"Meat?" we all echoed in unison, our voices a mix of confusion and disbelief, hanging thick in the room.
"But… they serve her meat at our home almost every day," Aeneas said, his brows knitting together tightly, his tone marked by genuine bewilderment. His eyes darted between us and the physician, as though silently asking if anyone else understood this revelation better than he did.
The physician sighed, a deep, weary exhalation that carried the weight of frustration and exasperation. It was as if he were explaining something so painfully evident to a group of people unwilling—or unable—to comprehend it. "Well," he began, his tone blunt and matter-of-fact, "she isn't capable of digesting it properly. And let me emphasize that meat, in particular, is far worse for her than other foods. It's not just that her body struggles with it; the act of processing it takes an extraordinary toll on her system. Even vomiting it back up, as her body would instinctively attempt to do, is far more difficult for her than you can imagine. The strain it puts on her digestive system is immense."
His voice grew graver as he continued, his gaze shifting from person to person. "It's not just a matter of discomfort. Consuming meat is actively harmful to her body. It irritates her stomach lining, which is already far more sensitive than most people's. And in severe cases, it likely causes the delicate tissues of her esophagus to bleed. You're asking her body to handle something it was never equipped to process. She shouldn't be eating it. Ever."
The heaviness of his words settled over the room like a suffocating fog. None of us could find the right response—or any response at all. The implications were too stark, too overwhelming to process in the moment. The physician waited, perhaps expecting questions or objections, but when none came, he pressed on.
"I can only assume," he said, his tone softer now but no less firm, "that she's been deliberately hiding this from everyone. If none of you knew about it, then it's clear she's gone to great lengths to keep it a secret. Perhaps she didn't want to burden you, or maybe she was ashamed—though she shouldn't be."
He paused, shaking his head as though the thought frustrated him further. "On a different note, there is one thing I find… unusual. She appears to have an extraordinary resistance to cold. Her teeth, for instance, are far stronger than average when it comes to handling cold substances. It's rare, but not unheard of. That might explain why she prefers colder drinks and foods—they don't seem to affect her the same way they would others. It's an odd quirk, I'll admit, but it doesn't negate the seriousness of her other conditions."
Mom's voice broke through the oppressive silence, steady but tinged with concern. "Does she have any other health problems we should be aware of?" she asked, her words slow and deliberate, as if bracing herself for the worst.
The physician's expression darkened. He pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly debating how much to share. "It's likely," he began, his tone measured but somber, "that she suffers from chronic headaches—constant, unrelenting pain that most people would struggle to endure. And her bones…" He hesitated, glancing around the room as though weighing the impact of his next words. "Her bones are weaker than normal. They're not brittle, exactly, but they lack the resilience you'd expect from someone her age. That said, her body is remarkably strong in other ways. It's clear she's been working to compensate for these weaknesses."
He turned his gaze toward Aeneas and Rai, his expression sharp and probing. "Does anyone here know if she's been training? I mean deliberately conditioning her body in some way? Because the signs are undeniable. This isn't something that happens by chance."
Rai shifted uncomfortably before clearing his throat. "Yes," he said, his voice steady but subdued. "It's been five years since she started training. Martial arts, strength conditioning, swordsmanship… she's been doing all of it on her own. She never asked anyone for help—not once. But I've seen her at it a few times. She's relentless."
His words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Five years. That explained what I had seen that day. The puzzle pieces clicked into place with an almost painful clarity. She had been training all this time, pouring every ounce of herself into building a strength that her body had naturally denied her.
Rai wasn't finished. "She spends most of her time training now," he added, his tone soft but filled with an undercurrent of something I couldn't quite name—regret, perhaps, or guilt.
Elodie's voice broke through, hesitant yet tinged with quiet horror. "That means she started after…" She trailed off, her words cutting off abruptly as her gaze shifted toward me and Mom. She didn't need to finish the sentence. We all understood what she was implying.
The physician, however, seemed disinterested in delving into our personal history. Instead, he nodded grimly. "Her training is good for her, physically," he said. "It's likely the reason she's managed to endure for so long. Her bones are still weaker, yes, but her muscles… they're well-developed. And as for her pain tolerance…" He shook his head, his expression a mixture of awe and pity. "It's almost otherworldly. She seems to have adapted to the constant strain and suffering her conditions impose on her. But let me be clear—this adaptation doesn't mean she isn't hurting. It simply means she's learned to endure it."
He turned his full attention to Mom then, his gaze piercing. "Speaking of her current condition," he said, his voice low but no less pointed, "if you hadn't come into the room the exact moment you did, Your Majesty, she would have died. She had about ten, maybe fifteen minutes left. No more."
Gasps filled the room, sharp and unrestrained. "Gods above…" Mom and Rai whispered simultaneously, their voices trembling with raw emotion. The others, too stunned to articulate anything, merely exchanged horrified glances. As for me, I couldn't find the words. My mind was a roaring cacophony, leaving me paralyzed.
The physician's voice broke through the noise in my head. "Her head injury was severe," he said. "A dangerous concussion, made worse by the fact that the wound was deep. I've done what I can, but there's no undoing the damage entirely. Mark my words, her headaches will worsen. They'll become stronger than anything she's experienced before. And they'll be a daily occurrence for the rest of her life."
He paused, his shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of his own words. "She was bleeding from that head wound for at least an hour before any of you intervened," he added, his tone accusatory.
Every head in the room turned toward Sohan and Adonis, who stood motionless, their expressions unreadable.
"She lost a significant amount of blood," the physician continued, his voice clipped. "It's a miracle she's still alive. But because of that, her recovery will be slow. Very slow. She won't regain consciousness for at least two weeks, and even then, she'll remain incredibly pale and weak. Her body simply can't replenish what it's lost at the rate a healthier person's would."
He hesitated, his brow furrowing deeply. "I also believe she experienced something profoundly shocking in the past few days. Her brain activity suggests as much. It's difficult to pinpoint exactly what it was, but the evidence is clear."
A tense silence fell over the room. None of us dared to speak, but we all knew. We all knew exactly what the shocking news had been.