9/32

Chapter 8: The Crossroads

As we crossed the fabric banners of the market, the aroma that greeted us was a dense mixture of dust, spices, and exposed meat.

There was a smell of slightly rotting meat mixed with that of fresh meat which, in a way, made up the chaotic charm of that marketplace. But my scientist mind couldn't help but criticize: they could easily preserve that food if they used the salting process.

*Do they not know how to produce salt on a large scale around here?* I noted mentally.

From what I remembered of Teia's ancient history, many regions with rustic technology suffered from a scarcity of sodium chloride. I left a mental note registered to investigate salt production in the region at another opportunity.

Leaving sanitary problems aside, I decided to look for something to eat and explore the stalls. After all, who travels to a completely new world and doesn't feel like trying the local cuisine or observing things that would normally be impossible to see?

Even on ordinary trips in my old life, exploring markets was the best part. I needed to have some fun, even if I maintained my strictly scientific observation criteria.

#### Lightning Skewers and Winged Felines

I stopped in front of a skewer stall that exuded a surprisingly appetizing aroma.

The meat belonged to a mountain creature that resembled a deer, except for the anatomical detail that the animal could discharge electricity through its branched antlers.

*Did the creator of this planet's biology happen to cross a mammal with an electric eel?* I inquired, fascinated.

The stallkeeper guaranteed that the meat was sweet and flavorful. I took the first bite and had to agree. There were no sharp spices, but the natural flavor oscillated between notes of mint and wild oregano. It was only missing a bit of salt.

I paid three copper coins for the snack, noticing that my noble money pouch was emptying quickly. Only a few silver and bronze coins remained from the three gold coins Sylvia had given me.

Pausing to calculate, giving three gold coins to a six-year-old child was the modern equivalent of giving hundreds of dollars to a little boy to go to the mall. I needed to be careful not to lose track of the value of money in that rustic society.

The next stop was a cutlery shop packed with daggers and short swords, followed by a wing destined for the trade of exotic animals.

My geek eyes sparkled upon spotting owls that possessed agile feline paws instead of bird talons, colorful fish swimming in thick glass jars, and large domestic felines whose canine teeth jutted out of their mouths like miniature saber-toothed tigers.

If this wasn't living inside a fantasy novel, I didn't know what was. They had hit the jackpot with the fauna of that world, but they definitely needed to create a food hygiene committee. I didn't want to reach thirty completely toothless because of medieval cooking.

I let out a loud laugh at my own thoughts.

Behind me, Monk Ethan looked at me with a deeply strange expression, trying in vain to decipher what was going on in the head of that six-year-old child.

The sun began to sink on the horizon, bathing the stone walls in orange hues. It was getting late and, to my obvious sadness, I would have to return to the fortress. My quota of temporary freedom had expired, and I would only get authorization to go out again in a few days.

But the balance had been highly productive. I nodded to the monk and the bodyguard, indicating that we should go back. They understood the command, and we headed to the carriage.

I climbed into the vehicle with a slightly melancholy countenance, closed the leather door, and leaned my face against the rustic glass window. We hadn't advanced even a full block when the carriage reduced its speed until it stopped. The traffic of carts and pedestrians at that point in the commercial district was clear and terribly tight.

#### The Accident and the Clamor of Blood

It was then that the improbable happened before my eyes.

Walking calmly along the side of the public road, I saw an adult man and a little girl, both smiling and carrying bags. They wore clothes typical of affluent merchants, almost touching the level of the minor nobility.

But what truly paralyzed my attention was their anatomy: they belonged to a race of tiger-men. The child exhibited an extremely beautiful and soft white fur, while the father boasted black stripes over a very striking yellow and brown coat, contrasting with the fine fabric garments they wore.

*Look at that, now that's something that catches a scientist's attention,* I thought, admiring the genetic diversity of that plane.

But the beauty of the moment was shattered in a second.

A luxurious carriage coming from behind ours accelerated irresponsibly, completely ignoring the pedestrians in the narrow street and startling the crowd. The vehicle advanced without braking and threw itself directly toward the two merchants.

The father and the girl were startled, but to the total misfortune of the situation, the horse of the runaway carriage reared up in fright, and its heavy hooves struck the feline child right in the chest, throwing her against the dirt ground.

The window of that luxurious carriage opened a crack. A figure dressed in silk shouted with arrogance:

"Get out of the way, filthy peasants!"

