The night air turned cold and heavy as Auren followed Niva from a distance, his gaze fixed on her slim figure disappearing into the alley's shadow. Raindrops had just started to fall, lightly at first, then harder, turning the cobblestone roads slick beneath his boots.
As he walked, the Soul Imprint Mark glowed faintly in his eyes.
> [Soul Imprint Mark Activated]
Target: Niva
Mind Sync Enabled
Current Thought Stream: "...what if Mom doesn't wake up tomorrow… gods, please… not yet… Idiom Fever stage four… it's too late without Golden Spiritroot…"
Auren's steps paused. His expression darkened.
"Idiom Fever," he muttered. "One of the nastiest mana-poisoned diseases... eats your soul while you're still breathing. And she's in stage four?"
It is a golden opportunity for me. Without wasting another second, he moved into the heart of the city, rain slapping against his face as he searched for any shop that sold alchemy materials. Lanterns flickered, doors bolted, and the streets were silent except for thunder growling above.
Finally, he spotted a crooked wooden sign:
'Rhazir's Rare Remedies & Rotten Luck'
Auren approached and saw a frail, old man dozing in front of the shop under a rusted tin shade, snoring into a book and hugging a half-empty bottle.
"Oi, wake up, potion Gandalf," Auren said, slapping the table hard.
No response.
"Come on, you dusty rat! You running a potion shop or auditioning for the afterlife?!"
Still snoring.
Auren leaned closer, whispered, "I swear if you don't wake up, I'll pour acid in your tea next sunrise."
The old man jolted, flailing his arms. "Ah! Fire demons! Wait—what? Who the hell—?"
"You're Rhazir, right? I need Golden Spiritroot, Spirit Orchid, Void Ash, and Elixir Dew. Someone's mother is dying of Idiom Fever. I need a cure. Now."
The man blinked, still drunk, but his eyes focused as Auren mentioned the ingredients. "Idiom Fever… Damn. You're either bluffing, or you know your alchemy well."
"I don't bluff about death," Auren growled.
The shopkeeper finally stood, coughed a few times, then hobbled toward the back of the store and began rummaging through shelves and boxes.
"Not many can cure Idiom Fever. It's a soul-sapping disease. You get only one shot with this. You sure this ain't for yourself?"
"It's not. It's for someone who shouldn't be suffering just because life rolled her a cursed dice."
Within minutes, the old man returned, a small glass vial sealed with wax in one hand and a bundle of herb-wrapped paper in the other.
"This is what you need. Mix the powdered roots with boiled Moonleaf water, then give the potion within an hour of making it."
Auren handed over a heavy pouch of coins without counting. "Keep the change, old man. And sleep indoors next time unless you want ghosts spooning you."
The man chuckled. "You're mad. But thanks."
---
The rain still hadn't stopped. Cold and soaked, Auren stood in front of a decaying house at the far end of the slums. It looked ready to collapse on itself, held together by rusted nails and rotting wood. He raised his hand and knocked twice.
A soft voice responded from behind the door. "Who's there?"
Auren smirked. "Your medicine man."
A pause. "...What?"
"Open the door, girl. Unless you want to guess what cure I brought while your mom counts her final hours."
A moment later, the wooden door creaked open. Niva stood there, in a worn-out dress, her hair still damp from the rain, her eyes wide with confusion.
"You… you're the guy from the hotel today. One of the two boys."
Auren nodded. "Right. And I overheard your conversation with the owner. About your mother's condition. Idiom Fever, right?"
Niva's lips quivered. "You… heard that?"
He pulled the packet from his cloak. "I didn't just hear it. I fixed it."
Tears welled up in her eyes. "Y-You got the cure? Oh gods… Thank you—thank you so much—!"
She reached for the packet, her fingers trembling—but Auren snatched it back.
Niva blinked, shocked. "W-What are you doing? Why… why won't you give it to me?"
Auren stepped closer, his voice calm but sharp.
"Because life doesn't give out gifts for free, Niva. And neither do I."
Her breath caught in her throat as thunder cracked behind them.
The silence of the night was thick, disturbed only by the soft rain still falling outside Niva's old, broken house. Her trembling fingers hovered near the small packet of Alchemy medicine that Auren held teasingly just out of her reach.
Her eyes, moments ago filled with hope, now burned with anger and betrayal.
"What do you want in return?" she asked coldly, her tone shifting from gratitude to suspicion.
Auren looked straight into her eyes, calm and unbothered, and leaned against the wooden doorframe. "What can a boy possibly want from a hot woman like you, in the middle of the night?" He smirked. "I think I don't have to spell it out for someone as smart as you."
Niva's jaw clenched. Her fist curled tightly by her side. "What…?" she snapped.
But Auren's voice remained calm, his expression serious as he interrupted her next words.
"Before you say 'no'," he said, his voice lowering to a darker tone, "just look at your mother."
Niva glanced behind her — to the small cot by the corner of the hall where her mother lay, motionless. Her eyes were open, but dull, barely blinking. Her mouth, unable to form words. Her chest rose weakly. Auren continued.
"She can't speak. She can't even move a damn inch. She's rotting away right in front of you. The most she has is one more day. One more night. Then, it's over. She leaves you... forever."
He raised the glowing bottle slightly. "This isn't just medicine. This is a cure. This—will make her perfect again. Not just healthy... alive. Like she used to be."
Niva's breathing grew shaky. Her defiance faltered. The rain hit the roof harder now, as if echoing her internal storm.
She wanted to scream no. Throw the door on his face. Slap him. Kick him. But her eyes couldn't leave her mother.
She bit her lip. She looked down, then back up into Auren's eyes. And then, as a tear slid down her cheek, her voice cracked.
"…For her… I'll do what you want."