(Nathan)

Dylan grunted, struggling to sit up and yank the tattered shirt over his head. Nathan’s heart twinged with sympathy—poor medical care on Dirt had taken its toll on Dylan. He would do whatever it took to help the man regain his health and integrate smoothly into life on Xel’oria. Once the shirt was off, Dylan slumped back down as Nathan eased the bed into a flat position.

Dylan rolled on his side. “I’m ready.”

“I’m unfamiliar with human anatomy,” Windlock said. “And the Network has nothing useful. Can you show me where your kidneys are? An approximate location will do.”

Dylan pointed to the middle of his back, near his spine, gesturing to both sides.

“This might tickle.” Windlock’s clawed hand hovered near Dylan’s lower back, her gaze steady.

“Ah—ha-ha!” Dylan twisted forward, laughter spilling out in short bursts.

“Try to remain still,” Windlock said.

“Sorry.” Dylan squirmed slightly, his grin sheepish. “I’m really ticklish.”

“I’d say—I haven’t even touched you yet.” Windlock narrowed her eyes in thought. “Let’s try another approach.” Before Dylan could respond, she slapped her hand flat against his back, pinning him in place. He winced in surprise, but didn’t squirm or giggle.

“Good. Now I’ll reposition my hand.” She explained each step as she performed it.

Nathan observed his colleague at work. Everyone had their own methods, but hers was commanding—she preferred issuing statements over making requests.

“You’ll feel vibrations. They won’t hurt.” Windlock adjusted her hand behind Dylan’s kidney. “Let’s give your mind something else to focus on—just in case it tickles.” Her other hand gripped his arm with steady, firm pressure.

Dylan’s eyes drifted shut, his body visibly relaxing. “Wow, that feels kind of nice.” His voice wavered with the hum of vibrations. “Like a sonic massager.”

Windlock made micro adjustments to the angle of her hand. “I’m exploring your chest cavity using ultrasonic vibrations—”

Dylan perked up, cutting her off mid-sentence. “You’re like a magic ultrasound machine.”

Windlock tightened her grip slightly. “Please refrain from interrupting me during the procedure.”

Dylan wilted under her grip. “Sorry.”

“I’ve located the deposits and will begin breaking them up. You’ll feel intense vibrations—it might hurt.”

“Hurt? What—” Dylan’s words cut off as his eyes rolled back, his entire body shuddering under the onslaught of vibrations. Staccato ‘aaahs’ escaped him, reverberating through the room as Windlock continued her work.

She eased her hand away, satisfied with her work. “I’ve cleared all the deposits.”

“Thank you for your help,” Nathan said.

“No.” Windlock smiled. “Thank you.” She was already adding notes about her new procedure to the Network. “You always bring me the most fascinating cases.”

“Wow, that was amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this relaxed in my entire life.” Dylan flopped onto his back, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “I should get kidney stones more often.”

“No, you definitely shouldn’t.” Windlock rose from her seat, heading to wash her hands. “Nathan, have you come up with a plan to improve his diet?”

Nathan raised his hands in surrender. “He’s on flak now.”

“Flak?” Windlock’s sharp gaze swept over Dylan. “You can’t beat that for nutrients. Honestly, anything would be better than whatever he was eating on…” She paused, glancing at her tablet.

“Don’t say it,” Dylan groaned, rubbing his temples.

Her lips curled slightly as she found what she was looking for. “Dirt.”

“Infernal Mother…” Dylan exhaled in defeat.

Windlock excused herself, slipping out to continue her rounds.

Nathan raised the bed into a sitting position and refilled Dylan’s mug. “You’ll need to drink plenty of fluids.” Nathan’s stomach growled—a reminder that he’d forgotten to eat again, as usual.

Dylan arched an eyebrow, glancing at Nathan’s stomach. “Was that you?”

“Yes.” Nathan sighed. “Not all of us have access to ancient elven pioneering supplements…”

“Go get something to eat,” Dylan said, taking a sip from his mug.

Nathan hesitated—he didn’t want to leave, but Dylan was right. “Will you be okay if I grab a quick bite?”

“I’ll manage.” Dylan’s gaze wandered around the room. “Got any magazines or books about magic I can read while you’re gone?”

