Chapter 4: Home Renovations, First Contact

I wish I could say I slept well last night, but it was quite the opposite. At least once an hour, I was up checking on Zela, and the waiting room chairs were so uncomfortable. When the sun rose and its rays started to shine through the newly opened windows, I forced my eyes open and stretched with a loud yawn.

Today was a new day. The first thing I did was check on Zela. Once I laid her down on the pillow, she hadn't moved since. I was starting to worry. The man said the tranquilizer would only last a few hours. Maybe she was just tired.

I decided to dedicate today to cleaning. Before I left the room, I grabbed the straw broom from my grandfather's closet. I moved back to the bed and did a quick inspection of Zela one last time. I placed my hand on her forehead—normal. Her breathing was normal. Everything seemed normal. I hoped she would wake up soon.

I exited the bedroom and walked out to the waiting room. Until now, I hadn't realized how stuffy it was here. When I opened the windows, the room was inundated with a fresh breeze. I got to work cleaning.

I made quick work of the floor, sweeping up the dust and pushing it all out the door. I turned my attention to the chairs, took a rag, and knelt down. I looked around the perimeter of the room. There were a dozen chairs arranged along the walls of the office. I sighed. This would take a while.

Getting into every nook and cranny with my towel, I stood before all the chairs and looked at them proudly. I deemed it best to take a break.

I had awoken when the sun rose. Now, I walked outside and looked up. A few hours had passed; the sun now hung high in the sky, shining harshly down on the city of Ultsar.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the fresh air, before returning inside.

Zela was still asleep.

"Why won't you wake up?" I didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse that she wasn't waking up. I had a feeling that if she did wake up, she would attack me. The wince of pain still faintly showed on her face.

I felt her forehead—normal. Breathing—normal.

I was scared of when she would awake, but I didn't want her in pain anymore. I had wanted to give her a healing tonic since I first saw her, but after she went unconscious, I didn't want to risk choking her.

A healing tonic consisted of water as the base, with a few mint leaves and willow bark for healing properties. Then, I added some cinnamon for flavor. Chant, "Mend, Heal, Renew," and voilà—a basic healing tonic. If you wanted to develop stronger, more powerful tonics, the ingredients grew rarer, and the short chants became lengthy speeches.

I had a few basic healing tonics prepared. The ingredients were incredibly cheap and easy to come by, and the result was magical.

I stared down at Zela. Can you just wake up?

I moved out of the room once more and started on the operating rooms. Each room had one window, which was boarded up. I reached into my sack and retrieved my hammer, making quick work of the boards. I put the hammer and the boards back into my sack.

My father had told me the sack had near-infinite storage. There were things inside that I had forgotten long ago. That was the only downside—I had to know what I was looking for to retrieve the item.

I opened the windows in both operating rooms and started sweeping again, though my attention was more interested in the contents of the rooms.

The medical equipment here was old and rusty—granted, it had been a few centuries. Medicine had become much more advanced.

If you could avoid it, physical operations were rare because of the risk of infection. If it could be healed by a magical spell or tonic, that was the way to go.

I noted that I would have to replace the equipment in the operating rooms and finished sweeping the floors of both. I ended the day by cleaning up the reception desk and investigating the drawers and cabinets in the room.

If this place were still operational, the cabinets would be filled with patient charts and records. "One day," I muttered to myself. I would make my grandfather proud.

There was still so much to do.

But today, I had done enough. I looked out from the reception window onto the cleaned waiting room. I remembered my grandfather lifting me up to look out the same way many years ago.

"The only thing missing is people."

Today was a success. I walked down the hall and into the bedroom to find Zela still sleeping. In the corner of the room sat an unoccupied chair. I plopped down and reached into my sack for a kebab.

Yesterday, I had purchased about a dozen. I sat observing Zela sleep while I chowed down.

I was feeling dirty, I thought as I sat in the chair. I had just finished my kebab, and I looked down at myself—dust was caked all over me.

One of the problems was rearing its ugly head: the lack of a bathing chamber in this building. However, there was still one room I hadn't checked.

The research room—my grandfather had told me never to enter.

I stood before it, hand on the bronze handle. I turned the knob and slowly pushed open the door. A dark void stared back as I looked down the stairs. A cold sweat formed on my spine. But my father had told me never to stray away from fear—to be confident.

I grabbed the lantern from my sack and started down the steps. Rather than what I had expected, the staircase was short. A dozen or so steps curved right ninety degrees and led to an open room.

I thrust my lantern out into the darkness and was dumbfounded at what I saw.

Cases of books, covered in dust, lined every wall, with two doors on opposite walls—the only gaps present in the sea of books. I stepped down from the wooden step and was met with a solid, cold floor.

I held my lantern up to one of the bookcases and was awestruck. The title of one of the books read, The Effects of Missing Limbs and the Existence of Phantom Pain, by Minev Heath.

"My grandfather," I said, my breath taken away. It seemed to be a study on amputee patients and the mystery behind pain in a limb that was no longer present—commonly dubbed phantom pain.

I read the spine of the next book over: Minev Heath. "Are all of these works my grandfather's?" I couldn't contain my words; they came out in an excited burst.

I frantically moved about the room, examining each bookcase, though my good mood began to waver. One text was titled, The Brain's Response to Psychological Torture. I thought the book couldn't have been my grandfather's work. However, at the bottom of the spine, the name Minev Heath was clearly there.

Could my grandfather really have written on such a topic? I rounded all the bookcases and moved to the closest door. I clutched the handle and opened it. Peering in with my lantern revealed a porcelain bathtub and a similarly colored toilet. I tested the knobs and levers on each and was pleased to see running water.

The building had a spigot out back, and Ultsar had a sewage system, but why was this down here? I couldn't make sense of it. I simply closed the door and walked across the room.

I reached out and grabbed the handle of the door across from the restroom. Pushing it open, I didn't know what to expect—a bedroom, perhaps, or more bookcases. But what stared back shocked me to my core.

An operating table, just like the ones upstairs. However, underneath sat a grate, and the surrounding area was stained a deep crimson. I looked around the room, unsure of what to make of it. Then I saw it. Just like at the slave house—a cell.

Just then, a loud thump came from upstairs, causing me to jump. I jerked around, eyes wide. What was that?

So many new questions, combined with the sound upstairs, made me feel as if a heart attack was coming on. I slammed the door shut, closing away my questions—for later.

I rushed back upstairs and flung open the door to see Zela out of bed, lying on the floor, trying her best to move. I was breathing heavily, and my eyes were still wide. I tried to quickly compose myself. What would this conversation lead to? A possibility that scared me to my core was death.

I turned around took a deep breath and faced the demon girl with confidence, I am ready.