Chapter 1

The cobblestone streets of the city buzzed with vibrant market stalls, merchants haggling over prices, and the general hum of life. Amid the bustling crowd, I moved with a hesitant grace, my eyes wide with wonder as I navigated through the labyrinthine streets. The scents of various foods mingled in the air, tantalizing my senses and making my stomach growl with hunger. I quickened my pace, my tattered cloak billowing behind me, as I followed the alluring aroma of freshly baked bread.

My worn boots scuffed against the uneven stones as I weaved through the throng of people. The city was a symphony of voices, a cacophony of accents and languages blending into a harmonious chaos. It was a stark contrast to the quiet solitude of the forest, where I usually spend my time studying magic. But now it's time to do something important.

As I approached a particularly lively market stall, a jovial merchant with a twinkle in his eye beckoned me over. "Ah, young lady, care to sample the finest pastries in the city?"

I hesitated, glancing at the array of pastries displayed before me. My meager coins jingled in my pocket, a great reminder of my limited funds. Saving money is extremely difficult these days, especially since I had to work twice as hard since my co-worker Emrys had left for some time. I mustered a polite smile. "Perhaps another time, sir. I have urgent business to attend to."

A joyful smile appeared on the merchant's face. "Very well, but remember, a little sweetness can brighten even the darkest of days."

I nodded appreciatively and continued on my way, the merchant's words lingering in my mind. A little sweetness... I couldn't help but wonder if such simple pleasures were a luxury I could afford.

Lost in thought, I turned down a narrow alley, my steps guided by an almost instinctive knowledge of the city's layout. For almost two years, I had been working at Mr. Hawthorne's apothecary. His reputation as a skilled healer was well-deserved, and his home was a sanctuary of knowledge in a world that often rejected the arcane. Sometimes, he would let his patients stay in his house if they were suffering from a serious condition.

As I approached the weathered wooden door, my heart fluttered with a mix of anticipation and unease. I had failed my mission to search for the herb Mr. Hawthorne was looking for. It may not be as easy as I thought it would be. It might take a little more work than I had anticipated. Still, I am going to keep looking. I don't care how long it takes. If anyone can get it right, I can. I must succeed. I have to know. Emrys is better than me at searching for specific plants and herbs, as he has been working at the apothecary for five years. But since he left to go back to the village to take care of a sick relative, I have not seen him for a month now.

I knocked three times and waited, the seconds stretching into eternity as I shifted nervously on the doorstep. Finally, the door creaked open, revealing Mr. Hawthorne's weathered face framed by a halo of dark hair. His eyes, a deep shade of brown, regarded me with a mixture of sternness and curiosity. Despite the passage of time, he seemed perpetually youthful, his skin unblemished by the lines of age that should have marked his face. Perhaps, he had some knowledge of herbs or plants that granted him this ageless countenance. I tried to appear calm as he studied me, but my heartbeat accelerated and my mouth went dry. A feeling of guilt settled on my shoulders like a heavy cloak.

"Late again, Masha," he muttered, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment.

I offered a sheepish smile. "My apologies, sir."

Mr. Hawthorne looked me up and down appraisingly, his gaze lingering on the black bag I carried. He cocked his head to one side, eyeing me speculatively. As if deciding whether I was worth his time or not. After an extended pause, Mr. Hawthorne stepped aside, motioning towards the inside of his home.

The interior of his home was cozy and inviting, with the crackling fire in the hearth casting dancing shadows across the room. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and sage, a comforting aroma that always put me at ease.

We settled into our usual spots, with Mr. Hawthorne taking a seat across from me. His gaze remained fixed on me, unyielding. "So. Did you find the silver lotus?"

I let out a frustrated sigh, my shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hawthorne, but I couldn't find it anywhere," I admitted, avoiding his gaze and feeling the weight of the task on my shoulders.

Mr. Hawthorne's expression tightened with concern. "Our patient's condition is worsening. We need that silver lotus for the antidote."

Guilt gnawed at my insides. "I know, sir. I've been searching all over..."

He leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Masha, I understand this is a tough task, but time is of the essence. Keep asking around, visit the apothecaries, and do whatever you can. We can't lose another patient."

I heaved a deep sigh. Mr. Hawthorne must have noticed my anxious face.

After some time, Mr. Hawthorne broke the silence. "You mentioned something about focused intention?"

My heart raced as I leaned forward, eager to share my newfound knowledge. "Yes, sir. I've been studying a healing technique that involves channeling natural energies and focusing on intention. I believe it could enhance your efforts to heal Christine."

Mr. Hawthorne's skepticism warred with intrigue, his fingers drumming rhythmically against the armrest of his chair. "Unorthodox, Masha. But I appreciate your dedication to healing. If you truly believe in this method, then I will permit you to try."

A surge of gratitude washed over me, and I met his gaze, feeling hopeful. "Thank you, sir. I won't let you down."

With his blessing, I hurried upstairs to the guest room, where the latest patient, Christine, lay. Her frail form was tucked beneath a mound of blankets, sleeping. I approached her bedside, my fingers tingling with anticipation.

Christine lay on her bed, looking pale and tired. She appeared completely oblivious to me as I approached her bedside, my gaze fixated on her face with concern. She couldn't have been much younger than me—maybe around twenty. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open, and she regarded me with a dark, almost accusatory look.

"Go away!" Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it carried a weight that seemed to come from the depths of her being.

