Chapter 47: Medicine
Lisara gave a slight curtsy when Cole entered. “Welcome home, Sir Cole. You wear the day plainly; shall I see to something that steadies the spirit?”
Cole leaned against the doorframe, glancing back at the living room. “Yeah. Need something good for Mack. He’s –” The words died. How did he explain that kind of necessary violence to someone who kept her knives sharp for vegetables, not throats?
“Ah.” Lisara got it anyway. Well, probably not fully, but it saved Cole the trouble of explanation. “Some meals steady more than the stomach. I’ve known certain dishes to restore more than strength, though I’ve rarely said so aloud.”
She locked in, already heading toward their fridge. “There is the tempura, perhaps? Sir Mack has requested it more than once; he remarked that it called to mind something from your world. If that appeals, I would be glad to prepare it.”
Tempura. That was Mack’s favorite, wasn’t it? It was his anchor – a reminder that the world contained things beyond necessary violence. Enjoyable things, even.
Cole nodded. “Yeah. And umm… sashimi, if you’ve got decent fish.”
“I’ve several cuts of silverfin.” She snapped up ingredients and got to work like she’d been plucked straight out of an authentic Japanese restaurant. “For five?”
“Let’s do six portions. Maybe seven.” Because after today, seconds weren’t indulgence but necessity. Because Elina had never tried Japanese cuisine, and novel experiences like that could jostle the mind away from fresh trauma. Because feeding people was something he could control when everything else spiraled.
“Of course. Forty minutes.”
“Thanks, Lisara.”
Cole headed back to the living room, where entropy had claimed his team in various configurations of exhaustion. Mack inhabited the armchair like a revenant – present but not participating, eyes focused on some middle distance. Elina sat provisional on the sofa’s edge, but was starting to warm up to the group. Miles and Ethan had achieved maximum sprawl on the opposite sofa, bodies loose with post-adrenaline crash and empty vials of mana potion beside them. Whatever they’d done on the boat had sucked them dry.
The worst part was – they were all silent. It was the complete opposite of the comfortable quiet of people who’d said everything worth saying; no, this was a suffocating silence. An awkward one, where bad thoughts bred in dark corners.
Back home, they’d have drowned it in white noise – Netflix, YouTube, endless doomscrolling. Hell, even arguing about pizza toppings (and rightfully shitting on pineapple) would’ve been better than this oppressive nothing.
Alas, the entertainment options mocked them from around the room. What did they have? Just some fucking music box that looked like it belonged on horror set, and a chess set that screamed ‘decoration’ more than ‘diversion.’ The place was truly devoid, completely absent of anything that could hijack attention away from internal replay.
Miles cracked first, though he probably wouldn’t have if he hadn’t noticed Cole’s entrance. Still, it was nice to see he had initiative when it came to looking out for the only family he had left.
“Man,” he said, “y’all ever notice how borin’ this place gets when we ain’t gettin’ shot or sliced at? Like, what do folks even do here for fun?”
“Read,” Ethan offered. “Train. Drink themselves unconscious.”
“Oh, but you’ve neglected falconry,” Elina remarked. “And, of course, the interminable whirl of the social season – ball after ball, wherein the same five dances are performed in slightly altered sequence. Or lawn tennis. And on occasion, croquet tournaments that, inexplicably, bear upon one’s marriage prospects.”
“That all? That’s the whole damn list?” Miles pushed himself upright, grinning at her sarcasm. “Shit, we could still make a fortune just introducin’ basic games. Monopoly. Uno. Hell, even Go Fish would blow their minds.”
Mack shifted in his chair – first sign of awareness beyond basic respiration. It wasn’t straight up intrigue, but at least acknowledgment that external reality continued to exist. It was a start, and Cole grabbed that thread like a lifeline.
“Board games could work.” Cole settled into the remaining chair, angling to keep both Mack and Elina in his sightline. “Simple concepts, local materials. Wouldn’t be hard to prototype.”
Miles seemed enthusiastic to see that someone else had caught on. “Right? Like Connect Four – that’s just droppin’ checkers in a frame. Or Jenga. Ain’t nothin’ but stackin’ blocks. Or Cards Against Humanity –” He winced. Definitely not the best thing to recommend to someone losing his humanity.
