Page 31 of Santa Daddy, I'm Not the One

The idea brought excitement and fear, an emotional cocktail I wasn’t prepared for.

But as quickly as the flutter had come, it was crushed under an intense wave of pain that seized my chest. The world tilted dangerously. My knees buckled, and I fell to the ground, clutching at my shirt as if I could somehow tear away the pain buried deep within me.

It was as if my heart was trying to break free, each beat a hammer strike against my ribs. I gasped, my breaths coming in short, ragged pulls. The pain was excruciating, blinding, unlike anything I’d ever felt. It consumed every thought, every bit of my consciousness until there was nothing left but the overwhelming agony and Nils calling my name.

“Landon! Landon, what’s wrong?” His voice seemed to come from far away, muffled and distorted. His hands touched me, trying to ease me down. I wanted to tell him I was okay, to banish the worry that laced every syllable he uttered, but I couldn’t form the words. All I could do was clutch my chest and ride out the storm.

The pain spiked again, a cruel crescendo that tipped me into darkness. The last thing I saw was Nils’s face, etched with fear and concern, hovering over me as I slipped away into unconsciousness.

11

NILS

The light from the bedside lamp cast a warm but insufficient glow over Landon’s still form in my bed, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Two days had passed since he’d collapsed in the field, and my heart had been lodged in my throat for every agonizing minute of it. A few times, he’d briefly stirred, long enough to sip a little soup, but then he’d slipped back into a deep unconsciousness that left me fearing the worst.

The doctor, a wise elf named Oren who had been tending to the well-being of our community for centuries, stood by the bedside, his face a mask of professional concern. He had just finished another examination, and I watched him, eager for any shred of good news, any sign that Landon would pull through.

“I don’t understand it,” Oren finally said, his voice low and troubled. “Physically, he seems perfectly fine. There’s no reason for him to be in this state.”

I paced the length of the room. “Check again.” I couldn’t hide the desperation in my voice. “There has to be something. People don’t just fall unconscious without a reason.”

Oren’s old eyes filled with a compassion that did nothing to ease my worry. “I’ve checked him over several times, Nils. I wish I had better answers for you.”

I stopped pacing and looked down at Landon, lying so pale and still against the white sheets. His face, usually so full of expression and defiance, was now a blank canvas, his eyelids shut tight against the world. I reached out, my hand trembling slightly, and brushed back a lock of hair from his forehead. Why did he feel so cold?

“Then what do we do?” A feeling of helplessness engulfed me. “I can’t just stand here and do nothing while he’s like this.”

“We keep him comfortable, make sure he stays hydrated and nourished. And we hope that whatever has taken hold of him passes soon.”

I nodded, though the suggestion offered little comfort. Hope felt like a fragile thing in the face of Landon’s mysterious condition. I turned to Oren. “Stay with him for a while. I need to attend to something.”

Without waiting for a response, I strode out of the room, my mind racing. Inside me, a restlessness bubbled, a gnawing need to do something, anything, to help Landon. I walked through the corridors of the workshop, elves, stepping aside to let me pass.

My steps led me, almost without thought, to the records room. Maybe there was something in the ancient texts, some forgotten piece of lore that could explain what was happening to Landon, something that could point the way to a cure. The room was dark, the air thick with the smell of old paper and ink. I lit alamp, pulled down volume after volume, and scanned the pages frantically for any mention of symptoms like Landon’s or any malady that struck without warning and left its victims in a state like death.

Hours passed, and the pile of discarded books grew higher. My eyes burned from strain and the dim light, but I pressed on, driven by a single-minded determination. Landon was depending on me, even if he didn’t know it. I couldn’t let him down.

As I reached for another heavy tome, a sharp knock startled me. My heart pounded with hope. Had there been a change? Had Landon woken up?

I hurried to the door and opened it.

Eirik stood in the doorway, his face grave. “You need to come quickly. It’s Landon.”

Without a word, I followed him back to my room, my fear threatening to choke me. Landon was still unconscious, but Oren was standing by the bed, his expression more troubled than before.

“What is it? What’s happened?” I demanded.

“It’s his heart,” Oren said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s beating irregularly, too fast, then too slow. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I moved to Landon’s side and took his hand, the erratic pulse throbbing against my fingers. A cold dread settled in my stomach. This was beyond anything we had faced before, beyond the healing knowledge of our best doctor.

“What do we do?” I asked.

“Hope.”

But hope was becoming a bitter taste on my tongue. Landon’s life hung in the balance, and all we could do was hope?

Oren left, and I sat on the bed. The sight of his ashen face stabbed me like a knife twisting in my gut.

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