I was taken aback, unsure of how to respond. This was only the second time I'd encountered her. Our last meeting had been quite different; she'd exuded more vitality back then. As I looked at her now, a wave of uncertainty washed over me, leaving me unsure of how to gauge her current state. Her appearance held my attention for a moment longer—her skin was pale, a soft canvas against the dark strands of her chestnut hair. Yet subtle threads of gray intertwined with the brown locks, as if her sickness had made her age. Despite the paleness of her complexion, though, she had dark circles under her eyes. And though it was hard to pinpoint, it seemed she might have skipped a meal or two recently.

Mr. Hawthorne's voice cut through the tense silence as he entered the room, his presence a reassuring anchor. "She's been hallucinating recently," he explained, his tone laden with worry. "That is not a good sign."

Christine's gaze shifted from me to Mr. Hawthorne, as if acknowledging his words, before she closed her eyes again. Her eyes fluttered shut once more, and her lips began to move, forming words that seemed to come from a place far away.

"I see a castle," she murmured, her tone carrying a mix of wonder and trepidation. "It's beautiful, but there's something dark about it. The air is heavy with shadows, and I hear laughter—strange, chilling laughter."

She continued, her words weaving a tapestry of a fantastical world. "Demons... They're in the castle, laughing as they steal souls. I can't understand their language, but their intent is clear. They revel in darkness, in the pain they cause."

Her voice wavered as if the weight of the vision pressed upon her. "They're getting closer... I can feel their eyes on me. They're taking my soul, and they're laughing..."

Christine's face was ashen; her skin was so pale that the faint blueness of the veins beneath it was clearly visible. It was as if she had no blood in her veins. I gave her a worried look as she continued to mutter her visions.

"They were around me, but I cannot see any familiar faces." Her voice was barely audible and tinged with sadness.

"What else do you see?" I asked.

"I saw their faces... They are not human." A note of sorrow laced her words, sending a shiver down my spine. "Their skin looked like mine, yet they had strange features on them. Their eyes..." Her voice trailed off, and her face grew even paler. Suddenly, her eyes opened, and they were fixed on me. "They know about you." After that, she lost her consciousness again and did not speak anymore.

Mr. Hawthorne rushed over to her, concern etched across his features. He checked her pulse, his expression growing graver with each passing moment.

A heavy silence descended upon the room as we both stood there, grappling with the disturbing scene that had just unfolded. Christine's vulnerability was palpable, a reminder of the fragility of life. Of all Mr. Hawthorne's patients, hers was the most unnatural. I began to suspect that her condition might be more psychological. If that were true, then I don't think that herbal medicine could help.

As Mr. Hawthorne attended to Christine, a sense of helplessness settled over me. My mind raced, searching for answers and a way to alleviate her suffering. I closed my eyes and tried to remember every technique and piece of knowledge that could offer a solution. Frustration welled within me, along with a gnawing sense that I was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. A part of me felt that this might be a result of her karma.

Christine's eyes fluttered open once more, her gaze locking onto mine. "Help us! We must get out of this place! They are watching us!" Her words sent a chill down my spine.

"They?" I echoed, exchanging a puzzled glance with Mr. Hawthorne before turning back to Christine. "Who are they?"

But the young woman slipped back into unconsciousness, and Mr. Hawthorne's sigh echoed my feelings of helplessness. "That's why we need the silver lotus as soon as possible. Otherwise, she might perish."

My thoughts churned as I contemplated her words. The silver lotus held the promise of salvation, a spark of hope in the face of this mysterious force. But even such a plant is almost impossible to find these days.

When Mr. Hawthorne left the room, I retrieved a small, weathered book—the Healing Codex—from my bag. It was an inheritance from my ancestors, who were skilled folk magicians. It held the secrets of healing magic, a practice shrouded in secrecy and forbidden knowledge. My fingers traced the worn pages, flipping through the ancient wisdom that had been passed down through generations.

My heart raced as I found the meditation technique I was searching for within the pages of the Healing Codex. It was a method rooted in focus and intention, a way to channel natural energies and harness them for healing. I knew that this was my chance to make a difference and contribute something meaningful to Christine's recovery.

I closed my eyes and began to follow the meditation steps outlined in the ancient text. I focused on my breathing, allowing the rhythm to steady my racing heart. Images of vibrant, healing energy flowed through my mind, intertwining with memories of Christine's pale face and the desperation in her voice.

As I continued the meditation, I felt a warmth spreading through my hands, a tingling sensation that seemed to radiate outward. I visualized that healing energy enveloping Christine, gently soothing her pain and dispelling the darkness that had taken hold of her. It was as if a current of energy flowed between us, a connection that transcended the physical realm.

Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, my concentration unbroken as I maintained the focus of my intention. And then, ever so subtly, I felt a shift—an almost imperceptible change in the air around me. It was as if the room itself responded to my efforts, an acknowledgment of the healing energy I was channeling.

When I finally opened my eyes, I saw Christine still lying unconscious, her features serene as if in deep slumber, but there was a noticeable change in the air—an atmosphere of calm that seemed to permeate the room.

Mr. Hawthorne's voice broke through my reverie, and I turned to see him standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. "Masha, what did you just do?"

I hesitated, unsure of how to put my experience into words. "I... I used a healing technique from the Codex. I channeled healing energy into Christine, to ease her pain and restore her well-being."

Mr. Hawthorne's gaze remained fixed on me, his skepticism giving way to a sense of wonder. "And did it work?"

I glanced back at Christine, noting the subtle changes in her complexion and the peacefulness that seemed to radiate from her. "It's hard to say for certain, but there's been a shift. She seems more at ease, at least for now."

Mr. Hawthorne's nod was thoughtful, his gaze never leaving Christine's form. "We'll have to monitor her progress. But I must admit, Masha, I'm impressed by your skills."

I offered Mr. Hawthorne a faint smile. "Thank you, sir. I just want to help in any way I can."