Krafft's Anomaly Notes

Chapter 407 Teaching Children (End of Volume)
How long does it take for a wound to heal?
This is a complex issue.

On the zeroth day, the red door was pushed open, fibers wove a thin film amidst the breaking, and blood congealed into clumps.

For three days and nights, the tiny patrollers worked tirelessly, their mission to devour and burn, sweeping away death and life that should not exist here.

On the seventh day, bright red, moist, and breathing tissue emerged, and new, thin skin crawled along the edges. A floral carpet spread out, and the cracks closed.

On the 14th, the bloodstains faded, the granulation tissue subsided, and a more solidified order was being built in the shadows, while tension solidified on the surface.

After four cycles sufficient to create a world, the scar matures, like layers of wax applied to an old scroll, hardening like salt crystals. The trauma suffered is now in the past; whether anything can be gained from it remains unknown.

For elderly patients, the process may take 30% to 100% longer, and for those infected, it may take another 20% longer; for those with both, it may take even longer.

The time spent sick is always different from usual, jumping around in a non-linear way.

Between drowsiness and brief moments of wakefulness, the sun's wheel was turned erratically, and each time the light from outside the window was unexpected.

The boundaries of dreams are always blurred, and time collapses into indistinguishable patterns in sleep. Sometimes it feels as if several days have passed in a single night, or even that day and night have reversed.

But once awakened, the world began to move at an unusually slow pace.

The hourglass seemed to be filled with water, its slow and sluggish fall unbearable, enough to make one review the prepared last words once more.

Each moment felt longer than the last, with alternating periods of intense fever and pain.

He prayed as usual, once when he woke up and once when he ate, no more and no less, without becoming more diligent or less so because of his illness.

At this age, reason no longer resists the body's decline, and all senses are pointing to that all-too-clear ending.

Each contraction was a farewell, like raindrops gradually soaking the autumn earth. He accepted it, just as he accepted the passing of autumn and the coming of winter, the changing of the seasons.

But the young man who frequented the clinic clearly didn't think that way. Instead, he increased the frequency of changing the dressing, persistently repeating the process of opening and closing the bandages, taking advantage of the brief moments of lucidity to feed the bitter medicine, and injecting bottle after bottle of liquid into the body.

He told me that the attending physician, whom I had never met, was also the abbot of the monastery, and was working day and night to improve the medicine in an attempt to conquer this deadly heat.

To be honest, the user experience wasn't great. After applying it, a new kind of pain—not the original throbbing pain—came, but a subtle stinging pain, accompanied by a contradictory sensation between burning and cooling, lingering on the wound and occasionally causing some itching.

The sensations brought on by the medication were so strange that they made the already long periods of lucidity even more unbearable.

He was annoyed by the doctor's endless efforts until he realized that the boundaries of his dreams were shrinking day by day, and that clear consciousness was returning to his brain, filling the daytime.

One day, hunger came earlier than usual. He subconsciously opened his mouth to chew and swallow the slightly hot salty porridge. The coarse salt that was not completely dissolved was ground by his teeth, and his taste buds trembled, like an infant tasting food other than breast milk for the first time.

When he raised his arm, the scars constricted the muscles he was relearning to move like a rope net. His hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles cracking stiffly.

A few days later, my legs awoke from the numbness and I awkwardly bent and stretched them, stepping onto the floor for the first time.

The caregiver helped him straighten up inch by inch, panting heavily and his heart pounding like a drum, but each time the breath was deeper and stronger.

When he walked out of the ward with clumsy, hesitant steps, everyone who saw him looked at him with great astonishment.

Those gazes cleansed the pale scars, accompanying him as he walked down the newly painted corridor, frequently falling upon him in the stairwell, occasionally following closely behind with a helping hand to support him.

He refused help, stumbled down the stairs, and walked out of the building, which he had never seen in its entirety before, standing in the courtyard in the dim and glaring sunlight.

The bustling noise dispelled the chill. The usually secluded monastery was inexplicably packed with residents, children holding up colorful icons and biscuits in their mouths.

The young monks were busy in several groups: pruning vegetation, picking up ivy in good condition, and arranging various ornaments.

Most of them were busy maintaining order, distributing various small items, and occasionally taking a handful of holy water from a silver basin to sprinkle on the group.

