Chapter 5: Tears That Heal

The fever came without warning.

One moment, Prince was fine—sitting at his desk, working on homework while Daksha perched nearby, reading one of his books. The next, a wave of dizziness washed over him, so intense that the room seemed to tilt and spin.

"Prince?" Daksha's voice sounded distant, muffled. "Are you alright?"

He tried to answer, but his tongue felt thick, uncooperative. The pencil slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor. He reached for it and nearly fell out of his chair.

"I don't... feel well," he managed, his own voice sounding strange to his ears.

Daksha flew to him, landing on the desk directly in front of his face. Her amber eyes studied him intently, and even through his growing disorientation, Prince could see the concern in them.

"Your skin is flushed," she said. "And your pupils are dilated. You're ill."

Prince nodded weakly, then immediately regretted the movement as another wave of dizziness hit him. "I should lie down," he mumbled.

He made it to his bed just before his legs gave out. The room was spinning faster now, and a chill ran through him despite the sweat beading on his forehead. He pulled his blanket over himself, shivering.

Daksha flew to the bedside table, her movements agitated. "What can I do?" she asked. "Should I try to alert your uncle?"

"No," Prince said through chattering teeth. "He's working. And even if he wasn't... he wouldn't know what to do."

"You need medicine," Daksha insisted. "Human bodies are fragile. Fevers can be dangerous."

"There's some... in the bathroom cabinet," Prince managed. "But I can't..."

He tried to sit up and immediately fell back, his strength deserting him. The fever was taking hold with frightening speed, as if it had been waiting, building, and had finally decided to strike all at once.

Daksha made a sound of frustration. "I can't open cabinets or carry medicine in this form," she said, more to herself than to Prince. "I need hands, weight, strength."

Prince closed his eyes, the effort of keeping them open suddenly too much. "It's okay," he murmured. "Just need to sleep it off."

"Prince. Prince!" Daksha's voice grew more insistent, but it seemed to be coming from very far away now. "Stay awake. Talk to me."

But the darkness was pulling at him, heavy and insistent. He tried to fight it, to focus on Daksha's voice, but the fever was too strong. He felt himself slipping away, falling into a place where even her voice couldn't reach him.

In the fever dream, he was back in the jungle, but it wasn't the jungle he knew. The trees were taller, more ancient, their branches intertwining to form a cathedral-like canopy overhead. The air was thick with mist that seemed to glow from within, casting an ethereal light over everything.

And he wasn't alone. A figure moved through the mist ahead of him—not Daksha the parrot, but a woman. He couldn't see her clearly, just glimpses: emerald green fabric flowing like water, hair the color of midnight, skin that seemed to shimmer with its own inner light.

"Daksha?" he called, his voice echoing strangely in the misty air.

The figure paused but didn't turn. "Find me," she said, her voice hauntingly familiar yet different—richer, more resonant. "Find me when the stars align."

"I don't understand," Prince said, trying to move toward her but finding his feet rooted to the spot. "You're right there. I can see you."

"Not yet," the figure replied. "Not in this form. Not in this time."

The mist swirled thicker around her, obscuring her completely. Prince tried to call out again, but no sound came. The jungle began to fade, the mist consuming everything until there was only darkness.

And in the darkness, pain. His body felt like it was burning from the inside out, every nerve ending on fire. He was vaguely aware of thrashing in his bed, of tangled sheets and sweat-soaked clothes. Of time passing in strange, disjointed fragments.

Sometimes, in brief moments of lucidity, he thought he heard Daksha's voice—not speaking but singing, those strange, haunting melodies from her world. The songs seemed to cool the fire in his veins, to ease the pain just enough that he could slip back into unconsciousness.

Other times, he thought he felt something cool and damp on his forehead—a cloth, perhaps, though he couldn't imagine how Daksha could manage such a thing in her parrot form.

The fever dreams came and went. In one, he was floating in space, surrounded by stars that spoke to him in voices he almost recognized. In another, he was back in the car with his parents on that rainy night, but this time he was the one driving, desperately trying to avoid the inevitable crash.

