He died.

The bloodletting had worked at first. For weeks, it brought the peak daily deaths from ten down to one or two. It was a missive success. We rotated the sessions, bleeding the children again when their symptoms returned. The boy, whose name I never learned, never regained the healthy pink hue of life; his skin remained a pale, sickly shade. At first, I worried, but after weeks with no change, I assumed it was simply his natural color.

So when he told me he was feeling sick again, I performed the same procedure as before. But this time, something went horribly wrong. Moments into the session, he went into shock. I stopped immediately, but the damage was done. Desperate, I tried to perform CPR, but it was futile. His life slipped through my fingers, leaving me powerless to stop it.

The boy’s mother wasn’t there when it happened. I sent someone to find her, to bring her to the Eastside Healer Center. Breaking the news to her was unbearable, worse than any of the deaths that had come before. This one was my fault. A direct result of my failure. She slapped me, and I let her. I deserved it.

This time, I held in the grief. I held it in until I was alone in my room. Where I broke down.

* * *

I sat hunched on the edge of my bed, my feet sprawled in front of me, the room spinning slowly around me. The dim light of the sunrise cast a grim glow over the disarray. Garbage littered the floor, clothes were thrown haphazardly about, and empty wine jugs lay cracked and broken around me. I gripped the wine skin in my hand, the sloshing liquid grounding me momentarily.

But the faces of the children haunted me, refusing to leave me in peace. Even the early sun’s warmth couldn’t thaw the deep chill in my bones. I huddled under a heavy blanket, seeking some kind of comfort. I took another long pull from the wine skin, the liquor burning its way down my throat, but it only dulled the images seared into my mind.

The contrast between the boy’s bright smile, the hope in his eyes as he began to feel better, and the lifeless body that replaced it... I squeezed my eyes shut, but it was no use. The symptoms, those cursed symptoms of the Plague, played behind my eyelids like a nightmare I couldn’t escape, even in the light of day.

I stood up too quickly, and the room tilted dangerously as I staggered to the window. My stomach churned violently, and I barely made it before I vomited. The bile burned my throat on its way out, tears streaming down my face. Whether from the physical pain or the grief, I couldn’t tell. Some guards glanced in my direction, alerted by the noise, but when they saw who it was, they quickly looked away. I dropped the empty wine skin, its contents spent.

Why did it have to be them? Why did the youngest, the most innocent, have to suffer first? The scenes replayed in my mind—the convulsions, the strokes, the sudden, inexplicable deaths. I could still hear the silence that followed the chaos, the loudest silence I had ever known.

I fumbled with a new wineskin, nearly dropping it as my unsteady hands struggled to untie it. The swig I finally managed to take helped ease the burn in my throat, offering a brief escape into the depths of the alcohol. I hadn’t slept in days. The nightmares lurked behind my closed eyes, so I stayed awake, drinking, watching the sun rise and set. Hoping, perhaps, that the sun might reveal the secrets of the universe, offering me some respite.

I slumped back onto my bed, the skin carelessly tilted, spilling its precious contents across my bedding. I stared blankly at the opposite wall, the room feeling smaller and more confining with every passing moment. But it was the only place I deserved.

“It’s all my fault,” I muttered, the words slurred and heavy as they escaped my lips. I brought the wineskin back to my mouth, spilling more drops onto myself and the floor, but I didn’t care. The door, one of the few luxuries in these lands, was shut, yet I could almost hear the cries on the other side. The mothers, the fathers, the children mourning their siblings. Another swig, another cough. This routine was all I had left.

“You’re a Sage,” I whispered to the shadows. “People listen to you. They trust you. And look where it’s gotten them.” A bitter laugh escaped me, the laugh of a man teetering on the edge of madness.

The door burst open, and my laughter died in my throat. I squinted through my blurry vision, trying to make out who had dared to intrude.

“What are you doing to yourself?” The voice was sharp, cutting through the haze.

The tone was familiar. I blinked, forcing my eyes to focus until the figure at the door became clear. Lian. The Priest's daughter. Here to mock me for my failures, no doubt.

“What do you want?” I slurred, my words heavy with the weight of my self-loathing. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Lian wrinkled her nose at the stench and surveyed the disarray of the room with a look of disgust. “Busy with what? Destroying yourself?”

“Bah. You wouldn’t get it.” I muttered, waving her off.

She stepped closer, her eyes flashing with anger. Whether at the situation or my response, I couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered. I just wanted to be left alone, but she clearly hadn’t received the memo.

“Why do you get to shower yourself in elixirs while everyone else is out there working to better the city and ensure our survival?” Her voice trembled with barely contained fury. “I’ve been out there all day, performing my duties alongside my father, easing the burdens on the healers and calming the people of Greenhaven. And what have you done? Sulked in your room?”

