Eddie didn't know how long he had lain there. Time had no meaning for him. The weight of his own body felt foreign.
Then, a small sound. Not a scream. Not rage. Something softer, fragile. A cough. A shuffle. Footsteps on wet grass.
Eddie tried to turn weakly, but his eyelids barely moved. Through the narrow gap, he saw the world shattered into shards of light and color. He couldn't make out faces or forms- only hints of movement, a silver flash, the sway of someone… someone approaching.
The figure crouched beside him. She saw him sprawled, broken, on the damp earth.
"Oh, you poor little thing," she murmured, her voice soft and coaxing. "Are you okay? Who are you? Can you hear me? Where are your parents? Why are you out here all alone? Are you hurt?"
Eddie wanted to retort,
"That's way too many questions to answer at once,"
But no words came out.
Her eyes scanned his limp form, brows knitting together. A trembling hand brushed a stray strand of hair from his face. She paused, unsure- was he even alive? Had someone hurt him?
She looked around quickly, but only the soft hum of insects and the distant flapping of a bat responded.
Somewhat hesitantly, she straightened and retrieved a thin, polished stick from her coat. Holding it like a candle in the dark, she murmured under her breath and waved it in slow, deliberate arcs. Light flickered, shadows twisted, and Eddie caught fragments: the wavering tip of the stick with light, shapes twisting like smoke in darkness.
"What is that… an old light stick? What is she doing?"
A soft hum drifted through the air. Warmth radiated from her motions, anchoring him to reality. Slowly, it spread through his limbs, his chest, even into the shadows. Something alive threaded through him, though he could not see it, could not name it.
"Holy… what was that?"
His eyelids fluttered weakly. He wanted to ask what she had done, but nothing came. She noticed immediately.
"Shhh… It's alright. You're safe now," she whispered. "Just rest for a moment."
She knelt, pulling a small vial from her coat. Her hands were steady, though faint tremors betrayed her age.
"Here, little one," she said softly. "Open your mouth. I hope this helps."
"What do you mean, this might help? What is it? Can I- please- can I not open my mouth?"
Eddie tried to respond, he really did, but his body barely obeyed. Seeing no further response, she carefully guided a viscous, green liquid into his mouth. It was thick and sweet, herbal, slightly bitter. It burned slightly, warm and alive, spreading through him in slow, creeping waves. It stitched together fragments of himself he hadn't realized were missing. He coughed, spluttered, but the warmth persisted. He felt something stir inside, flickering brighter, sensing the surge of life within Eddie.
"Even Wiggenweld potion doesn't work? What happened to you, dear? Who could do such a horrible thing to someone so young?" she murmured, worry threading her voice.
"Young? Me? Well… if compared to you, I suppose. But… what is Wiggin weld?"
His mind tried to process it, but the world remained broken: swirls of color, flashes of light, shapes pressed together like moving shadows. Faint scents of smoke, damp brick, and wet grass pressed in. Distant voices, wind, and life hummed faintly.
Her hand pressed gently on his shoulder. "Stay with me… breathe. Just breathe."
His throat moved. Words trembled at the edge, but he could register only one thing: he was here. Alive. Something warm and persistent pressed back against the cold nothingness.
"I cannot leave you here… I hope Aurous will listen to what I have to say," she muttered under her breath.
She waved her stick again. Eddie felt himself lifted onto a stretcher that appeared beneath him, cradling his body with careful precision. Weightless, supported, entirely passive, he caught only fragmented glimpses of the park: blades of wet grass, distant trees, the gray sky pressing close.
"Shit, did I die for real this time, or am I actually flying?"
The old lady moved carefully, stretcher in hand, navigating damp grass and uneven paths. Eddie's mind barely registered her presence; the only thought running through it was
"holy… I'm flying…." But how can someone so old do this? In fact, how can anyone do this?
Sounds and smells pressed in: distant horns and murmurs of the city, rustling leaves, splashing water, the tang of wet stone, faint smoke, something sweet he couldn't name. Everything remained fractured, yet it existed. Through it all, the warmth from her hands and the Wiggin weld, whatever it was, tethered him to life.
After some time, they reached their destination. Eddie could make out a silhouette of a small cottage, squeezed between two worn-out buildings. His eyes fluttered weakly, catching broken impressions: a low roof, a faint glow from a window, rough walls pressed close. It looked like something from a classic English film of the early 1900s.
The old lady guided the stretcher to the door and brought it inside. Faint scents of smoke, damp wood, and baked bread- or herbs- reached him. Shapes and colors blurred together, but amidst the confusion, Eddie felt the faintest sense of safety.
Inside, the cottage was dim but cozy. She guided the stretcher to a simple bed, its covers rough but clean. With careful hands, she lowered him gently, ensuring he was fully supported. Every movement was slow, deliberate, as if she feared jostling the fragile threads keeping him alive.
"Rest here for now," she murmured softly.
She began her work methodically. First, she checked his breathing, placing a hand lightly on his chest, feeling the pulse of life there. Then she adjusted his limbs, untangling any awkward positions his unresponsive body had assumed. Eddie felt the warmth of her hands, small pricks of energy weaving through him, though he could not yet move or respond.
Next, she uncorked another vial, murmuring softly as she poured a few drops onto a cloth and pressed it to his forehead. Eddie felt a cooling sensation, soothing against the fevered edges of his awareness. That Wiggin weld thing seems to be working. He began to stabilize, but he was still fragile, still barely able to open his eyes.
Days passed, though Eddie couldn't say for certain. The old lady worked patiently, step by step, checking his limbs, murmuring softly while waving her glowing stick, even giving him bitter, repulsive concoctions she said were good for bones.
"I'd rather have broken ones."
Eddie thought at first, but moments later, the pain haunted him for so long faded little by little, and relief flowed through him.
All the while, he felt that Venom had remained, or whatever was left of him. Weak but present. As his body was drizzled with life, the sensation grew stronger. Eddie's awareness slowly expanded, but he remained passive, observing in fragments: the sway of her hands, the glint of her glasses catching candlelight, the smell of herbs, damp wood, and something faintly sweet.
Time passed, though Eddie could not measure it. Each small action she took- adjusting his blanket, murmuring some incomprehensible words with the stick, whispering reassurances- threaded warmth and coherence back into his scattered senses. Piece by piece, the world reassembled around him, anchored by her careful attention.
Finally, after a long time-maybe days, maybe months- he opened his eyes. Clear this time. The old lady saw him, noticed his gaze, and spoke quietly but steadily:
"Welcome back, little one. You're safe, little one. We'll get there… just breathe."
Eddie's eyelids fluttered. For the first time in what felt like forever, he focused on the figure he saw as fragments.