Chapter 3 Bitter Medicine
Morning came with mist.
It wasn't the soft, dreamy kind that made the world feel magical. This mist clung to the skin damp, heavy, almost suffocating. The kind that made the trees seem like shadows and the forest feel like it was watching.
I woke to the sharp sound of firewood shifting. Aeren was already outside, crouched by the fire pit, tending to the fire like always. The iron pot was simmering atop the flames, bubbling with a thick, dark liquid. I already knew what was inside.
The same bitter brew he made every morning.
I sat up slowly. Every muscle in my body ached. Every swing, every stance from yesterday still echoed through my limbs like bruised memories unwilling to fade. My back screamed, my arms trembled just from the motion of sitting up.
But I didn't complain.
Aeren didn't tolerate excuses. He didn't even acknowledge them. In his eyes, pain was part of the process. Growth came after breaking.
He handed me the wooden cup without a word. Steam curled from its surface dense, pungent. I didn't ask what was in it. I didn't want to know.
I only knew it wasn't enough to kill me.
Probably.
I drank.
The taste was worse than ever. It slammed against my tongue like rotten herbs soaked in rusted iron. My throat constricted. My stomach twisted in protest. Vision blurred at the edges. Sweat broke across my forehead and soaked into my shirt within seconds.
Aeren watched. Always watching. Cold, steady. Like he was waiting for something not failure, but reaction.
"Up," he said.
I forced myself to my feet. My hands already knew what to do. The wooden training sword felt heavier than usual, but I held it tight. The world spun just a little too fast. My heartbeat echoed through my head like a war drum.
"Form," he ordered.
Left foot forward. Guard raised. Step, swing, recover, thrust then
Collapse.
My body gave out before the routine finished. I crashed to the dirt, my face scraping the cold earth. The forest around me swayed and spun in slow circles. I couldn't even lift my head.
He didn't help me.
"Your body will learn," he said.
I groaned. "Learn what?" I rasped, my cheek still pressed into the ground.
"What tries to kill you."
---
By midday, I couldn't even lift my arms. Aeren had gone off to hunt, leaving behind a single command: rest, but don't run.
Not that I could have run if I wanted to.
I sat just outside the cottage, wrapped in a thin blanket, leaning against the wooden wall like a sack of potatoes. The sky had cleared a little, but the mist still hovered low around the trees, coiling around their roots like lazy serpents.
The forest was silent.
Too silent.
I stared out into it, wondering if something was watching me. I wouldn't be surprised.
I thought about the poison.
In my old world, poison was just another game mechanic. Something you could cure with a cheap antidote or shrug off with a buff. Sure, it might be annoying during boss fights, but it was rarely fatal unless you were careless.
Here? Poison was a teacher. A brutal, unrelenting tutor that didn't care about your feelings.
And I was the student.
Aeren never told me what was in that brew. I only knew it wasn't a single plant. It changed slightly every day different colors, different smells. Some days it burned more. Some days I passed out completely. But I kept waking up. Barely.
I didn't even know how long I'd been here. Time felt different in the Vale of Mist. Not measured in hours or days, but in pain and recovery.
And I still didn't have a name.
Not that it felt strange. At least, not to me.
Back in the gaming world, names were cheap. You made one, changed it, deleted it, replaced it. "NoName," "GhostSlasher," "HPDrain" no one really cared what you were called. Only whether you pulled your weight in the party.
But here... here it was different.
Names meant something.
Aeren never gave me one. I never asked. And deep down, I knew why.
Maybe he was avoiding something.
---
That night, after a quiet meal of roasted roots and a bony hare Aeren brought back, he surprised me by unrolling an old scroll across the floor of the cottage.
A map.
Faded, weathered, and fragile but still legible.
He tapped the center with one calloused finger. "Here. The Vale of Mist."
A swirling patch of green surrounded by thin, winding lines rivers and mountain ridges. My eyes traced them slowly, trying to memorize the layout.
"This forest is older than the kingdoms that border it," Aeren said. "Once sacred ground. Dreamers, witches, spirit-callers came here to speak with the unseen."
His tone grew sharper.
"Now? People get lost. Or worse."
He didn't elaborate.
I didn't ask.
He pointed farther, to the northern mountains. "Past Frostline Ridge lies the Sapphire Steppe. To the south is the Mire. Cursed. Full of rot and worse things. Then the sea. And far beyond that... the rest of the world."
I nodded slowly.
"This world," Aeren said, voice quieter now, "wasn't shaped by kings or emperors."
He tapped the map again, a specific symbol etched in silver ink a crescent moon.
"It was shaped by Twelve."
I blinked. "The Twelve?"
"Spirits. Gods. Whatever you choose to call them. One for each month. Each with their own will."
He tapped the crescent again.
"Veluna. Goddess of Shadows and Secrets. She watched over this forest once. Some say she still does."
I swallowed.
"She rules this place?" I asked.
Aeren's eyes narrowed slightly. "She watched. There's a difference."
He paused.
"Some believe her breath still lingers in the mist. That she hides the truths not ready to be spoken. Protects what must be forgotten."
A chill crawled up my spine.
---
That night, I couldn't sleep.
The poison still twisted in my gut. My head throbbed with every heartbeat. But it wasn't the pain that kept me awake.
It was the quiet.
The oppressive, endless quiet.
Veluna. Shadows. Secrets.
Was she watching? Was anything?
The mist outside had thickened again. It wrapped around the trees like a veil, and the wind carried strange echoes through the leaves half-whispers that never quite formed into words.
Aeren's voice echoed in my memory.
What tries to kill you.
Your body will learn.
Maybe that's what the forest was doing.
Not killing me.
Teaching me.
---
I woke coughing. Bitter fluid rose in my throat. Sharp pain spread through my chest, but I was still breathing.
Still alive.
Aeren stood at the doorway, staring into the mist.
He didn't turn when he spoke.
"You'll last longer each day. That's enough."
Then he disappeared into the trees.
No praise. No comfort. Just another trial ahead.
But as I looked at the cup near the fire still steaming I realized something.
I was lasting longer.
---
[Quest]
Category: Sub
Title: Bitter Medicine
Clear Conditions:
Survive daily toxin intake for 30 days
Reward:
Passive Skill: [Toxin Resistance I]
Bonus Objective:
Identify 3 poisonous plants native to the Vale of Mist
Bonus Reward:
Trait Unlocked: [Survivor's Instinct]
Penalty for Failure:
System Note: "Survival not guaranteed. Proceed with caution."
---