Her words ignited a fire in me. How dare she reduce what I was feeling to mere sulking? “Oh, sulking, am I?” I snapped back, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “I’m ‘sulking’ because I killed a child due to my carelessness! You wouldn’t understand, after all you just prance around, throwing flowers on the poor children!”

The slap echoed through the room, sharp and sudden. My eyes blurred before locking onto the wall beside her. My anger flared, ready to unleash a tirade, but the sight of tears in her eyes made me pause. My drunken mind struggled realizing something was wrong.

Before I could gather my thoughts, Lian spoke again, her voice quivering with emotion. “Even if you dismiss my prancing, everyone else is out there giving their all to keep this city alive. The Chieftain and the Priest are doing everything in their power to prevent panic, the healers are tirelessly tending to the sick, using the bloodletting technique you taught them.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the intensity in her gaze silenced me.

“And the elders, stricken with the Plague themselves, are pushing on. And you! You, who’ve changed the fate of this city, who’ve given us all a fighting chance, are sitting here drinking yourself into oblivion? What should have been a monumental achievement, a reason to celebrate, has been tarnished by your self-pity. Yes, a child died under your care, but it wasn’t your fault. Countless others are alive because of you. Even the parents who’ve lost children to the Plague are still working. Even they are working! What gives you the right to sit in your room in self-pity! Get yourself together!”

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Her chest heaved with the effort of her outburst, and with one last huff, she turned sharply on her heel and stormed out. I watched her go, my mouth opening and closing, unable to find any words. I stood there for what felt like hours, the weight of her words pressing down on me, until I finally realized that night had fallen.

I turned to stare blankly out the window, the darkness outside reflecting bringing me no answers. After a while, I curled up in my dirty blanket and let the tears flow once more, this time unsure if they were tears of grief, guilt, or something else entirely.

* * *

I woke up with the worst headache of my life, a relentless pounding that felt like it was trying to split my skull in two. It was as if my body was punishing me for the previous day’s actions, a physical manifestation of my guilt and regret. The nightmares hadn’t helped either, leaving me feeling more exhausted and ill than when I’d fallen into bed.

I fumbled around for a wineskin, desperate for something to ease the pain. When I found one, the familiar scent of my homemade brew wafted up, tempting me. I lifted it to my lips, but Lian’s words from the day before echoed in my mind. Her scolding had left a mental mark. With a shaky hand, I forced myself to set the skin down. Instead, I reached for another skin filled with water.

I poured a handful and splashed it on my face, the cool liquid shocking me awake and washing away some of the grime of the previous day. I drank deeply, the water soothing my parched throat and clearing the bitter taste from my mouth.

As I sat down, I tried to piece together what had happened yesterday. The confrontation with Lian was a blur, but certain moments stood out vividly. The slap, especially. I struggled, unable to remember what I had said that provoked her so much. Whatever it was, it had been bad enough to break through the reserve these people usually held. They were always so restrained around me, or perhaps that was just how they were in general. I wasn’t sure anymore.

Lian’s words about the grief-stricken parents still rang in my ears. These were people who had lost their children, and yet they had returned to their work. Whether in the fields or the pottery shops, carrying on with their duties. I laughed bitterly at the irony of it all. I had taken the death of a child I barely knew harder than their own parents. No, that wasn’t right. They simply handled their grief and emotions better than I did.

When the laughter faded, I took a deep breath, feeling lost. I couldn’t keep drinking, not after what Lian had said. It would feel like I was doing it out of spite, and I’d be dishonoring the resilience of the people of Greenhaven. They kept moving forward; I needed to do the same.

“Alright,” I muttered to myself. “First things first, I need to apologize for whatever I said.” I cringed inwardly. It was hard to apologize sincerely for something when you couldn’t even remember what you’d said. I didn’t even know how apologies worked in this culture. I’d have to ask the Priest for guidance. But first, I needed to make myself presentable.

I changed into fresh clothes, but the stench of alcohol still clung to me. A proper wash would require heading to the river, which would have to wait; right now, the apology couldn’t be delayed. I didn’t want to let too much time pass and risk souring whatever friendship I had with Lian.

The halls were mostly empty as I made my way through them. The few people I did encounter quickly bowed, avoiding eye contact, their expressions hidden from me. Eventually, I found myself at the Priest’s office, but it was empty. He was likely performing another exorcism or calming the fears of the populace. I had nothing else to do today until I apologized. After all, the healers could bloodlet without me, and I won’t find the cure if I bang my head against the wall.

After several hours of waiting, the Priest finally walked in. He jumped in surprise when he saw me sitting there, clearly startled by my presence. It seemed I had broken some etiquette about not waiting inside someone’s room without them present. He quickly patted himself down, composing himself before giving me a glare and taking his seat. He reached down, grabbing a skin and some kind of cloth. He soaked the cloth in the water and patted his face down. Before taking a small drink. That was odd.

