(Dylan)

Meekan leaned across the table and pointed toward the exit, where the kitchenware tub and compost box sat. “Over there!”

Dylan turned, fighting to keep it all down. He aimed for the compost box but only made it to the tub. It wasn’t empty—the splash back was unavoidable as he lost the battle and his dinner.

Nathan crouched beside him. Dylan was mid-hurl when he asked, “Are you allergic to anything?”

“Yes,” Meekan said, coming around the table. Nathan shot her a curious look.

Dylan took a shaky breath during a brief reprieve. “I’m not even sure what I ate.”

Nathan started listing off possibilities. “Are you sensitive to lead, cobalt, copper, or mercury?”

Dylan’s eyes went wide. “I’m deathly allergic to all of them.” He stumbled to the compost box for the next round of upheaval.

“Perhaps Meekan was right. You should consider Prune Juice in the future,” Nathan said.

‘How the hell is fruit juice supposed to help with heavy metal poisoning?!’ he wanted to ask, but he was too busy on his knees, emptying his stomach into the compost box. His vision blurred as the room spun, each pulse of his head like a hammer.

Nathan slipped his arms under Dylan’s armpits and hoisted him up. “Grab his feet,” he said, but Charles was already moving. “The infirmary is this way.”

Dylan winced as sharp pain radiated from his gut into his limbs. “I don’t want to die again,” he whispered to Nathan.

“I know,” Nathan whispered back.

Nathan and Charles carried Dylan down the hall, his limbs dead weight between them. Meekan sprinted ahead to get the door.

Between spasms, Dylan thought, ‘If I die, I hope I reset to before the meal.’ He fought to stay conscious, having already blacked out once on the way.

Nathan gestured with his nose toward a chair in the corner. “Let’s get him there.” It wasn’t a hospital bed, but it would do.

Charles lowered Dylan’s feet and grabbed one of his arms from Nathan. Together, they eased him into the chair. Nathan tilted the seat just enough to keep Dylan from falling forward, but not far enough to risk aspirating.

Nathan pointed toward a cabinet under the sink. “Get him a bucket.”

“Not the bucket again. I’ve got nothing left.” Tears welled in his eyes, not just from being sick, but from the frustration of wasting such a good meal.

Meekan rushed to grab the bucket from under the sink and handed it to Dylan. He sighed. “Thanks, but I—” Before he could finish, another wave of nausea had him burying his face in the bucket.

“I’m going to use Triage,” Nathan said. His eyes shifted yellow as he read the results. “By the Mother, you’re going into acute organ failure.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Dylan muttered into the bucket.

Nathan’s voice wavered. “You’re going to die…”

Dylan could feel it—some things inside him weren’t working anymore. His fingers were ice-cold, and his arms felt as if they didn’t belong to him. Every pulse in his head throbbed like a dull drumbeat, and his heart wasn’t quite keeping time. He tried to shift in the chair, but his legs were bricks, refusing to answer. Even blinking felt like an impossible task.

Charles shot Nathan a hard look. “No.”

Nathan blinked. “No?” he repeated, confused.

The rugged elf stepped closer, jabbing Nathan’s chest with a finger. “You’re a mender, and we’re in a guild stronghold. Fix him or find someone who can.” His body tensed in pain, a green stain spreading across his tunic, but his expression didn’t falter. Satisfied, Charles stepped back and pricked his finger with a needle.

Meekan, trying to ease the tension, offered, “What about a healing potion?”

“That’ll buy him some time.” Nathan rushed to a cabinet, pulling out his League card as he spoke. “Meekan, see if anyone has a global cleanse or poison cleanse ability.” She nodded and sprinted out the door.

Nathan tapped the corner of his League card on the cabinet. The lock clicked audibly, even from across the room. He swung the door open and sifted through the vials, searching for the right one.

Grabbing a vial of green liquid, he hurried back to Dylan.

Nathan popped the top off the vial. “Drink this.” He tilted Dylan’s chin with one hand and carefully poured the liquid into his mouth with the other.

Dylan’s senses returned instantly, his mind clearing. But the steady approach of his mortality began anew as he continued to deteriorate. He followed Nathan’s gaze to the wall, where a circular disk with strange symbols hung. ‘A clock?’ he wondered.

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Nathan sighed, frustration etched in every breath. “He’s absorbed too much—several poisons are ravaging him.” He crossed his arms, one hand drifting to his chin in thought.

Charles jerked his head toward the hallway. “What about the other menders?”

“I sent Meekan to check, but Nightshade barely has any menders. Everyone wants to be a flashy archetype with destructive abilities. Maybe three or four have the skills we need.”

Charles pressed, his voice sharp. “Then get one of them.”

“I can’t,” Nathan snapped. “Every team is desperate for a mender, so they share the few we have. They’re all out on contracts right now or at the hospital.”

Charles frowned, frustration creeping into his voice. “Menders and scouts are always poached first. What about brute force? If we can’t stop the poison, we just keep healing him until it runs out.”

“Maybe?” Nathan didn’t sound sure. “That’s a lot of healing, and I don’t think his body can process the poison—it might never stop killing him.”

“Are there any cure poison potions or something?” Dylan knew little about magic, but he’d played enough games to know consumables usually solved status ailments.

“We don’t have one strong enough.” Nathan frowned. “You’d need eight to clear them all from your system.”

“Okay, what’s the problem?” Dylan winced as the pain surged back to its previous levels.

“There’s a potion cooldown,” Charles explained. “It doubles every time you take one, and you’d need to wait a full day to reset it.”

“How long’s the cooldown?” Dylan asked, already dreading the answer.

