. “Please take me to your mother.”

With a reluctant nod, Alexi scurried off towards the corridor, casting nervous glances back as if expecting William to strike him. William and Alaric followed closely behind. The narrow passageway was lit by a solitary gas lamp that flickered weakly in the middle, its flame so low it offered little comfort against the pervasive dullness. The walls were bare stone, damp with condensation that trickled down in thin rivulets. As they passed, William’s sharp eyes scanned the two rooms flanking the corridor. The first was cramped and contained a single bed with a straw mattress so thin he could see the wooden slats beneath. The second, a slightly larger room, was dimly lit, with a window similar to the one by the front door, its shutters warped and ill-fitting, allowing drafts to whistle through. Underneath this window, he noted two beds pressed tightly together, their blankets rumpled and pitifully thin, hinting at restless nights and the desperate attempt to share what little warmth remained.

The smell grew stronger here, the acrid tang of fever-sweat, the metallic hint of blood, and something else, something rotting from within.

William’s gaze fell on the gaunt face of a woman lying on the makeshift cot, her appearance alarming in its severity. Her cheekbones jutted sharply beneath skin the colour of old parchment, stretched so tight it seemed translucent. Her wide, hollow eyes seemed to glare back at him, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were vacant and nearly lifeless, staring at something beyond this world. Her lips were cracked and bleeding, tightly pursed as if even breathing caused pain. The blanket covering her was threadbare, patched multiple times with mismatched fabric, and still it wasn’t enough; he could see her shivering despite the sheen of sweat on her brow.

‘Oh my,’ he gasped inwardly, a chill racing down his spine, ‘she looks dead.’

Nearby, a young woman, Anna, gently dampened the woman’s forehead with a cloth so worn it was nearly transparent. Her hands trembled as she moved the rag to Madeline’s cracked lips. Anna’s face was drawn, her eyes bloodshot and ringed with dark circles that spoke of nights without sleep. Her hair hung in lank, unwashed strands, and her dress, once perhaps a cheerful colour, was now faded and stained with the evidence of her vigil: blood, sweat, and the yellowish residue of sickness.

‘Where is the doctor?’ William thought, the unsettling realisation striking him. ‘Oh, no, they don’t have medical professionals.’ The thick air in the dimly lit room was heavy with the palpable dread of the survivor’s deteriorating condition, and the helplessness of those watching her slip away.

Out of the corner of his eye, William noticed a young boy, Nikolai, huddled in the shadows of the room, his wide eyes fixed on William. The child’s expression wavered between fear and desperate hope, as if this stranger might be their last chance. His small frame was pressed against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees, making himself as small as possible. His clothes hung loose on his thin body, and his bare feet were dirty and cold against the stone floor.

Anna stepped back from the cot, nervously fidgeting with the damp cloth as her gaze shifted from the woman to William. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, as if she were on the verge of breaking down entirely. The silence was punctuated only by the hissing of the gas lamps and the ragged, heaving breaths of the gaunt figure before them, each inhalation a rattling struggle, each exhalation a wheeze that seemed to take more from her than she could afford to give.

“Anna, may I enquire about how she is doing?” William asked gently, trying to draw her back from her palpable panic. She dropped the cloth, her eyes now locked onto his with an intensity that spoke volumes about her worry and her terror that speaking the truth aloud might somehow make it final. “Any improvement? Is she eating?”

Anna didn’t respond; she stood frozen, her lips pressed together as if any utterance might shatter her composure. Her hands twisted in her apron, wringing the fabric until her knuckles went white. He could sense the terror emanating from her, the way her widened eyes pleaded for hope yet found none. She looked like a woman standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing she was about to fall.

From the side, a soft voice broke through the heavy silence. “Uhm… uhm … she’s not eating, sir,” said Alexi, the young man who’d answered the door. He stood near the corner, one hand protectively on Nikolai’s shoulder, glancing briefly at his mother before returning his gaze to William. His jaw was clenched so tight William could see the muscles jumping beneath the skin.

William turned toward him, adopting a more reassuring tone. “Since the attack?” he asked, searching for clarity.

