A young girl stands over her bedridden brother, her tears falling upon his jaundiced skin. Those tears seemed to burn up on his feverish flesh as he was trapped in a nightmare from which he likely would not awaken. He had not eaten or drank anything in quite some time, and his end drew near.

The village used to be much bigger before people began getting sick. It started with one single elderly man dying an untimely death. The others thought little of it at first, for he was old and the old tended to get sick and die unexpectedly, but that quickly changed as the disease began to claim dozens of lives over the course of several months. They called the disease Babalu, named after the god of diseases, and many believed they had displeased the gods in some way. Some prayed for forgiveness, while others simply accepted punishment as if it were destiny.

Babalu began with a cough, quite harmless at first. Quickly, however, it would evolve into fits of vomiting and nausea until the unfortunate victim became bedridden and entranced in a nightmarish rest from which they would not awake. Their heads were bleat hot with fever and aches, while their body was drenched with sticky liquid. Their skins, which were usually clear, became patchy, pale, and jaundiced, and their white eyes would become a rotten yellow. There was nothing medicine could do and once one contracted the disease, their death was inevitable. The strong warriors lasted longer than the children and the elderly, but they all found their way to the grave nonetheless.

The few remaining healthy people sought a solution in vain. The neighboring villages were overcome with the same problem, while the larger cities quarantined them and essentially doomed those insignificant tribes all to die. A few men and women were sent to the Westlands for aid, but the journey was long by foot and would take months for any potential help to arrive. By then, it would surely be too late.
That’s when he arrived.

 

The man who would save them all.

​

“Bloody hell, it’s hot,” Samson said, wiping his forehead with a cloth. “Why are you making us walk again? We could cover much better ground with a magic cart.”
“Because we need to take our time when looking for a place to set up the outpost,” Epsilon said. “Preferably it would be in a town, but the Southland people aren’t fond of technology. Primitive folk, aren’t they?”
“Indeed,” Samson agreed.
“Hush!” Cygnus said. “I see a village on the horizon. They may not appreciate our sciences, but at the very least, we can replenish our supplies and help us get a lay of the land.”

The three travelers made their way to the village, which seemed much closer than it looked in the wavey desert heat. In reality, it was a godsend, for they were running quite low on water since Samson had been gratuitously chugging it down to appease himself from blazing sun. The water was quickly lost on him, however, as he sweat more than pig out of mud.
“Something isn’t right,” Cygnus said, looking around the deserted village. 
“Ah, fooey,” Samson said. “It’s an abandoned village. If only Epsilon hadn’t drunk all of our water we wouldn’t be so low.”
“Why you,” Epsilon said, grabbing Samson’s shirt. Samson chuckled mockingly as Epsilon let him go and sighed. “Well, anyhow, this is perfect. If it’s abandoned, then we can use it as an outpost.”
“Perhaps this place isn’t as abandoned as we thought,” Cygnus said, pointing to a little girl standing at the end of the road. She winced at their notice and ran to the corner of a building to hide herself. She peeped her head out and stared curiously at the foreigners who were loudly speaking as if they owned the place.
Cygnus got down on one knee and motioned for the girl to come towards them with a finger. He smiled politely to let her know they met no harm.
“Why hello there,” Cygnus said as the girl cautiously walked towards them. “My name is Cygnus Rift. I am a scientist from the Westland kingdom.”
“Scientist?” the girl quietly asked, confused. “What is that?”
“A scientist is someone who looks for answers,” Cygnus said, smiling at the girl. “They aren’t satisfied with fate and are always curious. They can create a solution to any problem and never give up, no matter what. We are kind of like the Southland people in the way they fight, but we are warriors of the mind.”
The girl's face lit up and her eyes widened.
“If you can solve any problem, then maybe you can help my brother? He is very sick,” the girl said.
“I can take a look at him,” Cygnus said, rising to his feet.
“We don’t have time to play doctor,” Epsilon reminded Cygnus, sternly. “We have a mission straight from Arthur. You wouldn’t want to disappoint him would you?”
   “Do you think Arthur would turn down such a precious face?” Cygnus joked. “Come now, I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”

​

    He could not have been more wrong.

