Zane folds his remaining clothes and shoves it into the shelf by the temple door before walking in. The Priestess stirs a pool of water on a wooden slab with a ladle while he moves closer to her.
“Zane,” she calls his name without looking behind to check on him.
“I was just about to send for you,” she stops stirring, drops the ladle by a corner and turns toward him.
“I'm here now. Any progress?” He says quite eagerly.
“We think we have found a cure,” she says sceptically.
“Think?” His voice rises as he asks his question.
“Yes. We're quite unsure about the potency of the antidote. It may or may not work,” she says frankly. He grunts as his mind gears turn.
A few days ago, he would have taken the 50 per cent chance antidote without looking back, but everything is different now. He doe