Alexi’s hand trembled at his side, and he hesitated. “Uhm, no, uhm…” he stammered, his voice thick with unshed tears.

“She, she was eating for a few days,” Anna interjected, her voice breaking. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to hold herself together. “Uhm, then she had an … an episode, and uhm ….” She pulled a rag from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes, her bloodshot gaze revealing the strain of sleepless nights spent watching her mother die by inches.

“And took a t-t-t-turn for the worse,” Alexi continued, the weight of sorrow evident in the way he slumped against the wall, as if his legs could barely hold him upright anymore. “And she’s been like this ever since.” His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “We thought… we thought she was getting better. And then…”

He couldn’t finish. Nikolai pressed closer against his brother’s side, silent tears streaming down his dirty cheeks.

William moved closer, an air of determination surrounding him. The floorboards creaked under his weight, and he could feel the cold radiating up from the stone beneath. “Interesting,” he murmured, settling beside the gaunt woman, Madeline, as he now remembered her name. He placed his hand against her forehead, recoiling slightly at the coolness that greeted him, not the coolness of health, but the clammy chill of a body losing its battle. Her skin felt papery, as if it might tear at the slightest pressure. “She’s clammy,” he noted, his voice carefully neutral even as alarm bells rang in his mind.

Disengaging, he turned to Alaric, the only man he trusted in this desperate situation. “Have a physician come here urgently. I fear we will need to stabilise her before we can move her.”

William grasped Madeline’s wrist, his fingers lightly pinching the fragile skin as he felt the rapid pulse thrumming beneath. Tachycardia, he thought, a term he had learned all too well in his studies. “Can we brighten the room? We will need some proper light in here,” he insisted, his mind racing through potential solutions.

Alexi straightened, glancing at the two gas lamps hanging forlornly on the wall. “Uhm, the lights are full,” he replied, uncertain.

William frowned, inspecting the flickering flames that barely rose two inches. “Well, that isn’t good. We must have sufficient lighting in here to work properly. I think, yes, I will have temporary lights installed,” he declared, frustration and urgency etching his features. He turned back to Alexi, his tone softening slightly. “Is there any access to the backyard, and how big is it?”

Alexi nodded slowly, his eyes darting to the corner where a gate stood. “Er… uhm, yeah. There is a gate to give access. The… the toilet is out there. The yard itself is about ten feet,” he explained, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the gravity of the moment.

William stood resolutely, turning to Alaric with urgency. “Have a gateway established in the backyard,” he commanded, his voice steady yet imbued with a sense of gravity. “Connect it directly to the Magisterium core, to facilitate our operation and allow medical treatment to be swiftly rendered.”

Alaric nodded, his brow furrowing in concentration. “In progress,” he replied, glancing around the dimly lit room with its worn furniture and flickering gas lamps. “I think we’ll need to address Madeline’s condition urgently, but we should also address their overall needs.”

“Perfect,” William responded, his mind already racing with possibilities. “I’ll let you decide, as it’s currently not my priority, though let’s not forget their technological level of development. We’ll need some consistency.”

His gaze shifted to the young man sitting silently in the corner, his posture tense as if bracing for an impending storm. William sensed the boy’s fears of death and judgment, feeling the sting of the locals’ whip and the fear directed at him.

“Nikolai,” he addressed the youth, who instinctively tightened his grip on the chair. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“School?” Anna echoed, her voice thick with disbelief. “What does he mean by that?”

“What is school?” Alexi asked, curiosity lacing his voice as he looked at William, as if the concept were something foreign and mystical.

William shot them a puzzled look. “An educational establishment.” Their gaze only became more puzzled as William continued, “You don’t go anywhere to learn to read, and write, to learn to count, or to learn new things.” Their bewildered faces told him that this was a concept outside their experience. “You mean to say you don’t attend any formal training to gain knowledge?”

“We, we go through trades,” Alexi stammered, searching for the right words, “and learn to work.”

William closed his eyes, an overwhelming sense of sorrow washing over him. “So, when you turn thirteen, you will begin working with your mother,” he continued, directing his attention to Alexi, “uhm, that is, if you’re a daughter, and your… father, if a son.” Alexi nodded, his expression darkening as the weight of his circumstances pressed upon him. “So, you and Anna are currently in trade?”

