The Nurse Part I

Pain ripples through her small body. Shiro curls up in the corner of the cold room, pressing herself against the wall. Everything hurts. The lights above flicker, casting strange shadows that make her want to disappear completely.

Footsteps echo down the hall. She holds her breath, heart pounding. But it's not them - it's the girl with the gentle eyes. The one who always shares her food.

The girl kneels beside her, reaching out slowly. "You're shaking."

She nods, unable to form words through chattering teeth. The girl wraps her arms around her, and she melts into the embrace.

"Mother used to sing to you, didn't she?" The girl's voice is soft, like a warm blanket. "About the albatross?"

Another nod. Tears streak down her cheeks.

The girl begins to hum, then sing in a gentle whisper:

"Spread your wings, my little bird,

Fly so high, your song is heard.

Over waves and skies so blue,

The wind will always carry you.

Twirl through rain, dance with the breeze,

Sail past clouds and through the trees.

The world is big, the sea is wide,

But you’ll be safe, with me to guide."

The familiar melody washes over her like sunlight. She closes her eyes, remembering Mother's voice, remembering the way the song would float through the halls at bedtime. For a moment, the pain fades. For a moment, she's free.

The girl strokes her hair as she continues singing, her voice carrying them both away from the cold room, away from the hurt, away from them. They're just two birds, soaring above everything that wants to hold them down.

***

The acrid stench of Bonaparte's docks seeps through Ophira's gas mask, a familiar cocktail of industrial waste and chemical runoff. Her filter wheezes with each breath, the worn rubber pressing against her skin. She adjusts the straps, fingertips tracing the scratches and dents earned from years in makeshift hospitals.

A black ship catches her eye, its hull scraping against the dock's edge in an uneven rhythm. No crew in sight. No cargo being loaded. Just empty deck space.

Ophira grips her suitcase tighter, the weight pulling at her shoulder. The gangplank creaks under her steps as she makes her way aboard.

"Hello?" Her voice muffles behind the mask. The filter rattles with each word.

Wind whistles through the rigging. Waves lap at the hull. But no answer comes.

Ophira sets her suitcase down, the heavy case thudding against the deck. She leaves wet prints as she circles the helm, studying the navigation equipment. Modern tech, clean interfaces - definitely not abandoned.

A muffled sound echoes from the cabin. Ophira freezes, head cocked toward the sound. Through the doorway, she spots a crumpled form by the control panel - white hair spilling across dark metal, chest rising and falling in sharp bursts.

A chicken paces beside the fallen figure, head bobbing with each step. Its claws click against the floor panels as it circles its companion, tail feathers twitching in agitation.

Ophira drops to her knees beside Shiro, reaching for her wrist to check her pulse. Shiro's hand snaps up, gripping Ophira's arm. Ice-blue eyes lock onto her face.

"I'm fine." Her voice comes out steady despite the sweat beading on her forehead. "Leave."

"You're not fine." Ophira pulls against Shiro's grip. "Let me help."

"I said leave." Shiro's fingers tighten, but her arm trembles with the effort.

Ophira breaks free of the weakening grasp. "My kit's on deck. I'll be right back."

"No-" Shiro tries to push herself up, but slumps back against the panel.

The chicken flutters its wings, following Ophira as she strides toward the door. Its anxious clucks echo through the cabin behind her.

Ophira's fingers work quickly through her medical supply kit, pushing aside bandages and antiseptics. The familiar shape of an oxygen mask emerges from the bottom. She yanks out the connected tank, checking the pressure gauge - twenty-four hours of clean air.

"This isn't optional, Captain." Ophira crosses back to where Shiro lies. Friend hops aside, giving the nurse room to work.

Shiro's hand shoots up, grabbing Ophira's wrist this time before she can place the mask. Even weakened, her grip reveals an unexpected strength.

"Let me help you." Ophira keeps her voice steady, professional. Her eyes don't linger on Shiro's exposed arm. "You can barely stand."

Friend pecks at Shiro's hand, as if scolding her stubbornness.

Shiro's grip loosens. Her arm falls back to the metal deck with a dull thud. A shudder runs through her body as she draws another labored breath.

Ophira wastes no time. She slips the mask over Shiro's face, adjusting the straps with practiced efficiency. The tank hisses as oxygen begins to flow. Friend settles next to Shiro's head, her golden-brown feathers brushing against white hair.

"Deep breaths," Ophira instructs, monitoring Shiro's chest rise and fall. "The clean oxygen will help clear your system."

Ophira's fingers press against Shiro's neck, searching for a pulse beneath pale skin. The rhythm comes fast and erratic, each beat a desperate flutter against her fingertips.

She peels back Shiro's sleeves, revealing more of the rough, scaled texture she glimpsed earlier. The scales catch the light, their pattern stretching up past her wrist. But what draws Ophira's attention are the veins - dark blue lines that branch beneath the scaled surface like rivers.

"What happened to you?" Ophira mutters, rolling up the sleeve further. The scales continue past Shiro's elbow, the blue veins growing more pronounced as they travel up her arm.

The sight makes her pause. The scales spread across both of Shiro's arms, creating a map of altered flesh. The blue veins branch out from her arm, stretching across her chest in an intricate network. They pulse faintly beneath the surface, carrying whatever poison flows through them closer to Shiro's heart.

By all medical knowledge, Shiro should be dead. This amount of toxin would kill most people within minutes.

Ophira rifles through her medical kit again, knowing it's futile. No antidotes, no way to filter Shiro's blood, nothing to stop the poison's spread.

Friend studies Ophira's trembling hands as they hover over her medical supplies. She waddles closer, nudging aside scattered bandages with her beak, before settling next to Ophira's knee.

A soft cluck escapes Friend's throat - not the anxious sounds from before, but something gentler. She presses her warm body against Ophira's leg, her rounded form a steady presence amid the chaos.

"I can't-" Ophira's voice cracks. Her fingers clutch an empty syringe, knuckles white. "I don't have anything that can help."

Friend pecks lightly at Ophira's hand until she releases the syringe. The chicken's feathers brush against her palm. Another quiet cluck, almost like a purr.

Ophira's hand moves automatically, stroking down Friend's back. The repetitive motion draws her focus away from Shiro's unconscious form. Friend's feathers slip through her fingers like silk, each stroke steadying her racing heart.

"You're telling me not to worry, aren't you?"

Friend settles more firmly against her thigh, eyes half-closed in contentment. The chicken's steady warmth draws out the tension in her muscles. Her breathing slows to match Friend's gentle rhythm.

Ophira's head droops, exhaustion finally catching up. Her hand stills on Friend's back as her eyes flutter closed. The last thing she feels is Friend's soft feathers against her palm as she slides into sleep.