Zaramir’s mind raced as he stared down at the bloodied shard.

  Due to the fact he was still conscious it hadn’t hit his heart nor anything that would cause his chest cavity to fill with blood more rapidly than he could recover from. That was fortunate.

  Though he wanted to, he knew he shouldn’t remove the bolt, not yet. If whatever it was prevented his healing, he might bleed out before he could cure the poison.

  Corabelle sat in front of him, frantically questioning what she should do, but he wasn’t listening. He had to focus.

  While he had a number of antidotes lying around his lab, they were useless if he didn’t know what this poison was.

  Think.

  The sound that came off it was too chaotic to be a common medicinal herb, which meant either its base suspension wasn’t common, or its active ingredient was overwhelmingly strong.

  He tore the shirt away from the bolt tip, revealing the wound. It was blacking, necrotizing around the injury, the blood thickening, dripping more slowly.

  He didn‘t feel it, not even when it was fresh meaning it contained a numbing ingredient and a strong one at that. The girl who shot it didn’t seem like she intended a merciful death which meant the active ingredient was likely dependent on this one. Whatever was numbing him was likely the base ingredient in the suspension.

  From this world, there were only two suspensions strong enough to provide stability to something as volatile as the energy this potion was giving off; Mistwood and Hunter’s Cradle. Given that, obviously, he was still conscious it had to be the latter.

  Hunter’s Cradle was toxic in itself. That was one antidote he’d need and as an added benefit give Corabelle something better to do than fret.

  He looked to her, opening his mouth to ask her to grab the vial but found his voice had been silenced.

  This came with good news and bad. The good was that he knew what the active ingredient was; the bad was that it wasn’t from this realm. It was the blood of verasei noxd, or in the human language, the closest translation, Umbra Leech, a creature from the Faerealm.

  Not even a proper leech, it would emerge during the frequent solar eclipses, burrow into skin, and taking hold of its host. It would begin slowly eating the host from the inside out, consuming its blood and white matter primarily. The victim would become sensitive to light, like the leech itself, and crave the same sustenance. Eventually the host would wither away but not before spreading the offspring of the original parasite by biting new victims, spreading the larvae.

  But if the original leech died before its host, as its body dessicated, it became a highly fatal toxin. Its first stages were barely noticeable. The host’s voice would diminish, eventually going mute all together and they’d become lethargic. By the time it reached its second stage, the skin darkening to a blacking purple, it would already be too late for an antidote.

  The Hunter’s Cradle was no longer an imminent concern. Zaramir had to hurry. This toxin was acting much faster than it should be naturally. He just had to hope that it had also been diluted to the point that the next stage wouldn’t be final, because it was already beginning as the necrotized flesh began to slowly infect the surrounding tissue.

  He didn’t have the antidote, he never expected to need it. Umbra Leeches weren’t native to this Realm and any specimens he was given were long deceased. He’d read plenty about them, so he was fortunate he even had the knowledge to make one.

  Voice stolen, he couldn’t tell Corabelle how to make the antidote or even where to find the book with the recipe. He’d have to do it himself.

  As he made the attempt to stand, his legs collapsed under him, all sensation vanished.

  That’s not supposed to be part of this.

  Now he was beginning to worry. With this new, unexpected, symptom he couldn’t

  know for certain the timeline of the poison.

  “What should I do?” Corabelle’s frantic voice cut through. While it was going to be difficult she might be his only chance.

  He gestured for a pen and parchment, pointed to his cluttered desk where he knew there were a number. He just had to hope she had a chance of finding them in the mess.

  Papers flew haphazardly as she dug through the pile. He really should have cleaned up sooner.

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  Finally, she unearthed not a pen, but some wax chalk. Deciding it was close enough, she snatched one of the numerous blank pieces of parchment she'd flung around and rushed back.

  Taking the chalk, he found his fingers didn’t want to hold it, instead he had to grip it in his fist, hoping the writing that was swimming before his eyes was legible enough.

  As she took the paper back, he pointed to a bookshelf. Once she got the book with the recipe, things would be so much easier and hopefully, faster. The antidote wasn’t complex, nor time consuming, her only difficulty should be identifying ingredients.

  Though his ingredients were labeled… mostly. Much like his clutter, he’d never gotten around to labeling new bottles, and with no one else assisting him in the lab, he hadn’t needed to.

  He cursed his unpreparedness as she scoured the shelf, trying to match his shaky handwriting to the cover of one of the books.

  “This one?” She questioned, holding up the text on aquatic life. She clearly couldn't read his writing.

  He shook his head quickly, directing her to its left. He could see the spine from here.