Alexi swallowed hard, clearing his throat as if it were a monumental task. “Until recently, yes, but when Mama bec… We … we were called afflicted and let go.”

Anna, her voice shaking, stepped closer to William, a desperate plea in her eyes. “Yes, the parish-folk think we’re cursed because Papa died and Mama became ill.” She wiped her tears away, her small hands trembling with emotion. “It’s a matter of time before she dies, and ….”

William cast them a look filled with a newfound serenity, a placating presence they hadn’t experienced before. “I’m here to investigate what happened, and I will have my physicians look over her, intending to save her.” In that moment, he realised just how much these young adults had endured and how much it had taken from their youthful spirit.

All three of Madeline’s children turned towards him, their eyes wide with both hope and scepticism. “You can save her?” Anna croaked, her voice barely rising above a whisper. “But how?”

William leaned down, his gaze softening as he looked at Madeline, frail and weakened. “It’s very possible, but it will take time. I want to run some tests and place her on an intravenous drip along with blood infusion.” He paused, observing their confused expressions, their innocence overshadowed by the harshness of their reality. “Meaning I want to give her medicine and nutrients to help her recover and to help sustain her life.”

William looked at them, realising that they did not understand him. “I… let me put it in terms that you understand. I will take plants and herbs, as a cunning man would, and make her better.”

Tears welled in Alexi’s eyes, and he gasped, his voice breaking beneath the weight of despair. “We can’t afford… We couldn’t take her to a cunning man or woman. We’ve only a little money.”

A wave of sadness washed over William, and he felt his own eyes prick with emotion. “Oh, no, I won’t be charging you for this,” William added, his voice firm but warm, conveying his sincerity. “I’m here to help.”

Alexi looked down in sorrow. “Can you really help her? No one could help us with our Papa. Why help us now?”

William sighed as the weight of the room pressed on him. “Because, unlike everyone else, I have the means to do it. It is my responsibility to help those in need, and this more than qualifies. I’m not the parish-folk or the priesthood. I’m not going to let you down. I will help you.”

Just as a glimmer of relief filled the room, a low hum resonated from the backyard, a sound like distant thunder compressed into a single, sustained note. The air itself seemed to shimmer, and a pale blue light flickered through the gaps in the doorway leading outside.

Alexi jerked his head toward the sound, eyes widening. “What… what is that?”

Anna clutched Nikolai closer, her breath catching. “Is it… is it the god craft?”

From the backyard, the light intensified briefly, then settled into a steady glow. The door William had instructed Alaric to establish, the gateway connected directly to the Magisterium core, had activated.

A figure stepped through the shimmering threshold, materialising as if walking through a curtain of light. He was tall, clad in a crisp white coat that seemed impossibly clean against the squalor of their surroundings. In his hands, he clutched a large black medical bag. Behind him, two more figures emerged: medical technicians in matching white uniforms, each carrying compact cases of equipment that gleamed with an otherworldly polish.

The family stared, frozen in a mixture of awe and terror.

“That’s…” Alexi whispered, unable to finish.

William’s piercing gaze locked onto the lead figure. “CMO Sinclare,” he announced, capturing the attention of everyone in the room. “Your patient is Madeline Mikaelson, forty-six years of age and in deplorable condition. I’d say she’s exhibiting signs of acute tachycardia with clammy and pallid skin. Her breathing is rapid, indicative of tachypnoea. We must begin stabilising her, move her to intensive care, and run a series of tests.”

“Very well, Origin Magister,” Sinclare replied, stepping decisively into the room, his medical team following close behind. The technicians immediately began unpacking their cases, setting up portable diagnostic equipment on the worn table with practised efficiency. Strange devices with softly glowing panels appeared, their surfaces smooth and incomprehensible to the family’s eyes.

Anna gasped, pressing herself against the wall. Nikolai’s mouth hung open, his gaze darting between the strange men and their impossible tools.

“I would like everyone to leave the room so that I can begin the examination,” Sinclare said, his tone professional but not unkind.

