The gruff man reached Myrkas' bedside with one stride. He replaced the cloth on the boy's forehead with his hand and concentrated, focusing on obscure forces Myrkas had no clue about. Meanwhile, the boy was doing his very best to keep "sleeping". The recent info dump had not been within his expectations. His body had burned then healed? Without significant sequelae?

How much was "almost" exactly? Was it a "can expect a normal life" almost or a "will survive but cannot run up a flight of stairs" type of almost? This is a vitally important distinction, Myrkas thought.

Important but glossed over by the two interlocutors. And inexplicable soul damage? That sounded more than ominous. How was Myrkas supposed to fix himself?

To add insult to injury there was no appropriate moment in view to "wake up" naturally. Was Myrkas supposed to simply open his eyes following this dreadful conversation? To stand and shout "Hey! What's up, people? Sounds like I'm in bad shape. By the way, I have no idea who you are, who I am or where we are. Beautiful day, isn't it?"

While Myrkas' thoughts spiralled further towards the nonsensical, the alleged alchemist at his bedside finished his examination. In truth, the older man was only touching Myrkas' forehead and sighing gravely. It was a fairly limited medical examination in Myrkas' humble opinion. Sighing again for the umptieth time, the alchemist went back to his bag and took out a small vial.

"Boy, open your eyes. I know you're awake," the man said while turning back towards Myrkas.

The man held a small flask in his hand. It was filled with a strange, murky, purplish liquid which twirled inside the glass container in ill-defined patterns. One could almost guess at symbols hidden in the swirls' depths. Especially if one possessed the imagination of a five-year-old child, or if one partook in the use of certain "recreative" substances.

Myrkas, after receiving the perfect cue to "awaken," sat up in the cot. The boy eyed the forbidding substance and felt a chill run down his spine. He could already see himself forced to swallow the undoubtedly foul mixture in his very near future. Myrkas could only imagine the terrible side effects that would follow. His extensive knowledge of science-fiction and fantasy literature pointed towards a disgusting, painful, and horrifying gustative experience incoming.

Bracing himself, Myrkas turned towards the alchemist. He would not be defeated by a mere dubious potion, Previous mentions of cultivation, soul, fast healing burns, and the look of the liquid itself all hinted at a magical aspect in this world. Myrkas' memory might be lacking, but all hinted he was no longer in the land of demystified, pragmatic technology his brain remembered. More and more, Myrkas suspected he had fallen victim to a somewhat recent but wildly popular fictionary trope: transmigration, or being "isekai'd" in westernized japanese. Somehow, he had been sent to another world. His soul or his mind - not his body, it seemed- had taken residence in a new reality. One with magic, at least Myrkas hoped so.

Probably. That was probably what had happened. Myrkas wasn't entirely convinced yet. His entire self was still confused, his mind scrambled like eggs. It was a daunting possibility, as exhilarating as it was scary. For the moment, Myrkas would follow his instinct. Not like he had much else to refer to.

Staring at the alchemist, Master Hakhmir as the girl had called him, and the purple vial in his hand, Myrkas exclaimed "I'm ready!" with all the determination he could muster.

Stolen novel; please report.

"Ready for what, boy?" was his only answer.

The conversation died thereafter. Myrkas was speechless, his built-up courage on stand-by. His "uncle" looked just as confused at his nephew's outburst, seemingly unable to process the boy's intent. The two relatives kept staring at each other, unmoving. Without a doubt, social awkwardness ran in the Hakhmir family.

On the other side of the bed, Nirrina was recovering from her apparent disbelief at Myrkas' sudden rousing. This time though, she refrained from any effervescent display of affection. She kept her reactions moderate. A quick pinch to her own forearm shook her out of her daze. Taking charge, Nirrina interrupted the stale staring contest between nephew and uncle.

"Myrkassa dear, are you truly awake this time? Please be so. Squeeze my hand if you can."

An action Myrkas executed flawlessly. Whatever was happening, following this woman who undoubtedly cared for the confused boy seemed like a good idea.

"Good," Nirrina went on. "Now, Master Hakhmir, did you have a plan for this vial?"

"I am still debating," the alchemist answered. "However, I believe it would be safest to wait. The boy is no longer in meltdown. It would be much more appropriate to conduct further examinations and to gather a few colleagues' opinions before we take any drastic action."

"Noted. Now, Myrkas, do you know where we are?"

Thank Heavens, Myrkas thought.

She had just provided him the perfect opportunity to disclose his complete and total lack of knowledge about his situation. Myrkas was unbelievably grateful he did not have to lie in the moment. He was lost enough as it was - he could not fathom keeping straight lies on top of everything. Reassured, Myrkas confidently declared: "No."

"I see," Nirrina continued. "Do you remember anything? You were a little out of it these past two weeks."

"Honestly, not really. I don't even know my name. Everything is confused, tangled in my head."

He choked on a sob as he answered, the enormity of his circumstances finally crushing him. The boy was lost, utterly lost in a strange and unfamiliar land. He had no landmarks, no scale to rely on. He felt inadequate and nearly fell into despair in the split second it took for him to acknowledge his crumbled world. As emotions rushed him, Myrkas noticed a flash of sadness pass through Nirrina's face, quickly replaced by deep-set determination.

"It's okay Myrkassa. It will be alright. I'm here with you. I will always be there for you," she murmured, taking Myrkas in her arms gently this time, without any likeness to bears.

"I will always care for you, like a true big sister. Take your time. When you are ready, we will have to go back to the ceremony. Once it is over, we can go home, We are almost done. Don't worry, I am here, by your side. I will explain everything. We'll be strong together, as always."

Soothed a little, Myrkas nodded, his emotions receding. He might be lost, but he was not alone. He had Nirrina, even if she kept changing his name- a worry for later. Myrkas knew, from deep inside himself - dared he say from his soul that they were linked, Nirrina and him, no need for precise memories to confirm their bond. Myrkas wiped his tears away and, for the first time since he had awoken that day, smiled. It was a small one, a slight, closed-mouthed one but a smile nonetheless.

Nirrina noticed and smiled back. Of course she did, her entire focus was set on Myrkas. Before they left the side room, Nirrina hesitated to add something, as if she wanted to tell the boy more but could not decide if she should. With a short sigh, she chose silence and took Myrkas' hand to share courage and strength.

"Let's go. Just follow me, do what I do, and everything will be fine, Myrkassa."

Resolute, the three of them headed back to the temple's main room