“Prayer house? But then… why are there so many sick people here? Even more than the ones in robes?”
Viena’s brows knit beneath the fringe of her hair, her voice threading curiously through the stale morning air. The place did not resemble the sanctuaries she imagined from the songs of wandering bards, where incense drifted lazily and hymns softened the world. Instead, it smelled faintly of sweat, herbs, and something less pleasant that clung stubbornly to the walls.
Randia did not answer at once. He crouched and opened his weathered pack, the leather creaking softly in protest. From within, he retrieved two pairs of gloves and an odd-looking mask—stitched from coarse cloth and faded leather, its shape reminiscent of an elephant’s snout. Without a word, he began fitting the gloves over Viena’s small hands, his movements efficient yet careful.
The girl stood still, her usual fidgeting subdued by curiosity. Her blue eyes gleamed as he fastened the mask over her face.
“Wow! This is amazing!” she exclaimed, her voice bright with wonder. “I didn’t know you had something like this!”
“Can you breathe properly?” Randia asked, his tone brisk, though his hands lingered a moment longer to adjust the straps so they wouldn’t chafe.
“Huff… puff… huff…” Viena tested it, exaggerating each breath. “It’s a little heavy, but I think I’ll be fine.”
Satisfied, Randia wrapped a length of cloth over his own nose and mouth. He then pinned a modest badge to his chest—the sigil of a medevist. Its surface was worn and dulled by years of use, but its authority remained unmistakable to those who knew its meaning.
“Do we really need all this?” Viena tilted her head, her voice muffled behind layers of fabric. “I thought we were just going to pray for everyone’s health.”
At last, Randia met her gaze. There was something steady in his eyes, something that carried the weight of experience rather than belief.
“Pray?” he echoed, almost as if tasting the word. His voice softened, though not with gentleness. “No.” His gloved hand hovered briefly above her shoulder before settling there. “We are our own salvation, Viena. Just as you said.”
The darkness in Randia’s eyes was as cold as his words, a chill that hung heavy in the air between them. Viena couldn’t understand why he spoke that way, nor did she have the courage to ask, especially after the events of that morning. There was something about the distance in his gaze, something that made him seem unreachable, even though he was kneeling right in front of her.
Before she could ask, Randia pressed a small mechanism hidden within the mask’s trunk. A fragrant scent burst forth, flooding her senses. It was like stepping into a field of spring flowers after rain, delicate and overwhelming all at once.
“Wow! I can smell flowers!” she laughed, the unease in her chest scattering like dust in the wind.
“Some patients carry diseases that smell foul,” Randia explained evenly. “Others release substances that become harmful if inhaled too much. That is why we wear masks.”
"That's cool! So, what are we gonna do now?" Viena's excitement was barely contained.
He gave her a brief look. “Why bother asking? We’re here to work.”
Randia had never been fond of public spaces. Even his identity as a medevist was something he guarded carefully, revealed only when necessary. He preferred to treat patients quietly, one at a time, free from institutions, obligations, and the bureaucracy that often tangled around healing professions like ivy on old stone. Yet necessity had a way of forcing change. Feeding two mouths—especially one still growing—left little room for being finicky.
Thus, the badge returned.
They entered the church together. Its walls bore the marks of time, but careful maintenance kept decay at bay. Inside, the air shifted—cooler, quieter, though no less burdened by the presence of illness. Viena’s attention was quickly captured by a statue near the altar: a woman adorned with vines and flowers, her vestments flowing as though caught in an unseen breeze.
"Ran, who is that lady? Is she the queen?"
"No, my child," a man replied softly, his voice tinged with reverence. "She is Aine, our loving and merciful goddess."
They turned to see a young priest approaching, no older than his twenties. His golden hair fell in soft waves to his chin, and his expression carried a warmth that seemed almost practiced—yet not insincere.
"A graceful day to you, Father," Randia greeted with a slight bow.
"A graceful day to you as well, children of Aine," the young priest responded, his voice full of warmth.
Viena, following Randia’s lead, also bowed her head in respect.
"The head priest has not returned from his morning prayers and is unavailable at the moment. May I know your names, dear guests?"
"My name is Ran," Randia replied with quiet authority.
"And I’m Viena!" the girl added, her tone as earnest as it was innocent.
Randia and Viena replied in succession.
"I am Father Klaus. To what pleasure do we owe the presence of a medevist?"
"We seek to be the healing hands of the goddess," Randia replied, his tone calm and steady.
Recognition flickered in Klaus’s eyes as he glanced at the badge. He crouched slightly to meet Viena at eye level, his smile widening.
"And I suppose you’re here to help Daddy with his work, aren't you? You look very brave with that mask!"
"Yes! Don’t worry, we’ll help everyone!" Viena nodded enthusiastically, raising her thumb with a proud grin.
"How miraculous!" Father Klaus exclaimed, his eyes brightening. "Just when we were about to be swamped by the increasing number of patients! Very well then, let’s get you both set up quickly. I’m sure the head priest will be delighted!"
With a few quick words to his disciples, Father Klaus had Viena and Randia provided with a basic set of medical equipment. No time was wasted. Randia immediately began calling in patients. The first pair approached—one man supporting the other, who was clearly in immense pain. The swelling in the man's left calf was so severe that it seemed unnatural, a clear sign of something dangerously wrong.
"Watch and learn, Viena," Randia instructed, his voice soft but authoritative. "I want you to memorize everything I do and say. After the third patient, I will be giving you tasks."
"Seriously?! You've been telling me to just sit back and watch all this time!"
"Keep talking and I might change my mind."