“Come!” William commanded, his authoritative voice echoing against the stark walls. “Everyone, let us go into the lounge. CMO Sinclare and his team will tend to your mother’s needs.” The room buzzed with anxious energy as the family shuffled towards the door, worry etched on their faces, their eyes still stealing glances at the miraculous, and terrifying, scene unfolding before them.

Sinclare looked at William. “Sir,” he gasped, as a veil of concern flushed across his face. “The patient is… I’ve not seen a patient in this dreadful condition. Where are the doctors here? Her medical records? Just looking at her, she should be dead.”

William nodded. “There are no doctors here and certainly no medical records. Do your best. I…” He quickly glanced at the gaunt face. “I hope there is something you can do.”

Sinclare turned to Madeline. “I will do my best, but she is going to need drastic intervention. You ask the near impossible sometimes, sir.”

William nodded before departing the room.

As they filed into the lounge area, Anna, Alexi, and Nikolai huddled together in the corner, their expressions a blend of worry and confusion. Marko, however, opted for solitude, sinking into a couch further away, needing space to process the unfolding crisis.

Footsteps broke the silence as three men entered from the backyard; they were George, Brazier, and Jurian, each clad in matching blue overalls and crisp white shirts, carrying strange equipment that gleamed in the dim gaslight. The family pressed themselves further into the corner, eyes wide with fear.

George strode purposefully to the front door, his fingers producing a small device that he pressed against the bottom corner of the frame. Brilliant beams of pale blue light began to shimmer around his hands, casting ethereal patterns on the walls that made Anna gasp and clutch her brothers tighter.

Meanwhile, Brazier and Jurian unfolded a peculiar contraption in the centre of the room, a lightweight work platform with steps, unlike any ladder the Mikaelsons had ever seen. It seemed to float as they positioned it, extending upward toward the ceiling with impossible steadiness.

“What sorcery is this?” Alexi whispered, his voice trembling.

William observed intently as Brazier ascended the platform, his skilled hands deftly manipulating a pen-like device aimed at the ceiling. With every movement, vibrant beams of pale blue energy shot forth, illuminating the area with a surreal glow that made the family shrink back in terror.

Curiosity piqued despite his concern, William leaned closer, watching as something was carefully emerging from the air above, a small sphere, roughly the size of a polo ball, materialising as if summoned from nothing. It pulsated with a soft, iridescent light that cast dancing shadows across the frightened faces below.

Brazier stepped down from the platform, revealing the completed installation. He then turned to George, who had expertly affixed a compact square unit to the wall beside the door, while Jurian folded the platform with practised ease, the strange ladder collapsing into a compact bundle.

William faced Anna, Alexi, and Nikolai, his tone shifting to one of reassurance even as he noted their trembling. “As I said before, my team are installing temporary lighting, but we’ve decided to extend this to the entire house. We aim to make this house better suited to your needs and help improve your health.”

He approached the newly installed white unit and pressed it gently. In response, the orb sprang to life, casting the room in a bright, yellowish-white light that chased away every shadow lurking in the corners, light brighter and steadier than a dozen gas lamps, yet without flame or smoke.

Anna gasped, the sound sharp in the suddenly vibrant atmosphere, while the boys jumped back, their faces a canvas of horror and intrigue as they processed the unforeseen transformation. They had never seen light without fire. Never seen their home so brilliantly illuminated.

“Is this… is this Draconis’s work?” Anna stuttered, trembling slightly at the implications, making the sign against evil with shaking fingers.

William, taken aback, thought, ‘Who’s Draconis?’ Grotesque images flashed across his mind from the Mikaelson children. ‘He’s the embodiment of evil. The opposite of Kanum.’

William shook his head solemnly, keeping his voice gentle. “No, I’m a messenger of Kanum, and I have access to technologies that far exceed your understanding. This,” he gestured to the mechanical light, “is what we call a mechanical light. It produces light as the gas lamps do, but through different means, through craft, not magic. It is a tool, nothing more.”

Alexi’s eyes widened with awe as he stepped forward cautiously, as if approaching something holy. “You’re a messenger!”