The crowd passed by him cheerfully, enveloping him as they surged toward the main hall entrance, adorned with red and purple curtains.

The atmosphere was so vibrant that it stirred up a jumble of memories, and he suddenly realized what day it was: [Holy Birthday].

The Holy Spirit was born into the world today, and if he hadn't been seriously ill and bedridden, he would have been celebrating with his congregation in his church.

The chanting of scriptures, carried by the rising steam, enveloped the crowd in the embrace of the Heavenly Father.

The natural light streaming through the high windows and the candlelight provided illumination, while the rich, sweet aroma made one marvel at the organizer's confidence.

Such a large consumption of beeswax is far beyond what the local area can supply; even the wealthiest place would need someone willing to provide it.

A figure sitting in the front row looked very familiar. He recognized him as Benny, a knight he often visited. He was wearing a brand-new suit but was not carrying a sword.

After the middle-aged abbot on the platform finished reciting the prayer, the knight quickly patted the boy next to him twice, and the boy understood and got up to go on the platform.

The bell tolled from above, silencing the whispers of the crowd. Just as they were wondering what was happening, the superintendent suddenly recited aloud:
"Almighty God, I have seen a young man walking in darkness!"

The boy, caught off guard on the steps, nearly lost his footing, but his good reflexes and balance helped him regain his footing and quickly reach the edge of the pulpit.

“His steps were hesitant,” a monk repeated, “His mind was not yet clear.”

“I will give him ears, so that he may hear.”

“I will give him eyes, so that he may see.”

The supervisor raised both arms, paused meaningfully, glanced at the opposite side of the platform, and raised his voice again:
“I will prepare a Father for him, that he may walk in the right way!”

A series of hurried, short steps followed by a deliberate slowing down, as if realizing something was amiss, as he tried to synchronize the tapping of the wooden cane with his forward movement.

A pure white, wide-sleeved silk robe swept across the stone slabs and ascended the platform. The wide silver trim on the outer robe was somewhat overpowering in the bright light, not quite complementing the blond hair, and the solemn purple sash on the shoulder contrasted too much with the overly youthful face.

The gilded brooch inlaid with turquoise was particularly eye-catching, restraining the soft and luxurious waves of silk.

Although the overall style is not perfect, the obvious value makes up for the solemnity, showing the owner’s high regard for the ceremony, and making it hard to notice the ivy-woven crown and the splinters on the cane.

The presiding judge politely looked away, turning himself directly to the witnesses rather than to his "formal attire."

"I believe in the Almighty Lord, the Creator of heaven and earth. His kingdom is boundless, and His Spirit dwells in the hearts of men..." The boy lowered his head and recited softly. His nervousness made his voice tremble slightly and stumble a little, but he didn't make any mistakes.

"I will give my years to you, may my mouth never speak falsehood, may my eyes never crave vanity, may my hands never do evil."

Benny wiped his forehead, and even though you could only see his back, you could imagine him smiling with relief.

“My child, the Lord has heard your words, and all the saints bear witness to them.” The man who saved his life spoke, responding with the same classic words, flowing smoothly like a bright blade, easily entering the listener’s mind, not through emotional appeal, but through some other means.

It is clear that the recitation, lacking in intonation and rhythm, does not contain much reverence.

"From this day forward, you will no longer walk alone. If you seek wisdom, I will teach you; if you seek peace, I will care for you. I give you this sign in the name of the Lord, not because of blood ties, but because of faith. May the Spirit of the Lord dwell upon you forever..."

After reciting the last sentence, the new guardian of the doctrine looked at the boy before him, seemingly forgetting what to do next. He held the book of rites in silence for a long time, then fell silent again before speaking once more:
"May you...dwell on the shore, without ever stepping into the water."

This concludes the "Invisible Ones" volume! Thank you for your support, readers. There might be side stories or something similar in this volume; I'll start the next volume as soon as I'm ready.

In retrospect, I feel that the subject matter chosen for this volume was too abstract and difficult. In addition, the graduation season interrupted the process, and many parts did not proceed as expected. The development was not thorough, the ending was not perfect, and more importantly, it was difficult to maintain the multi-line development due to my limited ability.

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I hope to dedicate more time to writing during my work breaks and restore my update frequency. Please feel free to leave any comments or suggestions in the comments section or group!
Finally, I would like to thank all the readers for their support, which is the author's greatest motivation.

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