"N-No way! I’ll do it! I’ll keep up the good work!" Viena’s eyes widened, and she nodded repeatedly, her enthusiasm evident even behind the mask.
With the patient now lying down, Randia started with the necessary tools and equipment, making sure Viena was paying close attention. She studied the shapes of each instrument, committing them to memory, as Randia worked with practiced precision.
"Your name, occupation, and marital status?" Randia’s voice was even as he asked the standard questions.
"What do you eat for breakfast? How many hours did you sleep last night?"
"Your past medications, your injury, and how long has this been going on?"
Viena watched closely, noticing the way Randia’s fingers moved on the man’s leg with such deliberate care. It struck her as though he was writing something, not with pen and paper, but with the movements of his hands and the steady rhythm of his questions. His every motion seemed purposeful, as if he were charting the man’s pain, his history, and his path to healing all at once.
After a few more questions, Randia turned to his apparatus. He retrieved several dried leaves from his bag and glanced at Viena to ensure she was paying attention.
"These are Derasil leaves… Southern Oriana… Windcrown… and Tearfall seeds," Randia said, showing Viena the ingredients as he carefully placed them into the mortar. "This concoction is used to numb the senses. Hopefully, it’ll reduce the patient’s pain."
"Hopefully?" Viena asked, confused by the uncertainty in his words.
"Yes. The effectiveness depends on many factors," Randia explained, his voice calm but serious. "It starts with the quality and composition of each ingredient, and then there’s the patient's condition—how their body reacts to it."
Randia began grinding the mixture with practiced precision, the sound of the mortar scraping filling the room. When he was finished, he poured the powdered concoction into a glass vial. Next, he lit a small fire on a straw and used it to ignite the powder inside the vial.
"Now, hold the vial carefully," Randia instructed, passing it to Viena. "Keep an eye on the fire. You’ll only see it from above. When the fire turns blue, close the vial immediately. If you weren’t wearing a mask like you are now, you’d have to be careful not to get too close to the hole. Too much smoke can hurt your eyes."
Viena nodded, her hands steady despite the strange and unfamiliar task. She held the vial, her eyes watching intently. Twelve seconds passed, and then, just as Randia had said, the fire inside the vial flickered blue. Viena quickly sealed the vial, barely managing to catch the timing as her mask obstructed her view slightly.
"Done!" she said, a burst of pride in her voice.
Randia took the vial back and held it under the patient's nose. "I need you to inhale deeply as soon as I open this lid."
As soon as Randia removed the lid, the patient inhaled the vapors. In an instant, he slumped unconscious, his body going limp.
"Quiesco," Randia murmured, casting a spell over the patient, his fingers glowing faintly before snapping.
Viena stood frozen, her eyes wide in awe. Everything was so new to her, and she felt a mix of wonder and fear. Just as she was about to speak, Randia turned toward her, his expression unreadable.
"The next procedure might be hard for you to watch," he said quietly. "If you think you can’t handle it, you’re free to leave. Make your decision."
Viena hesitated for only a moment. She looked at the unconscious man, then back at Randia. "… Is there going to be blood?"
"Yes," Randia replied simply, his voice steady but without comfort.
Rather than leaving as he had suggested, Viena squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She met his gaze with determination.
"I… I want to learn."
Randia’s eyes softened, and for the second time, Viena saw him smile. It was but a small gesture, but to her, it felt like a rare treasure. The warmth of his silent approval melted away her lingering doubts, filling her with both a sense of purpose and a newfound courage. His quiet praise settled her heart, making her feel stronger than she had moments before.
In the end, Randia performed the surgery on the patient, with Viena assisting at his side. As he carefully sliced through the muscle, Viena stood beside him, diligently wiping away the blood with a clean cloth. Randia skillfully collected and realigned the broken fibula and tibia, using a special honey-colored ointment to bind them together with thread. Each movement was precise, guided by years of practice and a deep understanding of his craft.
Once the stitching and wrapping were complete, Randia began preparing another remedy—a take-home painkiller for the patient to ease the discomfort after the surgery. Viena, now more familiar with the ingredients, set to work sorting them with newfound efficiency.
The hours passed quickly in the church, and by the time they had seen to every patient, nearly three hours had slipped by. Each case presented its own unique challenge, and Viena found herself fascinated by the intricacies of each person's condition. It was as though each patient were a new book to read, a story to unfold, and she absorbed every detail, every instruction Randia gave. Thankfully, none of the remaining cases demanded such extreme measures as the first.
"How do you feel?" Randia asked, looking at Viena as he prepared yet another concoction.
"Honestly? I thought I was going to throw up at first," she admitted, a hint of amusement in her voice.
"But then, the breakfast would've been a waste," Randia replied, his tone dry but with a touch of fondness.
"Yes. That's why I gulped it back down," she laughed, the humor lightening the air between them.
"You are doing alright," Randia said, his voice gruff but laced with genuine approval. "There’s still plenty of room for improvement, though."
Viena giggled behind her mask, appreciating the half-hearted compliment. It was always a strange mix of encouragement and teasing, but it still felt rewarding.
"The mask is heavy, isn't it? You don’t have to keep wearing it. You’ll end up with a sore neck and shoulders."
"N-No! This is nothing!" Viena protested, clearly stubborn about keeping it on.
Randia noticed how often Viena was turning her head, her neck undoubtedly strained by the weight. But, seeing the girl’s determination, he knew he would have to insist before she decided to wear the mask for even longer.
"We’ll be done soon. Go take a break and hand me the mask. I’ll make some adjustments so you can work more comfortably."
"I-If you put it that way..,” she relented at last.
Even then, she handed it over with reluctance, as though surrendering a badge of honor she had only just earned.