“Five minutes,” Nathan answered grimly.

“What happens if I take them without waiting for the cooldown?” Dylan figured it probably wasn’t good.

“You’ll die,” Charles said flatly.

“Taking a potion during the cooldown ravages your health—it’s not like the gummies. The damage scales with the timer. By the second, maybe third potion, you’d be dead,” Nathan concurred with Charles.

“Gummies?” Charles narrowed his eyes at Nathan.

“Gummies!” Nathan exclaimed, his eyes flashing green for a moment before shifting back to blue. He turned to Charles. “You’ve got a teleport, right?”

Charles nodded slowly. “Why?”

“I don’t know if there’s enough time, but it’s all I’ve got. I need you to get to the hospital and grab a jar filled with colored candies and bring it back as fast as you can,” Nathan said.

Without hesitation, Charles pressed a hand to the wall beside Dylan’s chair. A glowing runic circle appeared with a sizzle as Nathan described where to find his office in the hospital.

Meekan slipped back through the door, shaking her head. “I couldn’t find anyone,” she said, frustration flickering in her voice.

Charles sprinted past her. “Nathan’s got a plan,” he called over his shoulder.

“Where’s he going?” Meekan pointed after the rugged elf. “And what’s the plan?”

Nathan explained his plan to Meekan while she wet a small cloth and placed it on Dylan’s forehead. Bottles and vials clinked as Nathan sifted through the cabinet, searching for another potion.

“What are you looking for?” Meekan asked softly, dabbing the cool cloth across Dylan’s brow.

“Delayed-release healing potions,” Nathan muttered, shifting to the next shelf. “Thank the Mother.” He grabbed a vial of slightly different green liquid and walked over to Dylan, glancing at the clock on the wall.

Nathan tucked the vial into Dylan’s hand, folding his fingers over it. “We need to time this perfectly. I’ll count to five once it’s been five minutes—then you drink this.” In Nathan’s other hand was a potion of darker green liquid.

“What’s that one for?” Meekan nodded toward the second potion.

“I think there are only seven poison cleanse gummies left. If that’s all we’ve got, he’ll need this potion too.” Nathan’s concern bled through, despite his efforts to mask it.

Dylan realized Meekan was holding his hand again. When he looked up, she gave him a gentle squeeze.

“I’ll need Zepperlin, Ramone, and Le’pard,” Nathan said urgently. “Hurry.”

Meekan pressed the cloth into Dylan’s hand before dashing out of the room.

The darkness crept back in, and Dylan fought to stay conscious. His head throbbed, the pain sharpest behind his eyes. He squinted against the harsh lights overhead, closing them for just a moment.

“…Four, five—take it now! Dylan? Dylan!” Nathan shook him, panic rising in his voice.

Dylan’s eyes finally opened, and he wished all the Nathans would stop floating around.

“Take the potion,” Nathan said, his voice sharp with urgency. He guided Dylan’s hand to his mouth, tilting his head back.

Dylan’s throat, focused only on breathing, wasn’t ready for the liquid sliding down. He sputtered and coughed, but Nathan clamped both hands over his mouth and nose.

‘I can’t breathe.’ Dylan thought in panic, unable to speak. Nathan pushed down with his weight. ‘He’s trying to kill me!’

“Dylan!” Nathan yelled, his eyes shifting to black. “I’m sorry. I know it feels like drowning.”

‘Goddamnit Nathan!’ Dylan’s hand flew up, delivering a sharp slap to Nathan’s face. He kicked and flailed, desperate to break free.

Nathan held firm. “The potion still works in your lungs.”

This was worse than the stabbing. Dylan tried coughing, but his air couldn’t get past Nathan’s smothering hold on him. He tried to bite but found no purchase. Desperately, he bucked beneath Nathan, but the elf was too strong, and he was too weak.

“You’ve already lost some, and you need every drop.” Nathan pressed harder to keep Dylan from coughing.

‘Everything’s tingling. Why does everything tingle?’ Dylan wondered. A strange dissonance spread through him—his body starved for oxygen, just as the healing potion began working. The effects kept him from slipping into unconsciousness while leaving him with enough awareness to keep panicking—it was torture.

Tears streaked down both their faces as Nathan smothered him. “I’m sorry. Just a little longer—to make sure you’ve absorbed it all.”

After a few more seconds, Nathan released him. Dylan rolled away, gasping for air. Deep, rattling coughs wracked him, cutting off every breath. He slid off the chair, his numb legs refusing to hold him.

Nathan rushed over, pulling Dylan into a tight hug. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered over and over. He eased Dylan back into the chair, then stepped away to give him space, hesitant to speak again while Dylan recovered.

“Dylan, I’m really sorry, but you were about to cough up the potion,” Nathan said, as much to himself as to Dylan.

Dylan raised a shaky hand, testing a shallow breath. “I know,” he rasped. After a bout of coughing, he added, “It’s okay.”

Nathan’s eyes shifted from black back to their usual blue. “This potion won’t feel as good as the last—it gives the same healing, but spread out over time. I can boost the effect with my ability,” he said, casting a spell over Dylan.

Warmth spread through him as the trickle of health surged into a river of life, chasing away the numbness. His heartbeat smoothed, steady and sure. Even the throbbing in his head shrank to a dull murmur. For a second, he just sat there, savoring the sensation of not dying. 'This is nice,' he thought, exhaling slowly.

“I don’t know how long the potion will hold, but it’ll buy us time,” Nathan said with a weak smile. They turned as Meekan and a tan-scaled draconi appeared in the doorway.