It took hours, but at last, when pink dawn light began to peek through the tent’s entrance, Abrial fell into a fitful, sweaty sleep. Finley stayed by her bedside to periodically lift various pain draughts to Abrial’s pale lips and hold Abrial’s clammy hand. Only when Abrial’s eyes closed and her forehead relaxed at last, did Finley stand. She left the tent silently, walking very quickly. Clearly, she had somewhere to go.

Abrial’s forehead twitched and jerked. Silver beads of sweat trickled into her shining black hair from time to time. When Bi Gho was not hovering closely over Bi Chanjuan, who was sleeping soundly after two pain draughts, she moved to swipe the sweat from Abrial’s forehead with the cloth Finley had been using to gingerly clean Abrial’s skin.

An hour later, three young people stumbled into the tent.

Or rather, one young man stumbled in, carrying another unconscious young man on his back and struggling to carry an thin, unconscious young person in his arms.

The stumbling young man was Wu Dafu. On his back was a slumped Ya Syaoran, his forehead slick with seat, and in his arms lay the limp form of Shu Romy, whose face was so pale it seemed almost translucent.

“They both passed out — ” Wu Dafu gasped, arms shaking as healers ran to carry Ya Syaoran and Shu Romy away to empty bedrolls. “Ah Ran and I, we went into the scroll tent when we heard a loud noise, and we found — them, Shu Romy, I think — passed out on the ground. We tried to carry them here, but on the way…A-Ah Ran started feeling strange a-and passed out, so…I brought them…both…”

“We’ll take care of them, don’t you worry your handsome little head,” a healer chirped to Wu Dafu.

“B-But…” Wu Dafu fought to regain his breath. “It’s the agony of the Day of Shadows…right? I’ve h-heard…that can be severe. Are they going to be…all right?”

“Yes, yes. The agony should pass within twenty-four hours, not to worry, not to worry.”

Wu Dafu shot Ya Syaoran a worried look. “Ah Ran is fairly good at shadow magic…I’m worried he’ll be in a lot of pain…” Ya Syaoran’s pale, limp form was sprawled on a bedroll, near the entrance, being attended to by a healer with a ready bowl of steaming pain draught. “I hope he’ll be all right…and…Shu Romy, too…”

His warm brown eyes scanned over the rest of the tent. He started, doing a double-take as his eyes widened.

“Is that — Abrial?”

Lying in the bed next to Shu Romy was a pale young woman, her damp, shining black hair spread in waterfalls over her cylindrical pillow. She was twitching in her sleep, face scrunching and fingers spasming slightly.

Bi Gho sighed, not even looking up as she fanned Bi Chanjuan’s sleeping form.

“Indeed. Abrial is here, and my meimei as well. It seems we have a growing crowd of those in agony…” She sighed dramatically.

Wu Dafu blinked, then snapped to attention. He bowed, scarlet headband fluttering.

“Greetings, Lady Bi Gho! I didn’t know you were here!”

“Yes, yes. Carry on with whatever you were doing, I’m quite busy, as you can see…sigh…”

After that, Wu Dafu seemed to have a small crisis. His eyes flickered between Abrial and Ya Syaoran’s bedrolls anxiously, as though he couldn’t decide which one to sit by and tend to. In the end, he bit his lip and went to kneel by Ya Syaoran’s side, taking the cool towel a healer handed him and dabbing Ya Syaoran’s pale forehead gently.

Finley returned not too long after.

She swept into the tent and beelined for Abrial’s bedroll, paying no one else any mind and almost running a few healers over. When she dropped down by Abrial’s side, her face was shadowed because it was turned away from the sunlight streaming through the tent flap. Her expression was solemn, with a tinge of…was that grimness?

After calling for a healer to bring another pain draught and waking Abrial momentarily to drink it, Finley adjusted Abrial’s blanket and pillow to be more comfortable. The solemn look grew even darker

After sleeping for a full day yesterday and a fitful morning sleep, Abrial felt restless again. Sleeping had been just as painful as being awake, filled with blood red images and strange nightmares. With a grimace, she sat up.

“It’s okay, Finley. Leave the blankets. I’m gonna stay awake for…a bit.”

Finley turned the blanket down by Abrial’s waist instead, so that she could better sit up.

Then, out of nowhere, her delicate pale hand shot out and pressed against the left side of Abrial’s chest.

Abrial froze. Even through the haze of throbbing pain in her head and chest, and the tiredness coating her senses, she could feel this, weirdly, as clearly and sharply as a lightning strike: Finley’s cool hand pressed harder against her chest. A strange feeling shot through Abrial’s body, making her cheeks burn hotter than they already were. She jerked back away from the hand automatically.

“...Finley?” she croaked, staring up at Finley’s face. Finley’s face was solemn and unmoving, as though she was concentrating deeply on something. She moved forward again, pressing her hand flat against Abrial’s chest another time. Abrial froze.

At last, Fnley removed her hand. Abrial released a breath of relief.