As he sniffed the air, his frown deepened, no doubt catching the lingering scent of alcohol. “What can I help you with today?” he asked, his tone clipped.

“I’ve come more for a personal reason.” I noticed his frown deepened further, perhaps thinking I would ask for beer, which was reserved only for ceremonies and celebrations. I continued quickly before he could interrupt. “I’d like to apologize.”

I stood and performed a deep bow, the deepest I had ever given. When I straightened up, I saw the surprise on the Priest’s face. “I have acted immaturely, in a manner unbefitting of my title and position, and for that, I apologize.”

I bowed again, matching the depth of the first. This time, the Priest was more composed when I rose, his face thoughtful. “I have done some reflecting and realized that not having my emotions under control, while everyone else is suppressing theirs, is not how I should behave. Others are enduring far more grief than I am.”

The Priest remained silent, his expression unreadable. I licked my lips nervously before continuing. “I promise to strive to be better, to be wiser, as befits my title and position on the council. Please forgive me.”

I performed the third and final bow, holding it. The way I was apologizing was a blend of their customs, where bowing was used for almost everything, and from some Asian customs I had recalled, where the depth of the bow emphasized sincerity and status. I wanted to convey genuine remorse. The Priest let me hold the position for what felt like an eternity, my muscles aching in protest, but I didn’t let myself waiver.

Just when I thought he wouldn’t accept my apology, the Priest spoke. “Rise.”

I straightened without hesitation, grateful to release my strained muscles. I stood silently, waiting for his response.

“Ever since the Plague struck, you’ve been panicked, second-guessing yourself, and wearing your emotions on your sleeve. The only reason I didn’t intervene was that you had moments of clear thinking, like when you decided to ration the herbs. In fact, you were the one who convinced me it was necessary.

“The second time was when you proposed bloodletting. I thought it was a desperate measure, but in my own desperation, I allowed it. By the grace of the goddess, it was the right call. While it isn’t a cure, it has significantly slowed the deaths of our children and even the elders.

“But the stress had clearly gotten to you. You may be a Sage with knowledge beyond our understanding, but it was obvious from the moment the Plague hit that you are wet behind your ears. I couldn’t approach you to relieve some of the stress, as we walk very different paths in life. I was even considering proposing your demotion to an unofficial Sage, which would result in all support being withdrawn from you.”

My palms began to sweat at the implications of such a demotion. It would mean losing my guards and my assistants. But my guess is on him ensuring I wouldn’t be able to get access to the city's liquor. “I cannot know how sincere your apology is. Just as a spear aimed can miss its mark, so can a man’s promise fail to deliver. But I will cautiously accept your apology and watch to ensure your promise is kept.”

I resisted the urge to sigh in relief, knowing it could potentially come off as disrespectful. Especially at this moment. Instead, I offered a lighter bow in gratitude and took a seat, feeling a little more at ease. As I settled in my seat, I finally took a good look at his face. Dark shadows lingered under his eyes, and, oddly, his complexion held a faint shade of red.

“Speak,” the Priest said, after taking another drink of water. “I can see there’s more to this.”

I hesitated, unsure of how to phrase my request. “I apologize for being direct, but I’m not sure how else to ask this. How do I properly apologize?”

He raised an eyebrow. “If you’re asking if you should redo your apology to me, what you’ve done was more than sufficient.”

I shook my head. “That’s not what I mean.” I hesitated again, worried about how he might react, especially after such a fresh apology. But I knew I needed to be honest to do this properly. “The truth is, I didn’t come to my realization on my own. Your daughter, Lian, confronted me in my drunken state and made me see the error of my ways. Unfortunately, I insulted her in some manner. I won’t blame the elixir for my actions. I want to fully embrace the consequences and apologize to her. But I don’t know how to do it properly.”

His impassive face turned colder. “And how exactly did you offend her?”

I averted my gaze, not daring to meet his eyes. “I don’t remember clearly. My memory from the event is blurry, and I only recall fragments of what transpired. But from what I do remember, I know I was at fault, and I want to make amends.”

The Priest studied me, his eyes searching for any sign of falsehoods. “What a convenient excuse.”

I remained silent, knowing that anything I said could backfire. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke again. “How committed are you to apologizing?”

I didn’t even hesitate. “Completely.”

“Even if it means apologizing as an equal?” he asked, his tone probing.

It was an unusual way to phrase it, but I nodded. “Yes.”

He continued to scrutinize me, taking a slow sip of water as if buying himself time to deliberate. Finally, he frowned, his expression revealing clear displeasure with whatever conclusion he had reached. “Fine.”