disc/q5KWmtQARF

  Join my Discord!

  Donald trudged along a worn dirt path fnked by endless stretches of green. His boots scuffed against the uneven ground, and his coat, worn thin by years of use, hung heavy from the damp air. He had been walking for days, hitg rides when he could, avoiding the long roads where cars passed by too frequently. Something about this journey demanded solitude.

  The urge to go to Norway had started as a faint pull, like a tug at the back of his mind, but it had grown stronger i weeks, impossible to ignore. He wasn’t even sure what awaited him there, only that this pulsioied to something he had carried his entire life. A shadow of memories that were never quite whole. Fshes of a past that felt like his but didn’t fit into the life he remembered.

  Donald passed a small farmhouse, its windows aglow against the dimming twilight. An elderly couple stood outside by a stack of firewood, their breaths visible in the cold as they chatted softly. The man’s back was hunched as he reached for a rge log, and the woman shivered in a thin shawl as she carried a smaller buoward the house.

  “Hey there,” Donald called out, his voice carrying over the stillness. They turoward him, surprise fshing across their faces. He limped forward, leaning slightly on his e but smiling warmly. “Need a hand with that?”

  The old man straightened as much as he could, waving Donald off with a polite shake of his head. “Ah, no, no, d. We’ve got this. You look like you’ve done plenty of walking today.”

  Donald chuckled, tapping his e against the ground lightly. “I’m strohan I look. Besides, it’d be a shame if you threw your back out just before dinner.”

  The woman smiled kindly, though her eyes lingered on his limp. “You sure about that? Don’t want you hurting yourself just to help a couple of old folks.”

  Donald gestured toward the firewood stack. “I’ve handled worse than a pile of logs, I promise.”

  The man exged a gh his wife before noddiantly. “Well, if you’re , we won’t say no. I’ll admit, these old bones aren’t what they used to be.”

  Donald shrugged off his coat and slung it over the low fe, rolling up his sleeves as he approached the firewood pile. He grabbed the rgest log, hefting it with surprising ease, and carried it toward the farmhouse.

  "You two live alone?" he asked, gng back at the couple as he stacked the log he porch.

  The man nodded, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Mostly. We’ve got a grandson in the house, but he’s been bedridden for years. Trouble with his lungs.” His voice carried a note nation, softened by long familiarity with the burden.

  Donald paused, looking toward the house. “What about help? Anyone e by to che him?”

  The woman shook her head. “It’s just us. Neighbors help when they , but we don’t have much to pay a doctor. He’s stable, thank God, but every winter feels like it could be his st.”

  Donald gave a thoughtful nod auro the woodpile, pig up two more logs with one hand auring toward the house with his e. “Go on inside. I’ll finish up here.”

  The maated, then cpped Donald on the shoulder. “You’ve done more than enough already. You sure you’re not cold out here?”

  Donald smiled faintly. “I’ll manage. Go keep the fire warm.”

  The couple exged a look but didn’t argue. As they disappeared into the house, Donald tiag the wood ly by the porch, w methodically until the pile was gone. He retrieved his coat and e, dusted off his hands, and followed the faint glow of the farmhouse windows.

  Ihe warmth hit him immediately, along with the savory st of stew simmering oove. The small kit was tidy but worn, its ets scuffed and its table repaired in pces with mismatched wood. The couple stood by the stove, the woman dling stew into bowls while her husba out a loaf of bread.

  “Sit,” the man said, nodding toward the table. “Least we do after you helped with the wood.”

  Donald took the offered chair, resting his e against the edge of the table. “You didn’t have to do all this,” he said.

  The woman waved him off as she set a bowl in front of him. “You’re on the road. Long walks need good food. Eat while it’s hot.”

  Donald picked up a spoon, blowing lightly oeaming broth. “Thanks. Looks great.” He tasted it, nodding appreciatively. “Tastes eveer.”

  The man sat across from him, breaking off a k of bread and passing it over. “So, what brings you out here? You don’t look like a local.”

  Donald chewed thoughtfully before answering. “Just traveling. Heading north.”

  “North? What for?” the man asked.

  Donald hesitated, sidering his answer. “Looking for answers. Something personal.”

  The couple didn’t press Donald for more. A man on the road with a limp often carried his ow in stories, and they seemed tent to leave his reasons as his own. Instead, they let the quiet warmth of the kit settle over them. The faint crackle of the stove and the rhythmic tapping of Donald’s e against the floor as he adjusted in his seat filled the silence.