William nodded in affirmation, prompting the three siblings to kneel in reverence. “Me Lord. Blessed are you that comes from the one on high,” they murmured, the gravity of the moment hanging heavy in the air.

Panic surged through William as he watched them. “Do not kneel before me,” he urged, his tone firm yet kind. “I’m here to help. I’m not here to be worshipped.” He offered a warm smile, encouraging the children to rise and embrace the comfort of his presence. “Though it was very kind of you to do so.”

As they stood, confusion flickered across their faces, slowly giving way to the reassurance he intended to convey. With another glance from William, the gas lamps flickered and extinguished, their warm glow replaced by the mechanical light’s brilliance. It illuminated the room, revealing the siblings’ true colours for the first time, pulling back the veil of darkness that had lingered too long.

The children stared in wonder and fear, unable to comprehend how light could exist without flame, how their dingy home could suddenly seem so clean and bright. Anna reached out tentatively toward the glowing orb, then pulled her hand back, afraid to touch what might be divine, or cursed.

William watched them carefully, his mind turning over the delicate balance he needed to maintain. ‘I must be cautious,’ he thought. ‘Too much advancement too quickly, and they’ll think it’s devilry, Draconis’s work, not Kanum’s blessing. The parish already suspects them of being afflicted. If I cure their mother and transform their home beyond recognition, what will the locals do? Burn them as heretics? Drive them out?’

He glanced around the room, noting the mechanical lights, the clean surfaces where his team had worked. ‘We’re walking a razor’s edge. Every improvement must seem like divine favour, not unnatural craft. I need to remind Alaric to keep our interventions within reasonable bounds of their understanding.’

Amid this contemplation, a maintenance man emerged from the kitchen.

“Decimus,” called out William, his voice resonating with authority. The man halted, turning his gaze towards William, attentive and ready. “I’m glad you’re here. I think it is prudent that we wait for the outcome of Madeline’s condition before your team commences any further works.”

Decimus nodded in understanding, a contemplative expression crossing his face as he absorbed the request.

William studied the room around him, concern deepening. ‘The mechanical lights are one thing, they can be explained as blessed lamps, gifts from Kanum. But if we install running water, modern plumbing, heating systems... it would be too much. Too far beyond their medieval understanding. They’d see it as a pact with darkness, not divine intervention.’

He thought of the other homes in Damaviena, the crude conditions, the lack of basic amenities. ‘If I elevate this family too dramatically above their neighbours, I’ll paint a target on their backs. The priest already watches them with suspicion. I must be strategic, measured. Help them, yes, but in ways that won’t destroy them.’

Just then, CMO Sinclare briskly entered the room, his footsteps quick and purposeful. His face was drawn tight with urgency, and William immediately straightened, reading the gravity in his chief medical officer’s expression.

“Sir,” Sinclare said, his voice clipped and professional but edged with concern, “we’ve stabilised the patient enough to move her, but we need to move her now.” He paused, meeting William’s eyes directly. “Her condition is critical. Every minute we delay increases the risk.”

The room seemed to contract around those words. Anna’s hand flew to her mouth, and Nikolai pressed closer to his brother.

“Of course,” William responded, his smile fading as he acknowledged the gravity of the situation. He turned to Sinclare with a nod of understanding. “Proceed immediately. I’ll bring the family.”

Sinclare nodded sharply, urgency propelling him back out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the corridor with renewed speed.

William turned back to the siblings and Marko, softening his expression despite the tension thrumming through him. “We’re going to take your mother to our medical facility, where she’ll receive care normally reserved for Kanum’s most devout followers.”

For a heartbeat, the children simply stared at him, the words not quite landing. Then understanding bloomed across their faces.

“You can save her?” Alexi breathed, his voice cracking with desperate hope. “Truly?”

“Mama’s going to live?” Nikolai whispered, tears already welling in his eyes.

Anna clutched her brothers’ hands, her own trembling violently. “But... but how? Where? The priest said there was nothing.”

“The priest was limited by what he knows,” William said gently. “We are not. Our physicians have tools and knowledge far beyond this world’s understanding. Your mother will receive the finest care available.”