Mack’s eyes flicked to Miles for half a second. Maybe he’d caught it, maybe not.
Miles tried salvaging, “I mean, uh, maybe somethin’ like Apples to Apples. Or word games. Scrabble. Guessin’ games. Shit, Catan would translate easy enough.”
The salvaging apparently worked.
“Catan could work,” Mack said. “Cheap materials – wood, cardboard, dice. But complex enough to sell to nobles at premium prices. Maybe market it as ‘strategic territory management’ or some shit.”
“Why limit it to nobles?” Elina chimed in. “The common folk will gamble on dice and broken tokens in any tavern. Give them carved wood and a board, and they shall play. Then some Lord or other – loath to be mistaken for a butcher’s son – will demand his set in ivory, if only to mark the difference.”
Mack’s eyes sharpened. Not quite his old self, but closer. “Tiered pricing. Yeah.”
Elina grinned like a hyena, or even like some health insurance CEO drunk on money. Either way, her expression fit a ruthless businesswoman more than it did a healer. “Dress the same game in lacquer and silver, raise the price rather absurdly – and oh, I assure you, they shall flock to it, desperate not to be mistaken for the rabble.”
Mack sat up straighter. “Yup. And then build brand recognition, too. Call it something like… Hero Games. Or something, I dunno. Anyway, once Catan takes off, we launch Risk exclusively for nobles. They’ll buy anything under the same brand.”
“Risk?” Elina asked.
“Pure military strategy, lots of conquest involved,” Ethan distilled it.
“Mmhmm. Price it triple, or more. Market it as ‘grand strategy training.’ Toss in some leather maps, polished stone armies,” Mack nodded to himself, a smile almost breaking out. “Yeah, I can see it now. Then we can showcase tournaments through scrying panes. Broadcast the noble championship matches to taverns, charge viewing fees –”
He caught himself, realizing he’d just invented Victorian eSports. “Shit. We’d want our own tavern. Or a group of them. And we’d need a whole subsidiary for the broadcast infrastructure. Electronic development – or magitronics? Scrying pane installation, distribution networks…”
There it was. It wasn’t healing – not even close. But Mack was building theoretical business empires again. Sometimes that was all anyone could ask for: the mind finding familiar patterns to follow when everything else felt fractured.
“Well, that’s what Darin’s for, right? But we should probably take it easy on him. How about uh… playin’ cards?” Cole kept the momentum going. “Elina said people’ll gamble on dice, right? What if we give ‘em poker variants? Blackjack? Universal appeal, easy to produce.”
“Could even make our own casino, maybe, but I don’t think Chappie over here’ll like that too much.” Miles tilted his head toward Ethan.
The conversation kept going, everyone testing ideas against market reality. Battleship got complicated fast – sure, they had naval warfare, but submarines and carriers? Might as well describe spaceships. Though maybe that was the angle. Sell it as ‘future naval warfare simulation’ to academy types, get them thinking about what came next.
Clue, on the other hand – that was money waiting to happen. Murder mysteries were already huge in Alexandria’s bookshops according to Elina, and this would let people live out their own. Revolvers, mansions, suspicious nobles – the setting was perfect.
Mack kept jumping in. Each game became a business case, a supply chain problem, a distribution puzzle. Better than silence. Better than losing himself to the darkness.
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Eventually, they ran out of ideas and decided to pass the time with a much-needed cleanup. By the time everyone finished up their baths and returned to the living room, the real medicine was ready – a heavenly scent drifting over from the kitchen.
Elina returned from her room with a simple but modest yellow dress from Tenna’s stock. She turned toward the kitchen, nose twitching. “Dear Lord, what is that? It smells fried, but… no, not crude. An elegant fried, if such a thing can be said to exist.” She sounded like a kid seeing snow for the first time.
“Tempura,” Mack answered right away, light already coming back into his eyes. “Light batter, quick frying. Keeps everything crispy without the grease. You’ll love it. I guarantee it.”
Tenna appeared in the doorway. “Pardon the interruption. Dinner is served in the informal dining room.”
“Perfect.” Cole stood. “Let’s go before it gets cold.”
The informal dining room was perfect – actual comfortable chairs instead of those spine-destroying formal ones. Lisara had set everything up like a restaurant display: tempura stacked in neat rows, sashimi arranged like she was getting graded on symmetry.
