The air in the room felt thick with the scent of herbs, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows across the walls. You lay back against the bed, your body trembling with the sickness that had taken hold of you. No matter how hard you tried to sleep, the fever wouldn't relent, and the overwhelming weariness seemed to settle into your very bones.

From the corner of the room, Luocha watched you with an unreadable expression. His eyes, usually so calm and composed, carried a depth of concern that he didn't often show. He approached your bedside, his presence somehow soothing despite the tension that seemed to radiate from the very air between you.

"You’re burning with fever," Luocha remarked softly, kneeling beside your bed. His hands, warm and gentle, brushed a damp strand of hair from your forehead. You could feel the subtle coolness of his touch as he carefully assessed your condition, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

You felt the warmth of his words in your chest, but it was fleeting, replaced by the gnawing cold that sickness brought. It was hard to ignore how your body felt weak and fragile, how your vision blurred at the edges. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath, but it felt like every inhale brought more heaviness.