Raiden woke up with the headache of all headaches.

  “What did that nasty concoction do to me?!” he cried out. Once he got past the pain of his headache, he observed that he was in a different room again. This room was similar to the previous one, except it had a half wall on his left, opposite the window on his right. Just above the height of the bed was an opening in the wall, three to four feet high, allowing him to see right out of the room. The width of the opening ran along the length of the bed, starting around Raiden’s shoulder. Like the window, it had wooden panels on each side for decoration, forcing the opening to start a couple feet away from the corner of the room. To the right of the opening was the door to his room.

  Through the opening, Raiden could see a hallway and then an open area with several tables, or perhaps desks—no, they were workstations—where a half dozen people were very busy doing various tasks. Yes, just regular looking people. Raiden wondered, Does this world only have humans? Or does it have other forms of life somewhere? Some of the workers were mixing vials of new snake oil—those villains—others were writing on something, and the rest were, with books open, having conversations about who knows what. How would he know? They only spoke in gibberish to him.

  Thanks to his newest verbal outburst, and a lack of privacy, all eyes were on him, their motions paused as if waiting for his next move, or perhaps another outburst.

  Raiden was uncomfortable with the combination of silence and everyone staring at him. “Uh…howdy folks.”

  Moments later, one person stood and left the work area, and the rest resumed whatever it was they were doing.

  Now able to watch people with less scrutiny, Raiden glanced through the group and noticed that one of the workers was the observer who had accompanied his nurse the previous day. She looked to be in her late 40’s, with a more serious face, and others in the room regarded her with respect. She clearly had some form of authority. She had a lighter shade of brown hair than the nurse, but darker eyes, and she didn’t seem to like smiling. It wasn’t really a frown; she was just stoic, somber. Her build was similar to the nurse’s and she wore the same apron, but under it, she was dressed more formally: a decorated blouse with dress pants. The front of her hair was pulled back and braided into two strands meeting in the back where they were attached. The rest of her hair flowed freely out from underneath the braided strands, something like what he imagined an elf would do, though she was no elf. Raiden was leery of her. I’ll bet she’s the one who made the horrific potion. Note to self: do NOT drink anything she brings me.

  The next thing he knew, someone brought him a small cup of liquid. Speak of the devil. But this was not a dark, greasy potion. Instead, it was filled with a creamy white liquid.

  “Ah milk!” he said in relief. “What a nice way to start the day.” Raiden was an avid fan of milk in the morning, and throughout the day when cookies were involved. I wonder if they drink whole milk here? That would be a bonus, he thought. Perhaps this treat would help compensate for the stifling pain pounding through his head. He happily lifted his arm to—the hefty blanket wouldn’t budge, trapping his arm and preventing him from reaching the milk he so passionately craved. While contemplating how best to ask for help, the person who had earlier left the work area returned with his nurse in tow. Entering his room, she approached him with the same comforting smile she had the first time he saw her.

  Raiden remembered the snake oil he had gagged down before sleeping, and, hoping it was some kind of magical translation potion, he was anxious to see if he could speak or understand their language.

  “Hi there, can you understand me now?” he said enthusiastically.

  The nurse approached and smiled kindly. “Che rima.”

  Raiden thought it might be a pleasantry of some kind. Maybe that expression is not really translatable; perhaps it’s transliterated? He attempted the best smile his throbbing head would allow and nodded, hoping the gesture wasn’t something horrific here. But she was unfazed by his comment and approached with her bright smile unchanged. She picked up the cup and spoke again, “Rilef, led heh ma.”

  His excitement quickly sank away. Okay, whatever that turpentine was supposed to do, it wasn’t a translation tonic, what a friggin’ waste of torture! he lamented.

  The nurse raised the part of the bed his head was on to help partially sit him up. At least she’s helping me with the milk. Drinking with glee, he— “Bleh!” It was the worst milk he ever had. What kind of mutated goat milk do they drink here? It didn’t have the same kick as the vile tonic he previously took, but it was still no joy ride. The liquid came across as very pasty, more like drinking a gritty glue than something creamy. Does everything here taste horrible? he questioned with concern.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Not long after finishing the rotten milk—it probably wasn’t milk—a tray of food arrived, and the nurse prepared to help him consume it. Looks like I’ll find out soon enough. What surprised Raiden was how small the portions of the food on the tray were. Each item looked more like small tapas, which you could fit on the lid of a jar. Is this just a snack? I’m pretty sure I’m more hungry than that.

  Before she let him eat, she placed her hand on her collar and said, “Reh-tu.” Then she pointed to him and leaned forward with questioning eyebrows raised as if to urge him on.

  Figuring this was a name-sharing exercise he decided to give his name. Unable to lift his hand, he pointed to his collar with his chin and said, “Rai-den.”

