A woman burst into the lab—hair wild, eyes frantic—clutching a child wrapped in far too many layers.

The boy was drenched in sweat. Her voice cracked from panic.

    “He’s cursed! He won’t stop burning up!”

Fenzaar didn’t move from his chair. 

He was watching his tea steep.

After a long pause, he blinked—once—then turned his head slowly, as if the crisis had interrupted a far more interesting chemical reaction.

Eko scanned the child.

   “Temperature: 39.5°C.”

Fenzaar peered over.

   “Mm. A fever. How rare.”

The boy lay limp in the woman’s arms.

Red-faced. Sweating. Semi-conscious.

No rash. No cough. Just heat.

   “Other symptoms? Snot? Vomit? Diarrhea? Seizures?”

The mother flinched like he’d cursed her child personally. She wailed louder.

Fenzaar frowned, examining the boy with one hand.

   “Calm down. Your kid’s still alive.”

Eko offered tissues like an emotionless florist.

   “Lady, data is necessary. Please verify all symptoms. We cannot proceed with panic.”

Fenzaar sighed again.

   “Eko. Fever wipe first. Tissue later.”

After some struggle, the mother managed to calm down.

She said the child had no other symptoms—just clear snot and sneezing.

She’d been wiping him down all day, gave him fever pills from the local doctor.

The fever never dropped.

The doctor told her he’d be fine—but she couldn’t sit still.

So she came here.

Her voice dropped to a whisper:

“I think he’s cursed. The forest was too quiet when we passed through. My mother warned me—the spirit, it—”

Fenzaar didn’t react.

He opened a cabinet.

Pulled out a small bottle of shimmering blue liquid.

Swirled it under the lamp.

   “Dilute it. A lot of water—room temp. No ice.

Wipe his body with it, forehead to feet, every hour until he cools down.

And stop wrapping him like a roast. You’re cooking him alive.”

He gave her a glance.

   “If he starts seizing, bring him back.”

The mother gasped.

“You’re not even giving him a real potion? What is this?”

Fenzaar smiled like a man who had run out of morality last decade.

   “Oh, I probably have the same meds as your doctor.

But this—” (he held up the bottle with theatrical flair)

“—this is special.”

   “It’s Sacred Moon Water. Works on both demonic possession and viral infections.”

His smile twitched. Twice.

He handed her the cool cloth and the bottle.

   “Now go. I’ll send Eko to collect payment later. (⌒_⌒;)”

The mother ran out like she’d been handed salvation.

Eko blinked, waddling up.

“We are officially out of Sacred Moon Water.”

Fenzaar twirled a stirring rod.

“Make more. Saline. Add menthol. Blue food dye.”

“Blue dye is out of stock in the market, Master.”

Fenzaar paused.

   “…Really? Then maybe I’ll make a pink one.

What do you think of Innocent-Pure-Mystical Petal Water?”

Eko tilted its head.

   “Eko does not know, Master.”

————-

:: Fenzaar’s Case Notes :: 

Diagnosis: Probably low-grade viral fever.

Cause: How do I pick just one from 10,000 ways a child can catch a virus? Played with pigeons? Maybe.

Symptoms: Persistent fever. No complications. (They’re not coming back. He probably won’t seize.)

Prognosis: Will recover.

Recommended Action:

• Less layering

• More listening

• Recommend anxiety-calming method for the mother

————

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Sweet blood. Sour ending.