The guards shifted anxiously around the doorway of the infirmary. While normally the hall leading into the infirmary only needed one sentry at a time, two at the most, today was special. The King himself was visiting the mysterious patient contained within. As it turns out, the two of them were acquaintances from six maybe seven years past. With the king's presence, nothing could be chanced.

Phil stood at the side of Zelgadis' bed, a towering monster of a man. His robes had changed little from when he was the crown prince; besides the tunic and stole, a mantle of white silk was added to the outfit. But, contrary to popular belief, there was no crown. Or, at least, not perpetually. The Crown of Saillune, while light in appearance, was much too heavy to be worn at all times without the wearer risking a sore neck or sprained shoulder muscles. Never one mind that it wouldn't happen to Phil, as his neck muscles alone could probably snap an oak in half. He simply did not like wearing the crown because he thought it was making him go bald.

Beside the king stood a much less intimidating figure in the person of Sylphiel. With a small leather notebook and various measurements made from perception and observation, Sylphiel recorded Zelgadis' condition with minute detail. Her face was serious and her expression was buried in thought as her pen flitted across the roughly hewn pages of the book.

In front of the previous two stood the heiress to the crown herself. Amelia knelt at the side of the bed that Zelgadis lay on. At Sylphiel's request, Amelia did not touch Zelgadis. Sylphiel was adamant in not ruling out that he had a mysterious disease, and the last person the kingdom needed to contract an exotic disease was the future of the kingdom itself. But seeing him in such terrible circumstances, Amelia could not shake the small voice in the back of her head that bade her do it.

A feeling of dread hung heavy in the air, despite the stabilization of Zelgadis' condition. The day that Amelia and her entourage had found him, Zelgadis was actually very near to death. His pulse was slow, his breathing was shallow, and his skin was clammy to the touch. But there must have been something more, enough to cause Sylphiel's expression to cloud over a few times. But Amelia did not see the darkness in Sylphiel's eyes; her sight instead clung to Zelgadis' form for the smallest sign of improvement.

Philionel gave Amelia a gentle, comforting pat on her back with an apish hand. His integrity as a father never left anyone with a lack of awe, for any man with hands like Phil's who could tune their power so finely as to make a comforting contact with his daughter was one to be commended. Amelia quietly raised a hand to meet her father's knuckles on her shoulder.

"... I don't want to watch anymore," Amelia finally said to Phil, her timid voice underscored with emotional exhaustion. Stoically, Phil extended his free hand in a dismissive signal to his host of guards. A chorus of chiming, clanking armor heralded the palace guard's exodus into the hallways of the palace proper as Phil and Amelia prepared to depart. Only stopping in her work to glance back at the princess and the king, Sylphiel received a few words from Phil as they left.

"Keep us alerted to Mr. Zelgadis' condition. And do everything you have to to keep him alive!" Even in the infirmary, Phil still had the tendency to lose control of his passion and let it manipulate his volume as it desired. Because of the silence in the infirmary, Amelia and Sylphiel winced at the loudness of Phil's voice. The guardsmen still within earshot didn't look back, fearful that the king was angry about something. But both of the ladies present knew better, and forgave him readily.

"I will do that, sire. He can receive no better care elsewhere." But the frustration of not being able to create results in Zelgadis were even getting to Sylphiel, who was normally a patient person who personified the virtues of compassion and placidity. For once, she was unsure about her faith in the techniques she employed on Zelgadis, and wondered idly in the back of her mind if there wasn't a place that could do better. For the rest of the night, she tortured herself with this idea, so as to take him there if such a place existed.

As the door clanked shut behind her, Sylphiel caught a few faint words out of Zelgadis' mouth.

"They... are... are... coming..."

---&---

The next day came too soon for Amelia. It was another sleepless night, and she realized that she was only going to look awful at the presentation she had to give today. Realizing that she was running short on time, Amelia ran to her armoire and hastily chose a dress. She didn't have time to be picky or choosy as she usually was; should she wear the periwinkle dress or the light blue dress?

After finally choosing a piece of formalwear, Amelia headed to her mirror. She looked idly at the small box of cosmetics that she held in her hands and puzzled over what to do with them. Normally, she didn't bother with things like makeup because she almost always looked presentable; she was a true natural beauty. But as Amelia looked in the mirror, she couldn't keep her eyes in place; they gravitated towards the dark semi-circles under her tired sapphires.

