When I opened my eyes, the world around me was utterly foreign.
The sky above was vast and open, not the familiar city skyline I was used to. I pushed myself up slowly, feeling the uneven, grassy earth beneath me. My hands, strangely calloused, looked as though they'd been accustomed to physical labor, though I'd never worked a day outside of a clinic. My clothes were rough, worn, made of some kind of linen and leather. I had no idea where I was, but I knew I wasn't home.
The last thing I remembered was a typical night in my clinic. The fluorescent lights, the quiet hum of machines, the antiseptic scent of rubbing alcohol and sterilizers. Yet here I was in a world that seemed plucked straight out of a history book. No hospitals. No technology. Just an ancient wilderness stretching as far as I could see.
I took a few shaky steps forward, scanning the landscape for any sign of civilization. Trees with twisted branches reached toward the sky, their leaves rustling in the breeze. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting an amber glow over the forest and meadow. I noticed small clusters of wildflowers scattered around, some familiar, most unfamiliar. A doctor's instinct took over—I reached down, picking a few and examining their leaves, stems, and textures. Some looked like species I'd seen in my studies, but others were entirely new.
My mind raced, piecing together what little I knew. If this truly was some ancient place—maybe even another world—then survival depended on my knowledge, especially if medicine here was still primitive. Fortunately, I had a lifetime of experience in medicine, and if I could apply even a fraction of it here, maybe I'd be able to earn my place.
I continued walking, eventually stumbling upon a small, beaten path that led deeper into the forest. With no better direction to go, I followed it.
After hours of walking, the path widened, and soon I came across what looked like a small settlement nestled between trees and riverbanks. Wooden structures stood scattered around, smoke from fires rising above, and people were working in fields, dressed in clothing even rougher than mine. My sudden appearance seemed to draw cautious glances, but they quickly returned to their tasks, though some shot lingering looks over their shoulders.
As I approached, an elderly woman carrying a basket of herbs eyed me warily. She studied me, probably wondering who I was and where I came from. Her gaze lingered on the strange stitching and fabric of my clothes, then on the wildflowers I still held in my hand.
"You're not from around here," she said, her voice like creaking wood.
"No," I replied simply, unsure what else to say. I glanced down at the flowers in my hand and then at her basket, where a few familiar herbs lay among unknown varieties. I pointed to one plant with small white flowers. "That one—feverfew, right?"
Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded slowly. "How do you know that?"
"I...know plants," I replied. "I used to treat people back where I came from."
She raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident. "A doctor, then?"
"Yes." The word felt strange here. But she didn't question further, though her eyes remained skeptical. She motioned for me to follow her toward a small hut on the edge of the settlement, and I obliged, hoping this might be my way into their world.
Inside, the hut smelled of dried herbs and smoke. The woman introduced herself as Lora and offered me a small bowl of broth. We sat in silence for a few moments as she watched me carefully, as if weighing my every move.
Finally, she broke the silence. "We don't have many doctors here. People with your skills can find a place if they're useful."
Her words were blunt, but I sensed a hint of curiosity. I nodded, realizing that this was my chance. "I could help," I said. "If there are sick people, or injured..."
Lora studied me, then nodded to herself. "There's a boy in the next hut—he's been feverish for days. We've tried herbs, but nothing's working."
Without another word, I stood and followed her to the next hut, where a young boy lay shivering on a straw mat, his face flushed. The fever had clearly gripped him, and the lines of worry on the face of the woman watching over him—a mother, perhaps—were unmistakable.
I knelt beside him, pressing my hand to his forehead, which was burning. I scanned the room, noting a bundle of dried herbs in the corner. Most were common enough—peppermint, chamomile—but others I didn't recognize. I asked Lora for clean water and a cloth, and she fetched them quickly.
"This plant," I said, pointing to a yellow flower among the bundle. "It's good for fever, if used properly. But you need to prepare it like this…"
I instructed Lora and the boy's mother on how to crush the herb with water and apply it to his forehead, explaining as simply as I could. They watched with wide eyes, seemingly astonished that a stranger knew so much about their "useless" herbs. The boy's mother was cautious, but her hope was evident as she followed my instructions.
We waited. Within an hour, the boy's shivering eased, and his fever began to drop. Lora's gaze softened, though she quickly masked it with a stern expression. She finally nodded approvingly. "It seems you know more than most," she admitted.
By the time I left the hut, I knew I'd taken my first step toward finding my place in this world. If I could keep using my knowledge of plants and medicine, I could build a reputation. In this strange land, the life of a doctor might be exactly what I needed to survive.