“Please, sit,” Lisara urged.
They gladly obliged. The food sat between them like something too perfect to touch – arranged so precisely that the first person to take a piece would be ruining art.
Miles broke the spell by reaching for tempura, because someone had to. “Holy hell.” The words came out reverent after his first bite. He dipped it into his bowl of sauce. “Mmm. And the sauce… hot damn. Ain’t really much of a connoisseur myself, but… yeah, this is as legit as they come.”
Elina observed his technique before selecting her own piece. Her grip on the chopsticks was already decent. Noble education apparently covered Aurelian dining etiquette, even if it didn’t cover Aurelian food.
“Oh!” She chewed slowly, working through the flavors. “How delicate this is!”
Mack went straight for the sashimi. Aside from that one taste test they’d had last week, he hadn’t indulged in months. He relaxed the moment the piece of silverfin and wasabi-analogue combo hit his mouth.
Too bad Cole couldn’t say the same for Elina. “This raw fish is intended for direct consumption?” Elina held up a piece of silverfin like it might bite her back.
“Yeah, but it's all about the cut and freshness,” Ethan explained. “Bad sashimi ruins your whole day. Good sashimi…” He placed a piece on his tongue with ceremonial care. “Well, it’s just good stuff.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Miles laughed, already reaching for seconds.
The conversation drifted while they ate, touching on everything and nothing. Of course, they stuck to safe topics – Lisara’s uncanny ability to master any cuisine, speculation about what other Earth foods might translate, whether the local wasabi-analogue was actually stronger than the real thing or if their taste buds had gone soft.
Elina didn’t seem too confused on that last one, though. She was pretty adamant about it trying to kill her, even as she forced through it with watery eyes.
Mack chuckled at that, probably checking something off the isekai bucket list. Watching an elf tear up from wasabi wasn’t exactly therapeutic progress, but Cole would take what he could get.
The tempura vegetables disappeared first – sweet potato, eggplant, bell peppers all battered and fried to golden perfection. The sashimi followed more slowly, everyone savoring the clean taste after weeks of hearty stews and roasted meats. Not that Celdornian food was bad, but sometimes Cole needed something that didn’t sit in his stomach like a brick.
“Y’know what I miss?” Miles leaned back, patting his stomach. “Haven’t had a decent soft serve in months. Miss that DQ cone – vanilla, dipped in that crackly-ass chocolate shell. Simple, but it hit different.”
“The shell that hardens when it hits the cold?” Cole could almost taste it – that weird waxy chocolate that somehow made perfect sense on ice cream. “Yeah. Or those Blizzards where they flip them upside down.”
“For what purpose do they flip desserts upside down?” Elina looked concerned.
“Showing off,” Mack said. “Proving it’s thick enough not to fall out. Marketing gimmick, but hey, it worked.”
And there they found another thing to bring over – ice cream. Which made perfect sense, given the abundance and ease of ice magic. They spent the next ten minutes trying to explain ice cream culture to someone who’d grown up with honey cakes and fruit tarts. The concept of a drive-through dessert window alone required three separate explanations.
Elina summarized, “So, let me be certain I’ve understood: you remain seated in your carriage, issue your request into a metal box, and are then presented with frozen dairy through a window – without so much as setting foot upon the ground? I struggle to discern whether this is convenience or sanctioned madness.”
“Both,” Cole answered firmly. “Sometimes shit gets crazy, but yeah, that’s the gist of things.”
Lisara appeared as the last pieces of sashimi disappeared, surveying the empty plates with satisfaction. “I trust the meal proved excellent.”
Elina didn’t hold back. “It was exquisite. I suspect I shall think of these masterpieces for days.”
“Excellent as always, Lisara,” Cole said. He then faced Elina. “Y’know, Elina, you don’t have to just think about them. This is your mansion, too.”
Elina went still, her hand pausing halfway to her water glass. Then she found her composure, though her voice came out softer than usual. “I shall… endeavor to remember that.”
“Lisara takes requests,” Ethan said. “Abuse the privilege.”
Lisara laughed. “The Heroes most certainly do, but I daresay you shall find little need. Each day among them proves its own culinary experiment. And by the time you’ve tasted your way through them, you’ll have dined better than most who trouble themselves to request anything at all.”