The person looked quickly at the situation, threw a heavy leather pouch containing ten gold coins in the direction of the bloodied father, and ordered the coachman:

"Drive on! Ignore them!"

The aristocratic carriage accelerated, leaving the two behind in the middle of the dust and political neglect.

A cold and overwhelming fury, identical to what I felt when tyrants sacrificed innocents in interdimensional arenas, surged up my spine. My vocal cords, previously locked and truncated, were broken by the rush of adrenaline and hatred.

I shouted at the top of my lungs, startling everyone inside my vehicle:

"STOP!!"

My coachman and my companions jumped in their seats at the shock of my clear vocal command. Without hesitating or giving explanations, I pushed the carriage door open and stepped down toward the street.

I advanced through the crowd until I reached the tiger-man, who was weeping copiously on his knees, holding the motionless body of his daughter who was bleeding abundantly from her muzzle and chest.

I knelt beside them and flattened my tiny hand over the white-furred chest of the girl. I activated my cellular psychic diagnosis instantly, scanning the internal biology of the patient.

The data that emerged in my mind were catastrophic: two crushed thoracic vertebrae, an open fracture in the left leg with a ruptured artery, and the lower lobe of the right lung completely punctured by a broken rib. Life expectancy: less than 2%. Estimated time for total organ failure: approximately fifteen minutes.

I looked at the desperate man and then turned to Monk Ethan, who had run after me.

I was facing a brutal crossroads that would change the course of my existence in that world. If I used my psychic abilities to perform a biological reconstruction of that magnitude in front of witnesses, the monks and the Holy See would never leave my trail. They would turn me into a trophy or a property of the church immediately. I would lose any chance of passing unnoticed. Perhaps I would be forced to flee from my new family's fortress.

But if I did nothing... that child would die in minutes in the middle of the street's filth. And the image of that weeping father would torment me for the rest of my days, destroying any remnant of humanity that Professor Syrn fought to preserve.

Scientific logic gave way to the instinct of moral survival. I looked firmly at the monk and pointed to my own carriage, ordering with all the authority I could muster in my childish voice:

"Monk! Carriage! Put... her... inside! Now!"

Ethan, impacted by the imperative tone and the gravity of the situation, did not question it.

"Yes, young master!" exclaimed the religious man, acting quickly.

The heavy-armored bodyguard stepped forward, picked up the shocked tiger-man by the shoulders, and pulled him into the vehicle along with his agonizing daughter. As soon as we slammed the leather doors, isolating the cubicle from the rest of the noisy street, I ordered the driver:

"Home! Urgent! Fly!"

#### Cellular Reconstruction in the Dark

I knew she wouldn't make the four-block journey to the fortress. Her lung was filling with blood. I needed to act at that exact second, even knowing that the neurological cost would be devastating for my six-year-old brain.

I closed my eyes and concentrated all my psychic energy in the palm of my hand, touching the girl's chest. My mind dove into the molecular plane of that hybrid anatomy.

Using Telekinesis at a microscopic level, I staunched the flow of the ruptured artery in her leg, controlling the internal hemorrhage. Next, I discharged a bioelectric pulse to stimulate the massive production of stem cells and accelerate tissue healing.

My temples began to throb with a deafening pain, as if my skull were being split by a sledgehammer. But I didn't stop.

I guided the bone fragments of the vertebrae and the rib back to their correct anatomical positions, gluing the calcium structure with the power of thought. Finally, I sealed the lung puncture, expanding the alveoli so that oxygen would circulate again.

When I pulled my hand away, I let out a trembling, relieved sigh. I was pale, covered in a cold, thick sweat. The tiger-girl drew air in sharply, opening her bright eyes, completely healed from the lethality of her wounds.

I looked around me inside the moving carriage. The faces of Monk Ethan, the bodyguard, and the feline father were frames of pure astonishment, shock, and mystical incomprehension. They had witnessed an event that defied any law of medicine or traditional magic in that world.

I tried to formulate a sentence, invent a scientific excuse, or ask them to keep it a secret, but my vocal cords did not obey. The psychic consumption of that biological reconstruction had been extreme for the physical limitations of my childish vessel.

The neural channels of my brain simply shut down like an overloaded circuit breaker to prevent brain death.

My vision obscured instantly. I slumped forward onto the leather seat, blacking out completely. The last sound frequency my senses captured, before total darkness swallowed me, was the desperate and frightened voice of the monk echoing from very far away:

"Young master?! Young master Kaelen!"

I had saved a life, but my crossroads had just transformed into a point of no return.