The elf had an expression which conveyed an expression or state of mind. His body language communicated details about his well-being and intentions. So did his tone.

“Tuv, you shouldn’t be up and about, man. Aren’t you hurt?”

“Big guy, I’m not going to let my patients bleed out.”

Pratiksha tensed. <>

An elf’s heavy bag made muffled clinks as its weight shifted. “Oh, this is amazing, Rhode. You did it. Are you going to introduce us?”

“Tuv, just–” Rhode held up a warding hand. <> he reassured his sister (twin? clone?). <>

Pratiksha stopped reaching for the rotten handle of a pair of verdigris-crusted shears.

<>

“What’s his name?” the acolyte asked.

<> “Btiobhan, this is Pratiksha. Gah, switching is hard. People really do this all the time?”

Negotiating the next few moments was tense, but uncomplicated. The Third Hero was skittish, distrustful, and angry. But she was also pushing the limits of her body. Even the enormous strength of a homunculus began to waver and dim. Neither Hero spoke openly while the Hornupant removed bottles of antiseptic fluid and gauze from their bag. The acolyte’s words spilled out in a constant stream, which one might logically conclude spoke to their excitement.

“Normally, I’d say the biggest threat we’re concerned about is blood loss, or a head injury. Rhode, may I count on you to translate for me? I need to know if the Hero is experiencing any dizziness, tunnel vision or darkness. Also confusion, nausea or chest pain. Also, this may sting. I’ve got to flush and bind the wound. Ask him to tell me if it hurts, and also if there are any other open cuts or lacerations.”

The Third Hero held her distance. <>

<>

Pratiksha hesitantly offered her arm forward. It jerked awkwardly as she extended it. <>

She pulled back and Btiobhan gasped in pain. He clutched at his shoulder, collecting himself over short, sharp breaths.

“Tuv, what can I do to help?”

“Keep the Hero from moving, please. If you want, you could hold my bag open, just so it’s easier to reach things.”

“Sure. Of course.”

Rhode tapped his fist against his lip as he thought. <>

<>

<>

<>

<>

Rhode nodded. “I shouldn’t make guesses. But signs of shock.” he relayed to Btiobhan. “Maybe oncoming pulmonary arrest. A sense of near-complete detachment from the body.”

“Yes, well detachment would be a severe understatement in this case. I just can’t imagine – apologies, did you say lung-stop? Please excuse me, Ser Pratiksha. I need to measure your pulse.”

Rhode warned her and she reluctantly assented.

“Rhode, please find a small vial in my bag. It contains a semi-opaque green fluid, and not the syrupy one. Until I say otherwise, assume that every instruction I ask of you is urgent.”

B■io□ha■’s tone was. Rhode fumbled thick, clumsy fingers through the bag, pawing through clinking vials and tools, making a mess of carefully sorted sections until he found a cylinder of frothy, sea-green solution.

“Mimai will absolutely die when she meets you,” the □■f murmured. “Look how stable this ectoplasm is. You’re remarkable. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. Eighteen. Under two.”

The acolyte began rubbing his hands together vigorously. He had to keep one arm pinned to his side, and could barely bend his neck forward. Still, he breathed between his cupped fingers as he continued to knead them. Thin curls of pale fog escaped his lips.

Rhode held out the vial and shivered.

“Good. Give your granny’s urn a shake1 and hope we don’t need it, that stuff is awful. Please tell Ser Pratiksha that I must use one of my Levels.” The physician’s fingers and mouth had changed color. The air had gone cold and dry. “He may experience an unpleasant and intense chill, along with numbness. This is normal. It is possible he will also feel sluggish or tired, but… we’ll see.”

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Pratiksha was staring at the individual: particularly at their hands.

“Hey man, are you sure?”

“Rhode. The Third Hero is medically dying. We can fix that. The team can fix that. But first we need to give ourselves more time. [Shivertouch] will do that.”

<> Rhode translated. << It might feel weird… and really cold.>>

<>

A thought occurred to Rhode. He lurched into an adjoining room and snatched up a chair, the stool, and a low table. Thump, thump, thump. He set them down for the others, and laid the bag out too.

“You’re not going to freeze her, right? I mean, that can’t possibly work. It’s not safe.” He was crowding them now. He forced himself to step away.

“No. No. The cold is helpful,” the healer spoke, “but it’s just a secondary effect.” His fingers pressed into Pratiksha’s skin and her flesh seized up in muscle spasms, outward from that touch in a crawling wave. “Shhhhh. Shhhhh. It’s okay. We’re just slowing your body down a little bit. Nothing to worry about.”

<> Pratiksha gasped. Her skin was turning blue, and her veins dark under its surface. Her echo grew agitated and twisted vainly to tear itself away.

“Shhhhh,” Btiobhan repeated. The elf patted the Third’s hand gently. But the long-limbed, dark haired man also leaned hungrily forward. “I mean, it has to have been my [Anchor], obviously. But how could it maleficate like this? Did you do it? Oh, no it’s alright. Shhhh.” His eyes were wide, intent, and glinted with derangement. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll make you better.”