And through it all, a sense of something watching over him, protecting him. A presence that felt like Daksha but also... more. Something ancient and powerful and kind.

When Prince finally opened his eyes, the room was dark except for the soft glow of his bedside lamp. His body felt weak, wrung out, but the burning heat of the fever was gone. He blinked, trying to orient himself.

"Daksha?" he called, his voice a hoarse whisper.

For a moment, there was no response, and a spike of fear shot through him. Had she left? Had something happened to her while he was delirious?

Then he heard a soft rustling, and Daksha appeared at the foot of his bed, her emerald feathers dimmed with what looked like exhaustion.

"You're awake," she said, and the relief in her voice was palpable. "How do you feel?"

"Weak," Prince admitted. "But better. The fever's gone." He pushed himself up to a sitting position, noticing as he did that his sheets had been changed—they were clean and dry, not sweat-soaked as they should have been. "How long was I out?"

"Three days," Daksha replied, flying to perch on the headboard near his pillow. "Your fever was... severe. I was worried."

Prince frowned, looking around the room. A bowl of water sat on his bedside table, with a cloth draped over its edge. Several medicine bottles were lined up beside it, along with a glass of water and some crackers.

"How did you..." he began, then stopped, unsure how to even frame the question.

Daksha's feathers ruffled slightly—her equivalent of a sigh. "I did what I had to do," she said simply.

"But you couldn't have gotten the medicine, changed the sheets," Prince insisted. "Not as a parrot."

Daksha was quiet for a long moment, her amber eyes studying him with an intensity that made him shiver despite the absence of fever.

"There are things about me I haven't told you," she finally said. "Things I'm not sure you're ready to know."

Prince thought about his fever dreams—about the woman in the mist, with her flowing emerald robes and midnight hair. About the voice that was Daksha's but not quite.

"Try me," he said softly.

Daksha flew down to the foot of the bed, putting some distance between them. "When I was exiled," she began, "transformed into this form, most of my abilities were stripped from me. But not all. Some... remnants remain. Especially in moments of great need or emotion."

"What kind of abilities?" Prince asked.

"Healing, for one," Daksha said. "Though it comes at a cost. And limited transformation—not of my entire form, but parts. Enough to... manage certain tasks."

Prince thought about the cool cloth on his forehead, the changed sheets, the medicine that had appeared as if by magic. "You took care of me," he said, not a question but a realization.

"Yes," Daksha admitted. "You were very ill, Prince. Your temperature was dangerously high. I couldn't... I couldn't just watch you suffer."

There was something in her voice—a catch, a vulnerability—that Prince had never heard before. It made his heart ache in a way he couldn't quite define.

"Thank you," he said simply.

Daksha nodded, her feathers brightening slightly. "You should eat something," she said, changing the subject. "You've had nothing but water for days."

Prince reached for the crackers, suddenly aware of the hollow feeling in his stomach. As he ate, he noticed something else—strange, glowing symbols on the floor beside his bed. They looked like they had been drawn in light, but the light had somehow solidified, leaving behind marks that pulsed with a soft, greenish glow.

"What are those?" he asked, pointing.

Daksha followed his gaze, then looked away quickly. "A side effect," she said vaguely. "They'll fade by morning."

"A side effect of what?"

Daksha was silent for so long that Prince thought she might not answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Healing magic requires a conduit," she said. "An exchange. Energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transferred."

Prince frowned, not understanding. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Daksha said slowly, "that to heal you, I had to give something of myself. My tears... they have properties. Regenerative properties. But using them leaves traces—those symbols are the physical manifestation of the energy transfer."

"Your tears?" Prince repeated, stunned. "You cried for me?"

Daksha's feathers dimmed, as if in embarrassment. "It was the only way," she said. "Your fever was resistant to the human medicine I managed to give you. You were... slipping away. I could feel it."

Prince stared at the glowing symbols on the floor, trying to process what she was telling him. Daksha had cried for him—had used her tears, apparently imbued with some kind of healing power, to save his life.

