Heart

"Huff... Am I dead?"

Herpo the Foul opened his eyes. His murky vision could only make out a blurred expanse of earth-yellow. He struggled to rise, but there was no strength left in his body. A hand pressed against his chest and pushed him back onto the bed.

"You are badly injured, Lord Herpo. You need rest and recovery."

Tom's voice entered his ears. As the sounds turned into words in his mind, then into meaning, Herpo's chaotic consciousness gradually cleared. The details of his surroundings slowly filled in as well. His unfocused pupils struggled to gather, and the earth-yellow in his sight became a mud-brick roof. The acrid smell of herbs pervaded the air around him. He slowly turned his head and felt his body tightly wrapped in bandages. At the edge of his vision, he saw Tom setting up a fire and brewing medicine.

The Seer who had only recently entered his service looked utterly wretched. He sat on a stool crudely put together from two bricks. His cherished crystal ball had cracked into several pieces and lay scattered on the ground. His robe and face were covered in the marks of scorching flames. Only the willow branch he used to stir the pot had not been burned black.

Tom deftly tossed a golden beetle into the pot. Before long, a sour stench like a hundred-year-old sleeping mat began spreading through the room. Even Herpo, whose senses were dulled, found the smell nauseating, but Tom seemed unaffected by it. After adding several more ingredients in succession, he took out a filthy wooden spoon, scooped up a spoonful of thick green Potion, and brought it to Herpo's mouth.

Herpo did not resist. He had no strength to resist either. Besides, what did he have left to lose?

The freshly