The man scratched something on the piece of parchment in front of him. The lone candle cast a flickering light. The man, his brown hair long and shaggy, had his head dipped over his parchment. He was writing furiously, with the dedication only the truly desperate can muster. He was a man who was on the brink of discovery, on knowing it all. He was also on the brink of losing it all.
He was so absorbed in his writing that he didn’t notice the boy at his door, watching him. But after almost a full minute, the boy started coughing painfully. The man raised his head. He was slender, with a thin face and sharp features. His eyes were a plain brown. He had to beard, but several days’ worth of an unkempt, unshaven face.
The man immediately rose from his seat and walked to the boy. The boy was weak and pale. His bright green eyes were full of pain. His light brown hair was immensely similar to the man’s, brown and shaggy. His small body was trembling. He was dying.
“Daniel,” the man said, bending down and picking the boy up in his arms. “What are you doing up?”
The boy took a moment to get his breath. “I couldn’t sleep father,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Can I please drink something?”
The boy’s father, for this was who he was, brushed the boy’s hair out of his eyes and spoke softly. “I will bring something up to you, shall I? But you must try and sleep Daniel. The doctor will be here tomorrow morn.”
Daniel nodded. His father carried him up the stairs and into his bed, where he tucked him in and kissed him on the forehead. “Try to rest Daniel. I’ll bring you some water when you wake.”
Daniel nodded drowsily. “Goodnight father,” he said, his eyes drooping.
“Goodnight, my son. You will be fine, I promise you,” the boy’s father said. But Daniel was already asleep.
The man walked back down the stairs and into his study. He didn’t know what was wrong with his son, but he did know the root of it. He couldn’t let his son die. His son was his whole world.
No matter the cost, he would save his son.