After the debate finally came to a conclusion, Amelia let fly out her chamber door. She couldn't run at a full dash because of the long dress she wore, and she mumbled indignantly as she found her feet trying to take her away like in older days. The largest concern on her mind was Zelgadis, but he would have to take a backseat to the speech she had to give out at the academy. The guilt of it clawed at her, but she shook it off as the mantle was forcibly buckled around her collar.

"Okay!" Amelia panted between breaths. "You can," pause, "go now!"

Amelia's attendant army stopped and faded off into the distance behind her, the top of their collective heads visible as they all bowed and retreated.

Clawfell waited at the exit. He was clearly anxious, glancing now and then to the ornate metal clock that stood in the center of the courtyard. A carriage, much livelier in décor than the one Amelia had been riding in when she reunited with Zelgadis, awaited her presence with a spotless shine.

"Amelia! Hurry and get on the carriage!" Clawfell urged her. Amelia looked up from her half-bent posture and whined, bringing forth the energy to climb aboard the relatively high step, then into the carriage itself at end. Clawfell followed suit, jumping in and shutting the door. At the clap of wood-on-wood, the carriage bucked forward as the driver whipped the horses onward at a brisk canter.

In the plush velvet seats, Amelia reclined and let out a heavy sigh. It wasn't long before that big exhalation was replaced by a gasping intake of fresh air. Clawfell shook his head with another one of his fatherly smiles on his face.

"We'll be on time." He nodded to reassure her. "The academy isn't far from here. You can relax now."

Amelia smiled with relief. But then something tickled her senses, a feeling of unsettling tension.

I hope it's just my makeup that's causing this sensation…

---&---

Zelgadis continued to endure the pain that tore at his body. It had gotten worse overnight, to the point where he was on the verge of exploding into agonized screams.

The cure, he managed in a thought, is almost worse than the ailment.

Disturbingly, Zelgadis did not know just how close to the truth he was. Over the years, parts of his chimerical body became natural. As old cells died, new ones grew in place and bonded with his human cells. Zelgadis became acclimated to his new body before he knew it, and when the cure presented itself to him, he did not take into account what could happen if two-thirds of his physical being were suddenly ripped out of him.

Quite literally…

"… The patient is missing two-thirds of his body." Sylphiel's voice conferred with another in the hallway just outside of the infirmary. The man who stood alongside Sylphiel, explaining the phenomenon, nodded as Sylphiel echoed his words.

"That is correct," he reinforced with a nod. "Honestly, it is a miracle that he even survived whatever process brought him to this state."

A miracle… Sylphiel's thoughts wandered.

"Since he survived initially," the physician continued as he closed his book of tables and charts, "I don't think his death is a concern anymore. Keep with the regiment he's on and give him magical therapy. It will take more than a single Resurrection spell, but I'm sure that is no problem for you, Miss Sylphiel."

"Not at all," she affirmed quietly. Sylphiel eyed Zelgadis from the entryway, turning to the physician as a question occurred to her.

"How long will his recovery take?"

The physician scratched his chin, furrowing a brow as he made an estimate. "Heh. I've never seen a case like this where anyone has lived through the first night. I would say a week… but the man has a purpose for living. Otherwise… I don't know. Perhaps the gods have a use for him yet."

Perhaps they do, Sylphiel pondered quietly.

"Well," the physician began with a drawl. "I should leave you to your work now."

"Very well. Thank you for coming." Sylphiel bowed politely. The physician returned the gesture and took a step back, turning as he retreated.

"Good luck with your patient, Miss Sylphiel." And he was gone, Sylphiel once again being left to her devices, to her thoughts. She was quick to move back to Zelgadis' bedside. Sylphiel was eager to heal Zelgadis; removing her gloves, Sylphiel began to chant in a deeper, more forceful voice than she used to talk with. The radiance that encompassed the priestess' hands was almost as bright as the sun, but it was also as warm as the sun. Sylphiel enacted the next part of the spell, bringing it to completion with the prayer-like incantation.

"Resurrection…"

Zelgadis would survive, thanks in no small part to Sylphiel.