Nathan pursed his lips in thought, glancing over at his desk. Medical reference books sat alongside a few coloring books he kept for children, though he doubted Dylan would be interested. ‘Well… maybe the coloring books.’ He gave a small shake of his head. “Sorry, not unless you’re up for learning about alien anatomy—or doing some coloring.”

“It’s fine.” Dylan shrugged casually. “After that massage, I’m ready for a nap.” He let his eyes drift shut.

“Alright, but no wandering around this time.” Nathan switched off the overhead lights. ‘Should I close the blinds too? No—what if he gets up again? Can’t have him hurting himself in the dark.’ He started to ask if Dylan was sure about being alone, but the soft rumbles of sleep apnea answered him—Dylan was already snoring.

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Nathan headed toward the cafeteria. Physicians weren’t the only professionals at the hospital—agriculturists, alchemists, artists, architects, and chefs all held service-based contracts, just like rounds. Professional adventurers were arguably the most valuable, providing services and goods powered by magic. Creating items for the League’s lootbox system wasn’t their only option for gaining experience or contracts.

Most guilds offered an orb as a sign-on bonus for anyone pursuing that archetype. Yet, despite these incentives, the professional archetype lacked the prestige of combat-focused ones—like corruptor, brawler, or summoner—making it a less popular choice.

Nathan had always cared more about helping others than hunting monsters. When he came of age under Nightshade’s stewardship, accepting the Physician orb was an easy choice. His diagnostic abilities not only benefited others but also allowed him to save enough to buy his younger brother Dorian’s first orb—since Dorian had no interest in becoming a professional.

The cafeteria, like all hospital services, was open to the public. Nathan stepped aside, letting a draconi family with a hungry child take his place in line. He smiled as they chose their meal, knowing his pescetarian dishes were safe from most draconi palates—they favored heartier meats enriched with minerals.

Nathan was pleased to find baked sunstone darter on the menu—a local catch renowned for its flavor. The fish’s flaky texture paired perfectly with zesty citrus notes. After finishing his steamed vegetables, Nathan leaned back in his chair, savoring the pleasant fullness in his stomach. Forgetting to eat was a side effect of his tendency to hyperfocus, never a deliberate choice—he loved food too much for that.

Magically prepared food and drink offered buffs along with nourishment. This dish, for instance, enhanced Nathan’s swift attribute for a full day, sharpening his digital dexterity—an invaluable boost for precise procedures and surgeries. However, food buffs didn’t stack; they overwrote each other, so eating mundane food for the rest of the day kept the preferred bonus.

Nathan stood, scraping the leftovers from his plate into the compost bin and placing his soiled kitchenware in a tub by the exit. With his own needs taken care of, it was time to check on Dylan.

A powerful stench met Nathan in the hallway, just outside his office. ‘It smells like a stable in here,’ he thought, his nose wrinkling in disgust. He moved toward the window behind his desk, ready to throw it open, but stopped when he saw a sad, shirtless, chubby man sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands folded in his lap. Dylan hung his head, staring at his feet.

Concern flickered across Nathan’s face as he tilted his head. “Dylan?”

Dylan’s shoulders slumped even lower as he mumbled, “I couldn’t find a door.”

Nathan arched an eyebrow. “Is everything alright? Why do you need a door?”

Dylan shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on his feet. “To open and close. I didn’t realize your office doesn’t have a door.”

“None of the offices have doors. But we can pull the curtains if you want some privacy.” Nathan gestured toward the curtains and the track above the doorway.

“Oh.” Dylan released a long sigh. “Would’ve been good to know that earlier. Some privacy would’ve been nice.”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed, a frown tugging at his lips as he tried to piece it together. “What are you talking about?”

Dylan finally lifted his head, his gaze drifting toward the corner of the room. Nathan followed it. Nothing was there—except the bucket.

Nathan’s expression stiffened with sudden realization. ‘Oh no,’ the thought hit him. ‘He doesn’t know how the buckets work.’ He groaned, closing his eyes and smacking his forehead. “Dylan, did you—”

Dylan’s sigh deepened. “Yep,” he said quickly, still avoiding eye contact.

“It’s okay,” Nathan said gently. “This is a hospital—everyone defecates.” He approached the pungent bucket, grimacing as he thought, ‘I should’ve explained it better… but where did I go wrong?’

“I’m sorry, but I had to go—and you said not to leave.” Dylan frowned. “It gets worse when I’m nervous.”