“Very well, then,” Elina said. The uncertainty on her face gave way to a more confident smile. “I shall look forward to your meals, then.”
Lisara nodded. “I shall see to some tea. The Ajuran, I believe – it bears the closest resemblance to what you described as ‘green tea.’”
“Please,” Cole said.
She returned with one of those fancy Celdornian tea services – porcelain pot, matching cups, the whole ceremony of it. Cole recognized the aroma immediately. It was the same mild blend they’d had at the castle during their first formal dinner, back when they’d been too overwhelmed to ask what it was called.
They relocated to the living room with their cups, everyone settling in with less of the earlier collapse. The food had done its work – creating space between trauma and the present moment. Elina took her spot on the sofa properly this time, no longer perched for escape.
“Alright,” Mack sighed, setting down his cup. “We should probably… uh, get started with the evals.” The words came out like he’d been voluntold for his own root canal. “Get them logged before, y’know, memory starts editing things or whatever. I’ll be right back.” He got up and headed upstairs.
Volunteering for the hard thing – that was Mack trying to stay Mack. Sometimes forward momentum was its own therapy. The alternative was becoming Vale, and they’d all seen where that led.
Mack returned with his journal. “I’ll start with your evaluation, Elina. If anything it should make for a good practice run before you take over.”
“Of course.” She straightened slightly.
Mack flipped to a fresh page. They both knew the drill by now.
First came the standard battery – basics like name, rank, and date. Then they dove into the PCL-5, the same ol’ bunch of questions to gauge for PTSD, then stuff for depression and anxiety. She scored mostly zeros and ones, with a couple twos on the hypervigilance items. They spent twenty minutes on paperwork that would’ve been routine in any FOB psych tent.
“Now we get to the meat of it,” Mack said, looking up from his notes. “Post-action, you were observed cleaning your hands repeatedly. Walk me through that.”
Elina examined her hands like she was guilty. “There was a cultist on the third floor. The first to fall by my hand. I rather misjudged the force required and… took the head. Entirely.” She flexed her fingers, slowly. “I’ve bathed and scoured the skin and yet, there still lingers a sense of impurity. I find myself ill at ease – soiled, in some inward, uncleanable way.”
“That’s classic somatic memory,” Mack explained. “Your body’s holding onto the physical sensation of being covered in blood. Even though you’ve cleaned up, the sensory pathways that registered the trauma are still active. You know you’re clean, rationally, but your nervous system hasn’t fully gotten the memo yet.”
“Will it fade?”
“Yeah. It usually fades in, like, two or three days for most people. The trick is not trying to fight it too hard. That actually makes it worse; your brain just digs in deeper. So yeah, wipe your hands if you need to. It’s not a failure or anything. Your system just needs a little time to catch up and stop flagging false alarms.” He looked up from his notes. “And uh… for the record – any guilt or second thoughts about the killing itself?”
“Guilt? Regret? None, I assure you.” Elina’s tone held no waver; she was fully confident, fully justified. “Those wretches peddled tainted provisions that would have ensnared thousands in foul corruption. The manner of it proved rather untidier than foreseen – messy business, indeed – but the outcome? Utterly essential, and I stand by it without a shadow of remorse.”
“No remorse, huh?”
Elina’s eyes widened. “Ah, forgive me, I spoke thoughtlessly. If –”
Mack waved her off. “It’s fine, Elina. Really. It’s good, actually. Means you’re better off than most. Let’s just get back on track.”
Mack clicked his pen a few times and shook it. Was it a reaction, or was it because he was actually starting to run out of ink after all this time? Cole kept it in the back of his mind, but didn’t dig too deeply.
“Right,” Mack continued, “so no emotional entanglement, just somatic residue. That’s exactly what we wanna see. Alright, any other concerns? Intrusive thoughts or anything like that?”
“None at present, I should think. Though should any arise, you shall be the first to know.”
“Then we’re done.” He studied his notes one final time. “Assessment complete. No flags from my end. Good to continue with standard check-in next week.”
Mack held out the journal to Elina. “Your turn. Start with Mercer, then work through the others. I’ll observe and provide guidance.”
Cole settled back and gave Elina a reassuring smile. “I’m ready when you are.”