Eddie's eyes fluttered open. The dim light of the cottage pressed softly against his vision, still somewhat blurry and fragmented, but enough to see shapes and shadows. His body felt heavy, weak, almost foreign, as if it belonged to someone else.
The old lady knelt beside him, her hands resting lightly on the blanket covering his chest.
"Ah, there you are," she murmured, her voice gentle but steady. "How… how do you feel, little one?"
Eddie's throat felt dry and stiff, but he managed a faint rasp.
"…I… I'm… sore,"
He croaked, each word taking effort. His voice was weak, fragile.
She nodded, not rushing him.
"That you should be. You've been through so much. But your heart is strong. You're alive, and that's what matters right now." Her eyes softened as she studied him, searching for the smallest sign of pain or distress.
After a pause, she asked patiently,
"Tell me… can you remember what happened? How did you end up here? Who hurt you?"
Eddie hesitated. His mind swirled with fragments of images, screams, and then pain like no other. Just remembering that again caused his body to convulse. He couldn't tell or understand why, maybe it is fear, maybe something else. The words he had hovered at the edge of his tongue, but fear, confusion, and disbelief slowed him.
As soon as his body began to convulse, the old lady sprang into action. Unburdened by age, she started waving her stick again, which began emitting a white-golden light, and this time, he heard something in between.
"Vele… Sunn… Epsk…"
Slowly, his convulsions faded, but he lost consciousness soon after. After he passed out, the old lady kept waving her "stick," and she only lowered it when she saw Eddie's breathing stabilize.
"What has happened to you, child? Who could be so cruel?"
Her gaze lingered on him, searching, trying to piece together the fragments of this mystery, as if her mind refused to accept that something so small and fragile could endure such horrors. A shadow crossed her face, worry deepening. She had heard whispers in recent months- rumors of some radicals moving through the country, striking without warning, targeting anyone they deemed unsuitable or is their definition a "Mudblood." Could it be them? Could they have been the ones to do this to him?
Eddie took a steadying breath, feeling the warmth surrounding him like a cocoon. He glanced around the cottage, noticing how its walls seemed to pulse with a gentle light, mirroring the golden glow from the stick in her hand. Shelves lined with odd trinkets and dusty books whispered stories of their own, filling the air with a sense of history and magic.
"I… I- where am I?" he began, his voice still shaky but gaining strength with each word. "What is this place?"
His heart raced as images of shadowy forms flickered in his mind, so distant yet seeming so recent, the adrenaline of his terror mixing with the lingering haze of confusion.
The old lady leaned closer, her expression unwavering.
"Take your time, dear. Sometimes the mind hides what it cannot bear to face," she encouraged softly, brushing a stray hair from his forehead.
Eddie closed his eyes, seeking clarity in the depths of his fragmented memory. He started to remember. The sword- the black sword- and Knull.
His voice trembled as he spoke the words.
"I'm alive? How? I thought…"
He struggled to keep the fear and confusion that had gripped him in control, that feeling of being ripped apart, the overwhelming sense of being less than nothing in its eyes.
"I thought I died. I definitely did die."
The old lady replied in a slow, deliberate manner,
"You are not dead, my dear, you are at my house. Nothing is going to happen to you. There is no one named Knull here. You are safe."
Her voice held a fierce protectiveness, a promise that he wouldn't face the darkness again.
Breathing heavily, Eddie felt a flicker of hope amidst the shadows of his memories.
"How…? How am I alive? Who are you?" he asked.
"My name is Isabella, Isabella Brown," she said, her voice a soothing balm. "You are at my house in Sheffield, near Hyde Park, if that's what you want to know."
He opened his eyes to meet her gaze, searching for assurance.
"Sheffield? Hyde Park? I am in England?"
"Yes, my dear. I found you in the park three weeks ago. You were in really bad condition, and even with all my knowledge as a healer, I barely managed to patch you up. What happened to you? Where are your parents?" she replied with a question of her own.
"Why was I in a park? And England, of all places? My parents? I only knew my father- real piece of work, he was."
"My apologies, dear. What is your name?" Isabella asked.
"Eddie. Eddie Brock," Eddie replied.
"Well, little Eddie, you can speak better now, so you will be up in some time. You can stay here until then. After that, we need to find a way to send you home," Isabella said.
"Home? You mean my home? I don't think that exists anymore. Surely my landlord has thrown all my things out by now. I was already two months behind on rent. Anyway, why are you calling me 'little' again? I'm a grown man," Eddie said, confused but holding onto what little pride he had left.
The old lady smiled gently, and with a wave of her stick, she made a mirror appear in front of him.
"What was that? What did you do with that stick? Wait… is this… me?" Eddie said, even more confused.
His confusion was not without grounds, since the one looking back at him from the mirror was not his thirty-year-old self, but a younger teenager, with a smooth face, though somewhat pale and haggard.
"Wait, this is me?" Eddie asked again, touching his face, feeling even more confused. "Did you do something to me?"
"No, my dear. You were the same as when I found you- much healthier, of course," Isabella replied.
"Thank you, but this is a lot to take in right now. What did you do with that stick? How did you make this mirror? I remember you waving it with some light," Eddie asked again.
"Oh, this?" Isabella replied, looking at her wand. "This is my wand, dear, and of course I conjured the mirror- with magic, of course. The same thing I used to heal you."
"Wait? What? Magic? You mean actual magic?"