“No, no, it’s fine… I’ll just—” Nathan’s eyes stung, his eyelashes fluttering as he struggled to finish the thought. With a resigned sigh, he grabbed the soiled bucket and carried it to the restroom to clean it out.

Fifteen minutes later, Nathan returned, sliding the mundane bucket back under the counter. Dylan was still sitting there with his belly out, and Nathan couldn’t help but imagine how uncomfortable he must feel. Suppressing the urge to skip the basic needs step, he forced himself to focus, reminding himself of his earlier mistake when he’d jumped ahead to ask Dylan about finding his purpose as an adventurer—which was the last step of the contract.

Dylan pursed his lips, shifting them to the side as he hesitated. “So… not all buckets magically flush?”

Nathan gave a simple nod, treating Dylan with dignity despite the misunderstanding. “Correct—only common buckets.”

Dylan’s brow furrowed. “Wait—I just asked about regular buckets.”

Nathan shook his head slightly. “No—common-ranked, not common as in ordinary. Common is the first tier of magical classification. We use the term mundane for non-magical things.”

“Oh,” Dylan said, scratching the back of his head. “So… mundane buckets don’t flush—only common ones do?”

Nathan clasped his hands in front of him, searching for the right words. “Um… that’s not exactly right. Not all common-ranked items share the same enchantment. Common-ranked items hold only one enchantment, uncommon-ranked hold two, and so on.”

Dylan squinted, frustration flickering in his eyes. “I’m still confused. How do I know which bucket to use?”

“Ah.” Nathan nodded slowly, realization dawning. “I think I see the problem. You’re not supposed to use just any bucket—”

Dylan winced and raised a hand to cut him off. “Yeah, I got that part.”

“Stick to the ones in the restrooms.” Nathan offered a small smile. “I’ll show you the restrooms when we get to Nightshade. Speaking of which, that’s where we’re having dinner tonight. If you get hungry or thirsty before then, just let me know, and I’ll grab you something sooner, alright?”

Dylan finally met Nathan’s eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

Nathan frowned, his gaze drifting over Dylan’s clothes. “Do you own any other clothes?” He scanned him from head to toe, noting the tatters in his shirt, though his pants and boots seemed in decent shape—just a bit soiled.

Dylan shook his head. “Only what I’ve got on.”

“I’ll take you to get a new wardrobe.” Nathan rubbed his chin, thinking. “We’ll probably need to have everything resized to fit you properly.”

Dylan’s face brightened. “I know someone who can do that.”

Nathan blinked, surprised. ‘He’s been on Xel’oria less than a week and already knows someone with a niche ability?’ “Who?”

“Charles,” Dylan said with a grin. “Can we get all my clothes from him?”

Nathan nodded, processing the request. He didn’t mind where they got the clothes, as long as they were of high quality. “I don’t see a problem with that. May I ask why?”

Dylan pinched the fabric of his pants, a proud smile spreading across his face. “Have you ever worn anything made by Charles?”

Nathan gave a small shake of his head. “Today was my first time meeting him.”

Dylan hopped off the bed, brimming with enthusiasm. “Oh man, you’re missing out. Check out these pants.” He shoved both hands into his pockets, flaring them out as he spun around.

“They look like fine pants,” Nathan said with a chuckle, amused by Dylan’s delight.

Dylan’s grin widened. “Best. Pants. Ever. Do you see how many pockets these have? They put cargo pants to shame.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar term. ‘Cargo pants?’ he wondered, but decided it wasn’t worth interrupting Dylan’s obvious excitement.

“Ever had pants that fit like a second skin? Or hold you the way you only dreamed another person would?” Dylan’s voice grew more animated, his hands sweeping through the air in exaggerated gestures.

“These pants are mind-altering. Life-changing. Nothing beats getting into Charles’ pants.”

He froze mid-sentence, his expression locking in place. Raising a finger, he cringed. “That… didn’t come out right.”

Nathan chuckled, shaking his head.

“I meant, nothing beats a pair of Charles’ pants,” Dylan corrected. “You’ll never be more comfortable than in Charles’ pants.” He winced, shaking his head. “Excrement. Did it again.”

Nathan couldn’t hold back his laughter, his shoulders shaking with amusement

Dylan, undeterred by his stumbling or Nathan’s laughter, forged ahead. “But look, I died in these pants, and they’re still perfectly fine.” He brushed at one of the red splotches. “Minus the bloodstains.”