The Red Fever arrived in our village like a thief in the night, stealing away the health of the villagers and that of my family alike. It crept its way along slowly and insidiously, and by the time the people noticed it, it was already too late.

Everyone was plunged into an unseen danger, where the very air they breathed was filled with a disease that didn't care if you were young or old, rich or poor, powerful or weak. Everyone was at its mercy.

Well, except for me, I guess. I was the only one who hadn't gotten sick. By now, I was certain that there was something different about me. I was always healthy and never once got sick.

At first, I thought I was just a healthy boy, so I didn't pay it too much attention, but by now it seemed outright unnatural. So the only possible explanation must be that my magic power somehow makes me immune to diseases.

During the summer, almost everyone in the village got infected. Even my family wasn't spared. First, it was my father and Rolf, followed by Helga and my mother. It was a heartbreaking experience to watch them suffer, to see the light in their eyes fade away and their bodies wither before my very eyes.

Of course, I wasn't the only one who remained healthy in the village. There were a few others beside me who didn't get sick either. And as I looked at them, I couldn't help but wonder if they too possessed some dormant magical power, or perhaps they were simply naturally immune.

Either way, it was clear to me that this was no ordinary sickness. The village was eerily quiet as if some terrible curse had fallen upon it. The usual joyful laughter of children or the chatter of women on the streets were heard no more. The only thing that could be heard was the howling of the wind as it blew through the empty and desolate streets.

In our village, there was no physician or herbalist to turn to for help. Everyone was left to attend to themselves as best they could, relying on their own wits and cunning to survive. It was a time of great hardship, and only the most resilient among the villagers could hope to survive.

I was the only one remaining to take care of my family. I had to draw water from the well and cook whatever food we had left. Though all they could stomach was a weak and watery soup so it wasn't too hard for me to prepare.

But as the weeks wore on, my worries began to mount. My family lay in bed, unmoving and unresponsive, their bodies wracked with a high fever and covered in blisters. It was a terrible sight to behold, and I feared that they might never recover.

Yet finally, after what felt like an eternity, they began to get better. Slowly but surely, their sickly color began to fade, being replaced by a healthier and more robust one. It was a small victory, but one that filled me with hope.

I knew that if my family could survive this terrible plague, then perhaps there was hope for our village as well. But despite our best efforts, Helga was not getting any better. In fact, she seemed to be getting more miserable with each passing day.

Her small body was covered in sweat and blood from her bleeding blisters, and she was constantly writhing in pain. I knew that she was always frailer than the rest of us and was prone to getting sick. But this time, it seemed as though she was not going to make it through.

As she grew increasingly weaker, my mother prayed fervently in the temple every day, begging for a miracle that never seemed to come. But I did not believe in miracles. Instead, I focused my mind on what else could be done to save my sister.

I began to think about a way for me to travel to the city in search of medicine or a potion that could help Helga. But the journey would be long and arduous, and I had no way to get there.

The Vogt, with his family, fled the village at the first signs of the Red Fever. He retreated to his house in the city, where he had access to a physician and all the medicine money could buy. And my father, still recovering and weak from the illness, was in no condition to make the journey.

I knew that I would never be able to make such a journey alone. But then I remembered my batch of umbrifila sitting in my hiding place, waiting for me to go to the city. I already have access to the finest ingredients one could obtain in these parts of the kingdom, so why can't I make some medicine on my own?

Although there was no direct cure for Red Fever itself, medicinal concoctions, especially those made from real herbs, were still somewhat effective; they could lessen the symptoms and strengthen the body, so those who could afford the cost rarely died from it.

I had a vague idea of how herbalists made their medicine from my discussions with Isadora. But, fearing that I would ruin my precious herbs, I never tried it myself, preferring to wait until I became an herbalist's apprentice before beginning any experiments.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The creation of real healing potions was even harder than this; it was done only by alchemists, and they did it by extracting the healing components from the ingredients, concentrating them to form an effective potion, and infusing them with their own magical powers.

I had no idea how to infuse magic into a potion; alchemists were very secretive about their craft, even more so than mages about magic, so there was no way for me to find out.

But making simple medicine couldn't be so hard, given that that is the only option I have to try. I couldn't bear the thought of losing my sister if there was anything I could do to prevent it.