  She ran her hand over the books, keeping an eye on him instead of them, waiting for him to indicate she should stop.

  As he fingers grazed the book, he nodded for her to stop.

  As she brought it over he found it hard to flip through the pages as his fingers numbed, but eventually he found it.

  Corabelle’ss lips moved as her eyes darted over the page on the Umbra Leech, the distress on her face deepening the more the read, eventually finding the recipe for the antidote at the bottom.

  She didn't ask for further instruction as she flew to her feet and began hurriedly rummaging through his ingredient cabinets. She began pulling out the correct vial and flasks with ease, despite a few not being labeled. He couldn’t believe how quickly she learned.

  Perhaps letting her read that first book so long ago hadn’t been as big of a mistake as he thought. Now he was more than fine having accepted the consequences.

  Though his pride was short lived, as dark tendrils crept across his vision, vision blurring unable to focus on the hazy blob searching for the final ingredient.

  The numbness finally crept far enough in that he couldn't remain sitting, despite his best efforts.

  The haze of colors whipped around, upon hearing the soft thud of his body on the stone floor.

  -----

  Corabelle's heart skipped a beat as she turned back to find Zaramir’s glassy eyes staring back at her, through her.

  The only sign he was still alive were his shuddering breaths, sending tony sparkles of light off the bolt tip where the Umbra Leech poison didn’t still coat it.

  His chest had blacked nearly to the collarbone.

  What she had managed to skim from that segment of the book told her it was too late, but she didn’t stop.

  There was one final ingredient F’lyre Nocd, Sky flower or perhaps High flower, The translation was unimportant. What mattered was that she had no clue what that was.

  She hadn’t read anything about it, the name was the only clue, telling her she was looking for some sort of flower, but there were hundreds of jars containing various dried and otherwise preserved specimens. Many she recognized, but equally many she couldn't begin to identify.

  Corabelle quickly gave up trying to search for an unknown flower, instead turning her sights on his books. If she couldn’t identify it, she’d find a book that could, hopefully a picture or description.

  She rip[ped down every book indicating botany, flipping frantically through page after page, discarding book after book until she found a brief description, quickly translating the text:

  High flower, owned only by the ruling classes, a gift from the First Fae. It increases the longevity of the ruling class. Its beautiful white and pink buds bloom under the full light of the three suns and their fragrance reaches the entire kingdom.

  It was not the most comprehensive description, but it at least gave her enough, at least enough of a chance.

  Her eyes flicked to Zaramir as she ran back to the ingredient cabinets.

  His eyes were now closed, breathing slowed. The infection creeping up his neck.

  Corabelle yanked every pink and white flower specimen from the shelves, hurriedly ripping out corks and throwing off caps. Finally, as she pulled the stopper from a vial containing a single bloom, she was hit with a suffocating aroma.

  The room filled with, not the smell of nature, but that of magic.

  It smelled like life, if life could have a smell. The words on the page made sense. It was stifling, like being packed in a room with too many people.

  Though she didn't waste a second pondering it further as she grabbed a mortar, tossing her ingredients inside.

  Holding her breath. she ground them down, the smell still managing to creep up her nose. Her eyes watered as the grinding released, somehow, a stronger scent.

  What was created was a thin purple goo, that bubbled lightly, each time popping and emitting a strong waft of strong magic.

  The next bit she wasn’t looking forward to as she clambered up onto the table, slipping on papers as she reached for the syringe on the upper shelf.

  She snatched it, a shiver running down her spine as she drew the liquid inside, up the needle that was nearly the length of her hand. A light hum radiadiated from its point; enchanted steel.

  Returning to Zaramir, she rested the syringe on top of the discarded book, its needle hovering menacingly in his direction over the edge of the leather.

  Her stomach knotted as she forced her fingers around the flight of the bolt protruding from his back. Ideally she would be pulling it out from the front but there was nowhere to grip. Instead she pulled as hard as she could from the flight end, apologizing quietly as the sick wet pop of the bolt ripping free echoed through the room.

  The bleeding was slow. She prayed that meant he was able to heal and not that the flesh was too decayed to bleed.

  She rolled him carefully onto his back, truly hoping that he couldn’t feel any of this as she reclaimed her syringe.

  She took a deep breath, not wanting to look at what she had to do.

  Though, as she aligned the needle over the center of his chest, she knew she had to. She couldn't afford to miss.

  Eyes open and fixed on her target, she raised the needle high before bringing it down with enough force to plunge the needle to its full depth, hoping she struck true.

  She pressed the plunger down, emptying the antidote into his barely beating heart, and waited.