"I didn't know you could cry," he said finally, for lack of anything better to say.

Daksha made that sound again—the one that was almost laughter but not quite. "One of the many things my people tried to eliminate," she said. "But as I told you, emotions were never fully purged from our genetic memory. And in this form, with its avian biology... the mechanisms are different, but the essence is the same."

Prince looked at her—really looked at her—and saw for the first time how exhausted she appeared. Her usually bright feathers were dull, her posture less upright than normal. She had depleted herself to save him.

"Come here," he said softly, patting the pillow beside his head.

Daksha hesitated, then flew to the spot he had indicated. Prince reached out slowly, giving her time to move away if she wanted to, and gently stroked the feathers on her head.

"Thank you," he said again, the words feeling inadequate for what she had done. "I don't know what else to say except... thank you for saving my life."

"You saved mine first," Daksha reminded him. "In the jungle. When you found me."

"That was different. I just splinted your wing, gave you a place to stay."

"No," Daksha said firmly. "It was the same. You saw a being in need and chose to help, regardless of the cost or inconvenience to yourself. That is the essence of compassion—one of the emotions my people feared most, because it defies cold logic. It makes us vulnerable. It connects us to others."

Prince continued to stroke her feathers, marveling at how soft they were, how they seemed to warm under his touch. "I'm glad," he said after a while. "That your people didn't manage to eliminate emotions completely. That you found that book of poetry. That you were exiled here, to Earth. To me."

Daksha leaned into his touch, her amber eyes drifting closed. "As am I," she murmured. "Though I wish the circumstances had been different."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Prince continuing his gentle stroking, Daksha gradually relaxing under his touch. The glowing symbols on the floor pulsed in a rhythm that seemed to match the beating of Prince's heart.

"Daksha," he said eventually, a question that had been nagging at him finally finding voice. "In my fever dreams, I saw... someone. A woman, in the jungle. She was wearing green, and her voice was like yours, but... different."

Daksha's eyes snapped open, fixing him with an intense gaze. "What did she say to you?" she asked, her voice suddenly alert despite her exhaustion.

"She said, 'Find me when the stars align,'" Prince recalled. "And something about 'not in this form, not in this time.' It was strange. Like she was you, but... not you. Not yet."

Daksha was very still, her feathers so dim now they were almost the normal green of an Earth parrot. "The fever opened pathways," she said, more to herself than to Prince. "Weakened the barriers between consciousness and subconsciousness. Between dimensions."

"What does that mean?" Prince asked, confused.

Daksha seemed to shake herself, her feathers brightening slightly as she refocused on him. "It means you glimpsed something that hasn't happened yet," she said carefully. "A possibility. A potential future."

"You mean... I saw the future?" Prince asked, incredulous.

"Not exactly. You saw a possible future. One of many. The multiverse is full of branching timelines, of choices that lead to different outcomes." She tilted her head, studying him. "But the fact that you saw that particular possibility is... interesting."

"Why?"

"Because it suggests a connection deeper than I realized," Daksha said. "A resonance between your consciousness and mine that transcends the limitations of our current forms."

Prince tried to wrap his mind around what she was saying, but exhaustion was pulling at him again—not the feverish kind this time, but the normal tiredness of a body recovering from illness.

"I don't understand," he admitted, stifling a yawn.

"You don't need to, not yet," Daksha assured him. "Rest now. We can talk more when you're stronger."

Prince nodded, settling back against his pillow. As his eyes drifted closed, he felt Daksha move closer, nestling against his neck in a gesture of trust and affection that made his heart swell.

"Daksha?" he murmured, already half-asleep.

"Yes, Prince?"

"I'm glad the universe sent you to me."

He felt rather than saw her feathers brighten. "As am I," she whispered. "Now sleep. I'll be here when you wake."

As Prince drifted into a healing sleep, the glowing symbols on the floor pulsed one last time, then began to fade. But something of their energy remained—a connection, a bond between boy and bird that had been forged in fever and tears, in vulnerability and trust.

A bond that, unknown to either of them, the universe had greater plans for than they could possibly imagine.