Rhode did not appreciate the expression. He laid a hand on Btiobhan’s uninjured shoulder. “Yo, Tuv. Dial it back.” he growled. “This is necessary, right?”

“Sorry!” Btiobhan laughed nervously. He slouched on the stool in his long robe, his splayed posture desperately constructed to appear casual. He was even paler than usual. The dark rings under his eyes were more pronunced. His shoe tapped anxiously on the floor and he turned away, ashamed. “Sorry. I’m just excited. I’ve never seen this before. It’s working, though. Can you tell him I’m going to hit him one more time with [Shivertouch] and then we’ll move on to the next step? Then, um, I need the vial of red paint and the little brush. Doesn’t need to be the little one, it’s just the cleanest.”

Rhode found himself thinking about [Anonymity] as he laid out the contents of the medical bag. The edges of it were so fluid. The transitions felt so natural. The logic of it didn’t matter, even now. Fishing around for bottles one at a time was unproductive. At this point, Rhode just took out everything and organized it on the table.

Btiobhan rinsed Pratiksha’s wound, and the concoction sizzled with foaming blobs. It stained like iodine as he carefully wiped it away and bound her arm loosely with gauze. With Rhode’s help, he asked to inspect her stomach and broken arm.

Then, once he was ready, he cupped his hands again and began to blow. His fingers turned ruddy, and then blue. They shook. His lips chapped and began to bleed. A cloying mist dripped from his hand as he laid it on the homunculus again. This time, she braced herself and suffered its effect quietly.

“What does that do, man?”

“When a person loses too much blood, their tissues will begin to die. Like I said, this just slows down the process.”

Rhode glared. “Uh huh.”

Btiobhan stood abruptly. He uncapped a small well of rusty paint and dabbed a stiff-bristled brush into it. “Actually,” he cleared his throat, “I used it on you too. Early on. It probably looks uncomfortable, but I can promise you this will give us more time. Especially this… next step. Are you okay if it hurts a little bit?”

“You mean me? Do whatever you’ve got to do,” Rhode sighed.

“Lean down, just a little bit?”

Rhode did. The brush tickled his forehead as Btiobhan painted a tiny, delicate version of the [Lifetap] rune on his forehead. Slightly larger versions went on his wrists. Each mark had slight variations, which would only make sense to someone who knew the [Rune] intimately.

Btiobhan painted himself next. He unbuttoned his shirt collar and adjusted the iron choke to expose his throat. He hitched up his robe and rolled up one trouser leg. His own runes were drawn in large, bold strokes. He inspected them in the glass.

The symbol was jagged, crooked and swirling. It had an unkind shape. He shrugged.

Pratiksha had been watching quietly. Her echo was harder to see in the light, and so she sat with the peace of a corpse. When her mouth moved, it was unsettling. <> she asked Rhode. She was slurring her words.

<>

Her head turned. <>

Rhode glanced to his side. <>

<> Pratiksha stated firmly.

<>

“Ready?” Btiobhan asked. He shook his good hand to loosen it up, and bounced on his feet as he firmed his resolve. “That’s the tough thing about Mana, Rhode. I heard you want to learn a little bit of the craft, so you’re going to be dealing with this soon. No matter what else Mana and Levels can do, it can’t create energy out of nothing. We can collect energy, we can harvest it. But we can’t make it.”

“Huh, I guess I’m sort of familiar with something like that,” Rhode nodded.

“That’s why this next part might hurt a bit. Ser Pratiksha needs just a little bit of vital energy to tide her over, and we’re going to donate some.”

“Vital energy? Instead of the blood?”

Btiobhan winced. “No. We still need that soon. If I’m asking for too much…?”

“Man, I said do whatever you gotta do, and that hasn’t changed.”

It wasn’t particularly flashy when Btiobhan invoked his runes, Rhode simply felt a dull ache from each of them. The elf grit his teeth and shut his eyes. He laughed once. The rune on his throat had turned a rich scarlet. An ugly bruise was blooming on his neck underneath it.

“[Orgone Leak]” he whispered. Then he pointed his finger and a green ray of light shot into Pratiksha’s chest. The light thrummed as it shone; it made her bones glow, and the shadow of them were faintly visible through the flesh.

Btiobhan swept the beam through Pratiksha’s torso. He focused it on her vital organs. He held it for no more than seven seconds, then the light cut off and he slumped. His knees buckled, and Rhode only barely caught him before he fell completely.

Pratiksha convulsed as her heart started beating again.

Rhode set the man down carefully, leaving him to lean against the table. “Yo, Tuv,” he frowned. “Uh.”

The Third’s chest moved slowly. Shallowly. But it did rise and fall.

Rhode slapped at the rune on his wrist and gray, ashy powder smeared along with a layer of bloody skin. “Tuv? For real. What kind of doctor are you, man?”