#mevgpt

Version 1:

The knock came in the middle of the night and startled Eila from a dreamless sleep. It was unusual, though not unheard of, for her to receive patients at this hour. She had a sign posted at her door, urging people to come to her between midmorning and sundown, unless it was a life or death emergency.

Realizing that someone must be in dire need of help, she quickly put on her favourite woollen nightgown, lit a candle with a whispered spell and hurried down the stairs.

She entered her parlour which she used as a praxis and quickly lit a few more candles. She twisted her hair into a quick braid and went to answer the door.

Outside stood five people. Two men and one women, carrying another woman who was clearly unconscious.

„What happened?“, asked Eila, ushering them inside even as she took in the situation.

There was no blood on the unconscious woman, but she hadn‘t awoken from being dragged around, so something must be wrong. She was pale, but not unhealthily so, her dark hair stood in stark contrast to her skin. The four didn’t look like her usual clientel. They were all young adults, probably around her own age, all clean and neatly groomed. One of them, a shorter man with glasses, wore a uniform jacket, a dark purple with silver buttons and stitchings. Of course, they were from the upper city and probably all students of the Academy.

But if they were nobles, what on earth were they doing coming to her instead of going to a physician?

The four carried the unconscious woman inside and lay her down on the mat in the parlor when Eila gestured them to it.

“She touched something and then she fell down and hasn’t woken up since.”, one of the girls explained. She had curly red hair and seemed the calmest in the situation, though none of them were panicking. The boy with glasses pulled something out of his pocket. It was wrapped in cloth, but as he unwrapped it a small silver flask came to light.

“Where was this?”, Eila asked, taking the flask from the boy, taking care not to touch it. She hovered her other hand over it, reaching out with her senses. It didn’t feel especially dangerous. There were traces of magic on it, but whatever spell had been on it was gone now. She touched it. The boy gasped. Nothing happened. Eila handed him his piece of cloth back and studied the flask more.

Version 2:

Eila was deep in sleep when the knock at the door came, sharp and insistent, slicing through the heavy stillness of the night. Her heart jolted, and she sat up, disoriented, the quiet of her small cottage pressing in around her. It took a moment for the fog of sleep to lift, and when it did, a sense of urgency thrummed in the air. The knock came again, more frantic this time, as if someone—or something—couldn't wait.

She pushed aside the thick blankets and swung her feet onto the cool wooden floor. Her hands, still numb with the sleep of exhaustion, moved quickly to light the lantern beside her bed. As the flame flickered to life, she instinctively reached for her healer’s pouch—a collection of herbs, salves, and vials she always kept close by. Whoever had come at this hour needed her skill, and she could already feel the weight of it settling into her bones.

When she opened the door, the cold night air rushed in, carrying with it the smell of damp earth and sweat. Four young students from the nearby academy stood there, their faces pale and strained under the flickering torchlight. They were carrying a fifth—one of their own—who lay limp and unconscious in their arms, his body sagging unnaturally between them. His breathing was shallow, each exhale a soft, ragged wheeze.

"Eila!" one of them, a tall boy named Jorin, gasped, his voice trembling. "Please, we need your help. It's Kyren… he's—"

He didn’t finish the sentence, his eyes wide with panic. Eila stepped aside without a word, her practiced hands already moving to guide them inside. The students were trembling, barely able to hold the unconscious boy steady. She could feel the weight of their fear, and something else—a creeping unease that slithered up her spine.

As she knelt beside Kyren, her hands instinctively reached for his forehead. His skin was hot, feverish, but it wasn’t just fever that made him burn. There was something wrong beneath the surface—something that tugged at the edges of her senses, pulling her into a place she’d never wanted to go.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice calm despite the rising tide of urgency in her chest.

"He was fine, Eila," another student, Maren, whispered. "We were practicing… in the woods, just outside the academy walls. But then… something happened. He collapsed, and when we tried to wake him, it was like he… he was being pulled somewhere. We couldn’t stop him."

Eila’s mind raced. The woods outside the academy were old, ancient even, and there were rumors—whispers of things better left undisturbed. She had warned the students countless times about venturing too far from the safety of the academy grounds. But it was too late now. Kyren’s life—and perhaps their own—was in her hands.