​

 Cygnus stood over the scrawny boy’s body with a frightened look stricken on his face. Quickly, he put his head to the kid’s chest and listened. The heartbeat was faint and fading.
   “How long has he been like this?” Cygnus asked the girl.
   “A couple of weeks,” the girl said. “The whole village is sick. I am one of the last healthy one’s left… I thought it was the end, but that’s when you came. You’re a scientist, right? Does that mean you help us?”
   Her eyes were welling up as she spoke. Cygnus looked back to Samson and Epsilon and they both nodded. 
   “Samson, contact the camp and tell them to get to our location as fast as possible,” Cygnus said. “Tell them to bring every bit of supplies they can. Epsilon, run through the village and get a grasp of the situation. If there are any able body’s left, bring them along. We may need their help.”
   Samson and Epsilon quickly ran out the room as Cygnus opened his satchel and pulled out a small, white medical kit. He flung it open and grabbed a needle, a bottle of liquid, and a sterilization pad. He put the liquid into the needle and jabbed it into the boy’s arm. He wasn’t a doctor, but it was easy finding a vein as the boy had grown so thin, his veins showed through his skin. The boy began to cough rapidly.
   “W-what are you doing to him?” the girl asked in a panic as the boy’s cough worsened.
   “This disease…” Cygnus said, ignoring the girl flailing about him. “It’s something that once killed thousands in the Westlands.”
   The girl stumbled back and fell to her behind. She looked more grim and pale than before.
   “Does that mean we’re doomed?” the girl asked.
   “That was centuries ago,” Cygnus continued. “Since then, we’ve eradicated it entirely.”
   “So, you can help us then!”
   “It’s not that simple,” Cygnus said. “True, scientists were able to find a cure back then and even helped our people develop immunity, but that was a long time ago. We don’t carry such medicine on hand…”
   “But…” the girl said. “You’re a scientist, right? Isn’t there anything you can do?”
   “I am a scientist,” Cygnus affirmed. “And so, I will not stop until I’ve found a solution to your problem, of that, I assure.”

   The girl watched Cygnus work tirelessly for three days and three nights. He constantly mixed liquids with the blood of the boy and read through countless medical books at incredible speeds. Towards the end of the third night, Cygnus collapsed, but only for an hour. As soon as that hour was up, he dragged himself from the ground, bags drooping from his dullened eyes, and flung himself on a makeshift desk. He scribbled notes, creating piles of papers that stacked to the ceiling while his assistants constantly brought him food and water. He ate and drank none of it, however, for he was too fixated on the task at hand.
   

During the two weeks Cygnus worked, dozens of other men and women flooded in and took over the huts of the sick people with strange medicinal gear, western food, and other essential supplies. In the time since Cygnus arrived at the village, not a single person died and some even showed signs of improvement. They had found a cure, though it wasn’t as effective as the real medicine, it sufficed. When recovered, the healthy, both of Westland and Southland descended, banded together and ran to other villages with the same problem. The many antibiotics, vaccines, and pain medicines Cygnus and his team had created yielded result after result until they had the ultimate cure to Babalu, and eventually, the epidemic was no more. Babalu was slain by a type of western warrior known as a scientist.
   During that time, none contributed more or slept less than Cygnus himself, who alone was able to engineer a solution to a deadly problem from nothing. It is for that reason that he was hailed as the savior of many Southland tribes and was welcomed to build his outpost in the very first village he saved.
   
   One day, the young girl who had asked Cygnus for help woke up from a nightmare. When she got out of her bed and went into the kitchen, she saw her brother standing there, alive and well. His ribs still showed through his chest, but his skin was smooth and his eyes were glistening pearls once again. She ran to embrace him as they both fell to the floor and cried tears of joy.
   “Kofi!” the girl exclaimed, barely able to utter his name through her sobbing. “I-I thought you were going to die.”
   “It seems the gods have other plans for me, after all,” Kofi said. 
   “No, it wasn’t the gods, it was a scientist!” the girl exclaimed. 
   “A scientist? What’s that?”
   “Yeah! A scientist is someone who solves problems and never gives up!” the girl said.
   “Are those the people that helped us then?” Kofi asked. “All I can remember was a shadowy figure standing over me for the longest time. I don’t know what they looked like, though.”
   “Yep! It was a scientist and a handsome one at that,” the girl said blushing. “One day, I wish to be a scientist as well!”
   “Ada the scientist, huh?” Kofi said amused. “Well, wherever you go, your big brother will be there to protect you!”
   “But you’re so tiny,” Ada laughed. “What are you going to protect me from? A mouse?”
   “Just you wait! Someday, I’ll grow big and strong and protect everyone!” Kofi said.
   “I guess we both have crazy dreams then,” Ada said.