Memories of Home and Hearth

Chapter 2

_Tears are the product of emotion and weakness. Stand on your own two feet, Freminet, and be your strongest self. You can't always depend on someone to save you every time._

_This trick will surely get a good reaction from the audience. Once again, Freminet, I appreciate your willingness to be the first to witness it. Your feedback is invaluable, and I know I can always rely on it._

_Be kinder to yourself, Freminet. Each of us possesses unique gifts and qualities. Even though Lyney and I are twins, we have different skills and talents as well. Your exceptional skills in diving and fixing things are indispensable here. Without you, this place would literallyfallapart. You are truly invaluable to us._

His head shifted in discomfort hearing the familiar voices in his head.

_I once swore an oath that I would do whatever it takes to protect this family, and never look back. Not because 'Father' expects it of me, but because it is my own desire...._

He gasped for air, but his lungs would not open to inhale the oxygen he needed.

_Wherever the tide takes me, so long as the light of the hearth still shine, I'll always have a home to return to...._

His eyes snapped open, and he jolted upright, but any attempt to speak was stifled by a series of painful coughs wracking his body. His head throbbed with heat, yet his entire frame felt unbearably cold. The environment around him appeared as a dark, blurred hazed.

Desperately, he reached for the blankets that had covered him, only to find them damp with sweat. He pushed them aside, struggling to understand his surroundings.

"Where am I...?" he muttered, summoning the strength to stand. His legs wobbled beneath him, and after just a few unsteady steps, they gave way, sending him crashing into a nearby table. Shattering was heard, and metal pieces could be heard clattering and rolling across the floor. When he struck the floor,  he was seized by another bout of coughing, his stomach churning ominously.

Moments later, the room's door creaked open, and he heard the hurried yet concerned footsteps drawing near. A voice trembled with worry and asked, "Oh no. Are you okay?"

The unfamiliar voice startled him in the darkened room, and when their hand made contact, he flinched. "Who are..." he began to ask but was abruptly interrupted by a fit of coughing, relentless and painful.

As he struggled to regain his composure, the person grasped his wrist and pressed a bucket into his trembling hands. Without warning, he doubled over into the bucket in agonizing dry heaves. Between bouts of vomiting, he would feel a cool cloth soothingly swabbing his clammy forehead.

In a moment of respite, he noticed the warm glow of a lantern, thoughtfully placed before them, and the person's attentive presence beside him.

"You've been drifting in and out of a coma for nearly a week now," the voice informed him gently.

"I can't breathe..." he whispered hoarsely, his words barely audible on his labored breath.

After a brief moment, he felt her firm grasp on his arm, gently encouraging him to rise. "Let's get you back into bed," she suggested with a soothing tone.

He nodded and accepted her assistance, allowing her to guide him back to his bed. He sat perched on the edge clutching the edge, trying desperately not to pass out. "Try to relax and take slower breaths," she advised, her words offering comfort.

He strained to open his hazy eyes, attempting to get a clearer look at his caregiver. However, by that time, she had already turned her back to retrieve the fallen table.