"Father, please take this medicine. If you don't, your condition will only get worse," Charlotte sighed, holding a spoon in the air, patiently waiting for her father, Damien, to open his mouth.
After the village attack, Damien got a really bad injury to the point he had to rest all the time in bed.
It seemed like not only did the dark fever get him, but also his old age. Even so, he was too stubborn to admit it.
"Bah! Get that nasty stuff away from me! I'm not suffering from the dark fever anymore!"
He grumbled, his frail hands attempting to push himself up by grabbing the bed's railing, only to be gently pushed back down by Tritons.
"Old man, you're dying," Tritons said bluntly, placing a bucket of water on the table beside the bed.
Damien scoffed, his eyes narrowing. "Maybe if you give me a grandchild, I'll start taking that medicine." He pointed weakly at the spoon in Charlotte's hand.