“Thank Kanum,” Anna sobbed, her composure finally breaking. “Thank Kanum, thank you, my lord, thank you….”

“Will it hurt her?” Nikolai asked suddenly, fear threading through his hope. “Moving her, I mean. She’s so weak...”

William knelt down to the boy’s level, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “My team knows how to move her safely. She won’t feel pain. I promise you.”

Alexi swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure as the eldest, but his eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Can we... can we see her? After? Will we be allowed?”

“I’d like you to come with me now,” William continued, rising to his full height. “We can discuss what is happening and obtain key information about your mother’s condition. You should be with her.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “Come.”

The siblings moved as if in a dream, following William with a mixture of hope and trepidation. Anna kept one hand on Nikolai’s shoulder, steadying both him and herself.

As they proceeded into the kitchen, William’s eyes took in the tight, cramped space, a scene cluttered with overstuffed cupboards and a grimy stove that seemed to have seen better days, positioned uncomfortably next to a small sink that lacked running water. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of neglect and poverty.

Stepping out of the kitchen, William found himself in a small yard. He noted a rusted grid on the ground and, to his right, a water hand-pump stood, seemingly untouched for a long time. The stone wall enclosing the yard loomed tall, marked by a thin, weathered wooden gate. Nearby, a crooked little shed with a small shuttered window appeared to lean against the stone wall for support. Attached to it was a sturdy water trough, its surface worn by time.

But it was the corner of the yard that drew every eye.

There, incongruous and impossible, stood a door.

Not a doorway, a door. It stood freely in the corner, unattached to any structure, its frame gleaming with a faint, otherworldly luminescence. The door itself was smooth and dark, its surface seeming to absorb the dim light of the yard. Strange symbols were etched along its frame, glowing softly with a pale blue radiance.

Anna stopped dead in her tracks, her hand flying to her chest. “What... what is that?”

“Is that...” Alexi’s voice trailed off, unable to complete the thought.

Nikolai pressed against his brother’s side, eyes wide. “It’s floating. It’s just... standing there.”

Marko, who had seen the gateway being established earlier, remained silent, but even he looked unsettled by the sight of it now, a door to nowhere, standing in a poor family’s backyard like a tear in reality itself.

William approached the strange door slowly, deliberately, giving the family time to process what they were seeing. The gateway hummed softly, a sound felt more than heard, vibrating through the ground beneath their feet.

“This,” William said quietly, “is how we will take your mother to our medical facility. It is a doorway, a gateway, that connects this place to another.”

“Another place?” Anna whispered. “You mean... like heaven?”

“Not heaven,” William said carefully. “But a place where she can be healed. A place of great knowledge and power, dedicated to preserving life.”

Alexi took a tentative step forward, then another, drawn by curiosity and fear in equal measure. “How does it work? How can a door stand without walls?”

“It is craft beyond your current understanding,” William replied. “But it is safe. I have used such gateways many times. Your mother is being prepared to pass through it now, and you will follow.”

“Will we be able to come back?” Nikolai asked, his voice small and frightened.

William turned to him with a gentle smile. “Of course. This gateway will remain here, connecting your home to our facility. You may come and go as needed while your mother heals.”

The siblings exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Fear, hope, wonder, and determination flickered across their faces.

Anna straightened her shoulders, making a decision. “If this is how we save Mama, then we go.”

William nodded approvingly. He reached out toward the gateway, his hand hovering just above its surface. The symbols along the frame brightened, responding to his presence. The door itself seemed to ripple, like water disturbed by a stone.

Behind them, they could hear movement from inside the house, Sinclare’s team bringing Madeline out on the medical platform, the soft hum of equipment, urgent but controlled voices.

William’s fingers touched the door’s surface.

The siblings held their breath.

And William opened it.

Turning back to the siblings and Marko, William added, “We’re going to take your mother to our medical facility, where she’ll receive care normally reserved for Kanum’s most devout followers.”

The children’s faces beamed with joy and excitement at the prospect of their mother’s rescue.

“Come,” said William as he stepped into the doorway.