With my recent discovery and improvements to my drying process, my herbs are already at least 50% more effective than anything you could find on the shelves of city stores.

With my mind made up, I went ahead and tried it immediately. I drew a bucket of water from the well and filled a small pot in the kitchen with water. I retrieved my herbs, ready to add them to the pot, but then I paused as I realized something.

I had to be precise in the amount I used. If I make the medicine too weak, it won't have any effect. But on the other hand, if I make it too strong, I have no idea what it will do to my sister's weakened body.

However, time was of the essence and I had to do something fast, so I decided to use ten at first to see how it worked and then either add more herbs or water it down if it turned out to be too strong. I then tore the herbs into small bits and threw them into a pot.

I set the pot over the fire to let the heat from the fire help extract it. I stirred it frequently and checked the temperature to avoid overheating the water, which could ruin the medicine. As I worked, my heart pounded with anxiety. The stakes were high, and I couldn't afford to make any mistakes.

While the medicine was heating up, I took out another ten herbs and tore them into small bits. Then I took a little bit of lard and mixed it together to make a healing paste out of it. After an intense moment of tension where I tried my best not to make any mistakes and ruin my precious concoction, our house was filled with an earthy umbrifila scent.

As the steam rose from the pot, I couldn't help but let out a sigh as the tension left my body. I had never tried my hand at making medicine before. However, now I was holding a clear, amber liquid that looked just like what I had seen in Isadora's shop.

I carefully poured the liquid into a cup. As I was holding the cup in my hand, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I had just accomplished something truly remarkable.

But then doubts started creeping in. What if the medicine didn't work? What if it made things worse for my sister? I couldn't bear the thought of being responsible for her death.

I decided to take a small sip of the medicine to test it on myself. It had a bitter taste but was not unbearable. As I swallowed, I felt warmth spreading through my body and a sense of clarity in my mind. It worked.

As night fell and the house grew quiet, I sat by Helga's bedside, watching her toss and turn in pain from the blisters that covered her body. I knew I had to act fast if I wanted to save her. Slowly, I applied the healing paste to a piece of cloth and covered her blisters with it. I could see the mixture starting to work its magic on her inflamed skin.

Helga crunched her mouth, weakly resisting as I fed her my medicine by spoonfuls, but I urged her to trust me and finish it. The potion was bitter and unpleasant, but I had tasted it myself, and I knew it worked.

Once she had finished the potion, I used my magic to draw the heat from a pot of water by her bed and make it icy cold. I then soaked a piece of cloth in it and placed it on her forehead to help lower her fever.

To my surprise, a blissful smile appeared on her face, and she fell into a deep slumber. Hours turned into days, and slowly but surely, Helga's condition began to improve. Her fever broke, and the blisters on her skin began to heal. I couldn't believe it—my potion had worked.

Her condition had improved sharply, and although she was still weak, she had gained enough strength to eat something. I repeated the same process for the next few days, making her drink the medicine and applying the paste to her wounds. Within a week, she was out of the worst and on the road to recovery, just like everyone else.

As the days passed, Helga's strength returned, and she was soon able to get out of bed. My mother was overjoyed, and she wept tears of gratitude. The village had been ravaged badly by the Red Fever, and many families had lost loved ones. But we overcame it, thanks to my determination and the power of the umbrifila.

To my mother, it was a miracle, and she believed her prayers had been answered. But I knew the truth. It wasn't a miracle; it was my magic and the medicine I had made that had saved Helga.

It had cost me thirty umbrifila herbs, an astounding amount of money that my family could never have afforded. However, it was a small price to pay for seeing Helga's grateful smile.

"You used your powers, didn't you?" Helga asked me, her eyes filled with gratitude.

"Yes, but let's keep it between us." "We don't want to scare our parents," I replied with a smile.

"Thank you," she whispered, and I knew that I had done the right thing.

In the end, more than thirty villagers perished from the red Fever and we were among the few lucky families who didn't lose anyone.

It was a sobering experience, and it made me realize that this peace and tranquility I have been enjoying in the village is nothing but an illusion, a fleeting feeling that can be taken away at any moment.

So now, I think it's time. It's time to take the reins of fate into my own hands. It's time for a talk with Isadora. The one that I have been both fearing and anticipating at the same time.

The conversation that will decide my fate in this world.