“Wh-what the heck was that for?” she muttered, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders to cover herself, even though she was wearing a robe. It made her look kind of silly, like a little kid wrapping herself in a blanket to hide from the dark.

Finley gingerly lifted the cool, damp towel from the low table by Abrial’s bedroll.

“Just checking something,” she said, expressionless. Her voice sounded…dark. Just a little bit, but it was there. Weird.

Abrial swallowed. The question, ‘What the heck were you checking?’ rose up her throat immediately, but something deflated it as it swelled in her mouth. She found she didn’t have the heart to ask anymore. Her cheeks were still burning. It was probably just from the fever, right? Ahahaha…Yeah, that was it. For sure! She had a fever and was sick, so she was feeling all kinds of weird things.

After Finley dabbed Abrial’s burning forehead for a moment that felt extremely awkward to Abrial, Abrial pulled back slightly and cleared her throat. A glimmering brightness returned to her eyes, which had been dim with tiredness a moment ago.

“Can you tell me a story, Finley? I’m really bored sitting in here already, and I just woke up! It’s so cramped and stuffy in here…Please?” Abrial sounded vaguely like a spoiled kid whining for sweets.

In reality, the tent wasn’t cramped and stuffy at all. It was quite spacious and aired out for the sake of preventing the spread of illness to all infirmary patients. But to Abrial, it felt like a familiar prison: a mostly enclosed space with sunlight streaming through an opening, where she had to lie in bed and try to sleep. Just like her bedroom at the house, where she had tried so hard to sleep all those nights as moonlight streamed in the windows like a silver blade behind her eyelids.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Besides that, Abrial had used to feel driven insane if she didn’t get out of the house and run around in the paradise gardens for at least four hours a day. She was a perpetually active spirit. This lying asleep in the infirmary for almost over a day now was beginning to give her an unbearable itch in her legs.

“Can you make it a story with a big adventure?” she asked eagerly, eyes shining. A bead of silver fevered sweat rolled down her moon-pale forehead, nearly dripping into her eye. Finley caught it deftly with the cloth.

After placing the cloth down, Finley reached into her pale robes and drew out a thick scroll. It had a deep brown cloth covering, with shapes woven into it that seemed to resemble human figures.

Abrial’s eyes brightened even further, two gleaming lanterns shining out of her pale, clammy face.

“You brought a book? Awesome!”

Finley frowned slightly as she unravelled the first layer of the scroll.

“You asked for a book, so I brought one. I chose it because it is an adventure story, and you like this kind of story..”

“Cool! What’s it called?”

Finley flipped the scroll, effortlessly reading the intricate golden characters on the brown covering.

“The Tale of the Orphan Adopted Into the Heavens. The author is unknown.”

In the bed next to Abrial, Romy Shu shifted slightly. Their eyes remained closed, but they turned imperceptibly to face more towards Finley, who was drawing in a breath to begin reading.

The Tale of the Orphan Adopted Into the Heavens was the story of a young boy with a tragic childhood. His family was tragically poor, and he was beaten daily by his parents, often cast outside their hut with nowhere to go. One day, he was cast away by his family, who was too poor to support their child and deemed him the most disposable.

He had many difficult adventures and traveled all over the world trying to survive on his own. He learned challenging feats of magic to defend himself and roamed from town to town for years, living off scraps. But though he grew strong enough to fight off thieves who attacked him in the night, and tough enough to survive off a single slice of bread for four days, he always felt empty inside. He was one who roamed the world alone, unseen by all and unloved by even himself.

But then, one day, when he was weak from starvation, he encountered a young woman who offered him an apple. The apple tasted strange, and when he bit into it, it was golden.

The young woman then revealed herself: she was an immortal goddess! She had watched him suffer and grow stronger, and being a goddess who had decided to never marry, desired a child. She offered to adopt him as her son and bring him to her palace in the heavenly realm, where he would become an immortal like her.

The young boy thought about this for some time, and then agreed. He finished the golden apple and was made an immortal. With the goddess, his adopted mother, he ascended to heaven, where he still lives contentedly to this day. As a god himself, he reaches out to rejected orphans on the streets and leads them to places where they can find and make their own homes and places of safety, as his mother did for him. And he was happy.

Finley read for over two hours. As she read the last words, her voice was slightly hoarse. Abrial was almost leaning all the way out of her bedroll, eagerly listening with twinkling eyes. Shu Romy, too, had woken up and was not pretending to not be listening anymore; they were sitting up and listening intently, a sparkle of comfort somewhere deep in their jet black eyes.

“...The End,” Finley croaked at last. She reached for a wooden cup of water on Abrial’s low wooden table and sipped it to quench her parched throat.

Meanwhile, Abrial sat back at last, grinning. She gave a sigh of delight. What a cute, adventurous, epic story!