  She angled her head as if storing a thought, repeating his name with her grin never fading. Then she pointed to herself and repeated her name, “Reh-tu,” and pointed to him saying his name.

  Raiden smiled and nodded in affirmation. Yay! If I can’t talk in their language, at least I can say someone’s name, it’s a start.

  Disregarding that he couldn’t understand anything she was saying, the nurse spoke throughout the duration of the meal. Maybe she just liked talking? Much to his relief, it was a fairly decent rendition of fried eggs, finely diced potatoes that were almost like hash browns, fruit, and something soft—maybe some kind of grits. As Rehtu spoke, she would sometimes point to an item or make some hand gesture. Every bite took more effort to chew. Once swallowed, it felt much heavier in his stomach, and somehow more filling. Despite the tiny portions, the food was filling and hit the spot. At the conclusion of the meal, Rehtu left the room with the tray.

  This was Raiden’s third time waking up, and he wondered why he wasn’t hungry sooner. Have I only been sleeping a couple hours at a time?

  Unable to move from his blanket prison, he glanced over the half-wall at the group of workers, and proceeded to fill his time with more people-watching. Before long, sleep crept up on him again. Anxious to leave this headache behind, he welcomed slumber with the hopes of waking up feeling better.

  After a nap of unknown length, Raiden awoke to discover the headache was blissfully gone… aaaand every ounce of his body stung with pain. “Augh!” he cried out. From his head to his toes, down to the bone, he hurt. It felt like any part of him could vibrate into small pieces and fall apart. Whatever they are giving me isn’t working at all! He bemoaned in pain. He was beginning to miss having just a headache.

  With his cries once again alerting the spectators outside his wall opening, another cup of weaponized milk was brought to him, and Rehtu approached with a new tray of food.

  “Riesh angano ri ma Raiden, ma anglef rilef potatoes ri eat?” she said cheerfully. She had noticed how he had liked those strangely crafted potatoes.

  He was about to respond with a greeting to Rehtu when his mind caught up to what he had just heard. Did she just say a couple words in English?! No, it definitely wasn’t English. Thinking back through it, other than his name, what he heard was all in their language. And he appeared to have automatically interpreted the words for ‘potatoes' and ‘eat’. His understanding came so easily he didn’t even realize he had done it. This was nothing like switching back and forth to the Spanish he learned as a youth. Admittedly, most of it was swearing. He was proficiently fluent at swearing in Spanish; those seemed to be the first words to show up, but he did know other phrases here and there. With Spanish, he consciously switched his mindset back and forth, always feeling like the other needed to be translated actively in his head. But this was different; with this, he just understood the meaning instantly.

  Someone must have lowered the bed flat while he slept because Rehtu had to lift it again. After choking down the new day’s rat poison milk, she repeated her ritual of talking while feeding him. This time, he understood several of the words. After eating, he returned to his people watching and noticed that here and there, a single word they were saying to each other would stand out. Sometimes he had a good idea of what the word meant; most of the time he just remembered it being used more often than other words. Every once in a while, he would catch a phrase where he at least had an impression of their intention—the gist of what they were trying to convey. Thrilled with the finding, this time as he watched the workers, he also listened more intently.

  The full-body pain continued when he woke the next day. Or was it a new day? He didn’t really know. Without a clock and unable to ask anyone, he had no idea whether each iteration of being awake was a full day or something else. For that matter, it occurred to him that he didn’t even know what a day was here. Was it 24 hours like Earth, or was it something else? Something to learn later, he supposed. True to the routine, again came the horrible milk first. At this point Raiden wasn’t sure whether it was even milk—It wasn’t. If this is milk, it came from the worst possible abnormality of an animal!

  Soon Rehtu began assisting him after the meal with some form of physical therapy for his head and neck. To make it easier for him to move his head around. The cycle continued: wake in pain, choke down the ‘milk,’ get fed by the nurse, strengthen his neck, and listen to the workers. The food was always changed such that he never had the same breakfast twice in a row.

  Some days Rehtu was replaced by a different nurse who never said much. She was much younger than Rehtu and far less kind. Everyone needs their days off, Raiden thought, excusing the considerate Rehtu. Still, he much preferred being familiar with the person feeding him. Being hand-fed by a stranger was uncomfortable enough, but the clear disdain displayed by the alternate nurse only made it worse. What’s up with that!?

  Every iteration he felt a little less pain, recognized more new words, gained more movement in his head and neck, and was even able to spend more time awake. Eventually, he remembered to pay attention and noticed that the fake ‘milk’ was from the turpentine lady, That witch! Another reason to doubt the milk, and despise the deliverer of quack medicine.