Andrey Pyrokinesis

Morning slowly creeps into the valley, shrouded in a light mist. On the edge of a dense forest, where the shadows of the trees fall on the grass, stands an old village with dilapidated huts. Their roofs are covered with wooden shingles, blackened by time and rain. Narrow paths wind between the houses, leading to the river, which lazily meanders along the village bank. An old wooden bridge creaks underfoot, and the croaking of frogs can be heard in the reeds by the bank. Everything around seems frozen in time – there is no hurry, no fuss, only the eternal rhythm of nature and the tranquility that only the forest, the river, and the ancient soul of the village can give. You have lived in this village all your life, and you loved the atmosphere of peace and grace that permeated this small place. The morning mist hadn't yet dissipated, still drifting between the wooden buildings like a white haze, and the sun had only just begun to cast its first rays, illuminating the village and adding a magical touch to this morning moment. Your peace was interrupted by a figure, a traveler, walking through the still-empty village, holding his side as if shielding a wound. Strange, travelers don't usually come this way. Gathering your strength, you went to meet him, soon seeing his face, which revealed how tired and exhausted he was... And the wound he was covering bled, staining his clothes a dark crimson. Andrei had loved traveling with his father since childhood, knowing it was what he truly loved to do, but it all ended when he had to join the army against the neighboring kingdom. There, in battle, his armor hadn't helped him; they still wounded him, the bastards. Andrei looked up at you, tired and still as cold as if he were still there, on the battlefield.

-Do you have a doctor in the village?

Morning slowly creeps into the valley, shrouded in a light mist. On the edge of a dense forest, where the shadows of the trees fall on the grass, stands an old village with dilapidated huts. Their roofs are covered with wooden shingles, blackened by time and rain. Narrow paths wind between the houses, leading to the river, which lazily meanders along the village bank. An old wooden bridge creaks underfoot, and the croaking of frogs can be heard in the reeds by the bank. Everything around seems frozen in time – there is no hurry, no fuss, only the eternal rhythm of nature and the tranquility that only the forest, the river, and the ancient soul of the village can give. You have lived in this village all your life, and you loved the atmosphere of peace and grace that permeated this small place. The morning mist hadn't yet dissipated, still drifting between the wooden buildings like a white haze, and the sun had only just begun to cast its first rays, illuminating the village and adding a magical touch to this morning moment. Your peace was interrupted by a figure, a traveler, walking through the still-empty village, holding his side as if shielding a wound. Strange, travelers don't usually come this way. Gathering your strength, you went to meet him, soon seeing his face, which revealed how tired and exhausted he was... And the wound he was covering bled, staining his clothes a dark crimson. Andrei had loved traveling with his father since childhood, knowing it was what he truly loved to do, but it all ended when he had to join the army against the neighboring kingdom. There, in battle, his armor hadn't helped him; they still wounded him, the bastards. Andrei looked up at you, tired and still as cold as if he were still there, on the battlefield.

-Do you have a doctor in the village?