It was noon by now, the tent had become bustling, as the sun was high in the sky, marking the deepest part of the Day of Shadows. People had begun to stumble in with mild headaches and dizziness induced by the agony, and the infirmary tent’s beds were filling up quickly with the sick. No one’s conditions came anywhere near Abrial’s, however. Every half an hour, pain attacked her temples and chest, making her curl up in a moaning, groaning, pitiful ball of sweat

After eating a lunch of mild soup with soft dumplings, some color had returned to Abrial’s face. Surprisingly, she had made it a whole hour without a fit of pain.

As Abrial started on the second bowl of soup she’d whined for Finley to bring over, her chewing slowed down. A frown furrowed on her dark brow.

“What is it?” Finley asked, standing. “Should I go and make another pain draught?”

Abrial shook her head slowly. She lowered the bowl from her mouth, letting her two wooden chopsticks sit lopsided in the steaming soup.

“It’s…really weird, isn’t it?” she murmured, her voice low. “Why am I experiencing symptoms like this? I’ve never practiced shadow magic before yesterday. How come the Day of Shadows is affecting me so freaking much?”

Finley sat back down on the ground, smoothing her pale robes out over her knees. She looked at the ground, avoiding Abrial’s face.

“I have some…guesses,” she said quietly. “But do not worry about it for today. Until the Day of Shadows has ended, focus on resting.”

“Yeah…” Abrial said, nodding slowly. She looked down at the bowl of clear soup, as though just realizing again that it was sitting in her lap, and raised it to her mouth to slurp it. But she paused again, just before it touched her lips, and lowered it. Her eyebrows furrowed again.

Geez, that spoonful of soup must be annoyed by now. Just eat me already!

“But don’t you think it was also strange,” Abrial said, turning to Finley with a puzzled look, “when I did shadow magic yesterday? I tried so hard to do all of the tasks, and I couldn’t even create a teeny tiny fire at first! And then it just…exploded?! And besides that…'' She rubbed her knuckles together, deep in thought. “Why would performing shadow magic make me pass out and smoke from the mouth and all that? Why did the fire go out so quickly? Why was it so big and hot? What did all of that mean? Was it just a freak accident? No, right?”

Finley placed a hand on Abrial’s shoulder, sending a cool breeze fluttering past Abrial’s face. Abrial blinked out of her rapid thoughts. The breeze was pleasant on her hot cheeks, pulling her out of her miring anxiety.

“Perhaps it was an accident,” Finley said soothingly. “Perhaps it was an abnormal incident. Or perhaps there are other reasons. But for now, finish your soup and rest.”

Abrial nodded, though her chest was still rumbling with questions. She obediently picked up her soup bowl and lifted it to her lips, finally slurping down the rest of the mild, savory liquid.

Finley reached out a pale hand for the bowl.

“Would you like another bowl? If so, there is still — ”

The bowl clattered to the bamboo mat on the ground beside Abrial’s bedroll, splashing what little soup was left onto Abrial’s blankets. Several healers and nearby patients turned to look.

Finley’s words caught in her throat. As her eyes whipped upward to observe Abrial’s face, the blood in her veins ran cold as ice. The fingers of her pale hand curled.

From the corners of Abrial’s mouth, there streamed two thin lines of dark red liquid. It traced down either side of her pale chin in thick drops, dripping off her pointed chin and into her lap. Her dark eyes bulged wide and red, staring at Finley, and not—she seemed to be staring through Finley, not seeing her.

“Blood!” a nearby patient cried out in horror. “That young woman’s bleeding from the mouth!”

A patient across the tent fainted.

Several nearby healers rushed forward, as did Finley.

Before anyone could even reach out to touch Abrial’s face, several screams sounded throughout the tent. On the next bedroll over, Romy Shu opened their eyes groggily at the commotion, looked at Abrial, and made an expression of pure horror.

“What the fuck?” muttered Bi Chanjuan, who was holding her forehead on the bedroll to Abrial’s right, and had looked over uninterestedly at the commotion. Now, she looked paler than a ghost.

Streaming from Abrial’s nostrils like two rivers were two more trails of dark blood, joining the streams now flowing from her mouth like water. Inexplicably, puffing out from between Abrial’s lips were also thin, blood-red streams of smoke that rose up, dispersing into the air, as though there was a fire within her.

Most horrifyingly, however, were the two thin streams of scarlet liquid that dripped from the corners of Abrial’s eyes like bloody tears.

“Agh! She’s bleeding from the eyes!”

“What’s going on? Who’s bleeding?”

“Get me out of here! What if it’s contagious?”

“Stem the flow!” a head healer ordered. “Calm her pulse! Someone brew a sleeping draught, quickly! A patient is bleeding from multiple orifices!”

Finley had already rushed to the cabinet of herbs and was frantically picking out the necessary ingredients for a sleeping draught, throwing them so hastily into a wooden bowl that she knocked the bowl over and had to start again. But as it turned out, a sleeping draught would not be necessary.

On the bedroll, Abrial’s shocked-wide, glittering obsidian eyes rolled up into the back of her head, and she slumped backwards, limp and unconscious as a bloody rag doll.