  Donald fihe bread and stew quickly, hunger from days of walking evident in the way he savored each bite. As the woman refilled his bowl without waiting for him to ask, he looked up at her. “You mentioned yrandson. I’m a doctor—used to practig on the road more than in an office—but if you’d like, I could che him.”

  The couple exged a look. The old maated, but his wife nodded before he could speak. “If you don’t mind,” she said softly. “He’s had trouble for so long, and the st doctor who came through couldn’t do much.”

  Donald set the spoon doushed his chair back. “I don’t mind. Lead the way.”

  The old man stood, motioning toward a narrow hallway. “He’s in the ba. Been there most of the day.”

  Donald followed him, the e tapping lightly with each step. The house smelled of wood smoke and the faint tang of herbs, likely their best effort at easing the boy’s struggles. When they reached the room, the man pushed open the door, revealing a small, dimly lit space. A boy, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, y in a bed tucked under a heavy quilt. His chest rose and fell in shallow, unevehs, his face pale, beads of sweat dotting his brow.

  The boy’s eyes flicked toward them at the sound of the door. His gaze nded on Donald, curiosity flickering through his otherwise weary expression. “Who’s this?” he asked, voice strained.

  The old man stepped aside. “A traveler who’s kind enough to che you. He’s a doctor.”

  Donald pulled a chair closer to the bed, setting his e aside. “Name’s Donald,” he said simply, rolling up his sleeves as he examihe boy. He he slight bluish tint around his lips and the way his fingers curled weakly over the edge of the quilt. His breaths were shallow, his chest tight with eahale. “How long’s it been like this?” he asked, looking back at the parents.

  “Since he was little,” the woman said, wringing her hands nervously. “He catches colds too easily, and winters are always the worst.”

  Donald nodded, gng at the boy. “Your chest feels tight? Painful to breathe?”

  The boy nodded. “Like there’s a weight on it.”

  Donald frowned as he listeo the boy’s breathing, slow and uneven, each wheeze like a rattle caught in his chest. The symptoms weren’t o him; he’d seen this kind of dition before. Still, he pressed his fingers gently along the boy’s ribcage, feeling the slight rigidity, the unnatural tighthat came with years of ued illness.

  He leaned back, pulling the quilt higher over the boy’s shoulders. “It’s not just a cold,” Donald said, looking at the couple. “His lungs are w too hard, and it’s wearing down the rest of him. You’re right to be worried about winter.”

  The woman’s hands twisted the hem of her apron. “We’ve done all we , but—” she hesitated, gng toward her husband. “Is there anything you do?”

  Donald’s jaw tightehere was no medie here that could cure this, no teique he could offer that would undo the years of strain on the boy’s fragile system. But he wasn’t just a doctor anymore.

  “I’ll do what I ,” Donald said, keeping his voice level. “But it might take some time, and I’ll need you to trust me.”

  The old man nodded. “If you help him, we’ll trust you with anything.”

  Donald oward the door. “Then I need you both to step out. I’ll call you in when I’m finished.”

  They hesitated, exging gnces, but eventually, the woman took her husband’s arm and led him back toward the kit. The boy’s gaze followed them until the door clicked shut, leaving him aloh Donald.

  Donald set his e aside and leaned closer. “I’m going to help you breathe easier, but it might feel stra first. Don’t be scared—just try to sleep.”

  “What’s your name?” Donald asked as he adjusted the chair closer to the boy’s bedside.

  “Erik,” the boy replied softly, his voice almost a whisper, his breaths shallow and uneven.

  Donald nodded. “Alright, Erik. I’m going to help you rest a little easier. I’ll need you to trust me, alright?”

  The boy’s eyelids fluttered, exhaustioched in every fragile movement, but he gave a faint nod. Donald rested a hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder. He pced a hand lightly on Erik’s chest, feeling the faint, uneven rhythm of his heartbeat. The boy’s breaths hitched slightly, and Donald leaned closer. “It’s going to feel strange, but it won’t hurt. Try to rex.”

  Erik blinked, his shes heavy, and then his eyes closed. Donald waited until the boy’s body sagged deeper into the mattress, his shallow breaths growing more even as sleep took hold.

  Donald’s other hand hovered just above the boy’s chest. The Lightning Ring’s glow intensified as sparks of green energy began to arc between his fingers. He directed the fmes with precision, eling their strength into the boy’s lungs. The energy didn’t burn; it fortified, binding itself to the weak, overworked tissues and reinf what had long been strained past endurance.

