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On the morning of December 6, at Harvest Church in the South Bridge District.
"Father, please save my daughter..." The young yet careworn parents knelt before the Earth Mother's Holy Emblem, their sorrowful eyes fixed on Emlyn White. "Please save our daughter. She's only lived through five springs."
Wearing the same style of priestly robe as Utravsky, Emlyn clasped his hands and looked at the little girl laid before him.
Unconsciousness, a high temperature, coughing, poor appetite... Although these were all simple, common symptoms, as an experienced Apothecary, he could tell at a glance that a severe cold had given her a persistent fever. Still, under her parents' expectant gazes, Emlyn briefly asked about her condition before crouching down, rolling up his sleeves, and lifting the little girl's eyelid to confirm.
"Don't worry. It's just a fever."
"But she was perfectly fine the day before yesterday..."
"It's just a fever."
Emlyn offered them some reassurance, but he also knew why they had really come, so he spoke directly to the assistant behind him:
"One dose of medicine for a high fever."
"Of course!"
The assistant answered loudly. At the side of the church, in the open space intended for rows of pews, a young man in a cleric's robe stood among several large, boiling iron pots, occasionally tossing herbs into different pots and stirring them.
The pots gave off a strong medicinal smell, and the white steam made the whole church a little warmer than outside.
The assistant's sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing lean, sturdy arms.
He vigorously stirred the contents of each iron pot with a long-handled ladle, letting the different medicines boil, burn, and blend together. The smell of the mingled concoctions was positively pungent, difficult to get used to even after spending a