  The room filled with the faint hum of electricity, the green fmes casting shifting shadows on the walls. Donald’s hand trembled slightly as he worked, the effort of trol demanding his full focus. The Lightning Fmes didn’t heal—they hardened, strengthened, and struck where they were needed most.

  The miretched on but slowly, painstakingly, the faint rattle in the boy’s chest began to ease. The blue tint around his lips faded, repced by a pale but healthier flush. His breathing deepened, smoothing into a rhythm that no longer seemed like a fight.

  Donald finally pulled his hand back, the Lightning Fmes dissipating as he leaned heavily against the chair. His shoulders sagged, and he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. The green glow of the ring dimmed, but the faint crackle of statigered in the air.

  Erik stirred slightly, a faint sigh esg him as his chest rose and fell with newfound ease. Donald watched for a moment longer, ensuring the boy’s breathing remaieady. He adjusted the quilt over Erik’s shoulders, then reached for his e and pushed himself to his feet.

  Donald grabbed his coat and e, moving sliently. He didn’t head for the hallway but toward the window. He u silently, sliding it open just enough to step through. The cool night air met him as he slipped out into the darkness, pulling the window shut behind him.

  He walked away from the farmhouse without looking back. There was no need fratitude, no need for expnations. To the couple, this would be a miracle, something beyond words. That was enough.

  Donald’s journey north tinued with the same quiet resolve. He avoided highways, stig to trails and fotten paths. Hitchhiking when necessary, he spoke little to the drivers who picked him up, though many seemed to find fort in his presence. He moved through small towns, lingering just long enough to restock supplies or help those who .

  Iown, a worn-down church stood near a patch of dense woods. A preacher stood outside, holding a battered sign that read, “Free Meals for the Hungry.” Donald approached, nodding as he handed over a small bundle of cash.

  “Keep it,” Donald said simply when the preacher tried to return it. “Just here to pass through.”

  The preacher hesitated but offered a solemn nod. “Bless you, traveler.”

  The path became rougher as he crossed into ada. The weather shifted; biting winds repced the damp air of the south. Donald ed his coat tighter, leaning more heavily on his e as he trudged through frost-covered trails. He stopped at an old diner off the beaten path, the warm glow of its neon sign cutting through the grey ndscape.

  Ihe pce was almost empty, save for a waitress behind the ter and a trucker nursing a coffee. Donald slid into a booth he windoing his e lightly against the floor.

  The waitress approached, a pad of paper in hand. “What’ll it be?”

  “Just coffee. Bck,” Donald replied, his voice low.

  As she poured the coffee, her eyes lingered on his e. “Long road?”

  “Long enough,” he said, taking the cup and nodding his thanks.

  “You don’t look like a trucker,” she added, leaning on the ter. “Not many people walk around these parts.”

  Donald smirked faintly, shaking his head. “Not a trucker. Just… looking for something.”

  The waitress raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Well, if you’re heading north, roads are rough this time of year. Watch yourself.”

  Oskirts of aown, Donald passed a group of kids pying near a crumbling basketball hoop. One of the younger oripped, scraping his knee on the pavement. The others crowded around, unsure of what to do.

  Donald crouched beside the boy, iing the wound. “Not too bad,” he said, smiling at the boy. He pulled a small bottle of aid a cloth from his bag. “This’ll sting, but you’ll be fine.”

  The boy winced as Donald ed the scrape, but he didn’t cry. “Thanks, mister,” he mumbled, watg as Donald bahe wound with practiced ease.

  “Stay off that knee for a bit,” Donald said, rising to his feet and tipping his head toward the boy’s friends. “Make sure he listens, alright?”

  The kids heir wide eyes following Donald as he walked away, his e tapping against the cracked pavement.

  The pull toward Norway grew strohe closer Donald got to the coast. Each step felt heavier, not from fatigue but from the weight of what he might find. Memories flickered at the edges of his mind—fshes of a grand hall filled with light, the distant echo of ughter, and the g of steel. None of it made sense, yet it felt undeniable.

  At a small fishing port, Donald arranged passage on a weathered ship heading across the Atntic. The captain, a gruff man with a thick beard, eyed Donald’s e skeptically.

  “You’re sure about this?” the captain asked. “It’s not a fortable ride.”

  Donald nodded. “fort’s not what I’m after.”

  The captain shrugged. “Suit yourself. We leave at dawn.”

  --

  Please rate and review! Much appreciated! Leave a ent, tell me what you think!

  To Read up to 50 advance Chapters (25 for eaovel) and support me...

  patreon./thefanficgod1

  Please drop a ent and like the chapter!