Under Kiana's guidance, and the watchful eyes of Eldrin, the elder of "Ashwind Post," Leonardo da Vinci was permitted to stay in a small, crudely built hut at the edge of the settlement. Though he had escaped the ring of weapons, an atmosphere of distrust still hung heavy in the air. Most villagers avoided direct eye contact or conversation with him.
Kiana acted as his intermediary, explaining the rules and living conditions of the village. Her voice remained flat, her cold eyes holding more curiosity than friendliness, but Da Vinci sensed no ill intent, only that she was thoroughly assessing him.
Da Vinci spent most of his time in quiet observation. The mind of the Renaissance genius worked ceaselessly, trying to understand the strange ways of this world's people, the hardships they faced daily, and the simple yet complex social structure of this small village perched on the precipice of ruin. His imaginary notebook filled with sketches, observations, and questions awaiting answers.
It wasn't long before Da Vinci began to perceive the problems slowly eroding the community. He noticed many, both young and old, suffering from chronic coughs, pale complexions, inflamed wounds, and a general, overwhelming fatigue – all consequences of the harsh environment, the toxic dust in the air, malnutrition, and periodic clashes with the Nebula Empire's machinations.
Faint moans drifting from a larger tent, which served as a makeshift infirmary, underscored the suffering. He saw an old woman, her face etched with the lines of experience, busy grinding herbs and brewing concoctions in an ancient clay pot. She was the village's "Healer," working tirelessly with limited resources. The traditional herbal remedies she employed seemed to offer little relief, often proving ineffective or too slow.
His medical and anatomical knowledge, gleaned from secretly studying human cadavers in his old world, began to stir. He saw the chasm in knowledge and technology that, if bridged, could alleviate much of this suffering.
Driven by a deep-seated humanitarianism, and perhaps a desire to build trust among those who still saw him as an oddity, Da Vinci resolved to help, as discreetly as possible.
That night, within the dark and silent confines of his hut, lit only by the flickering flame of a piece of animal fat he'd fashioned into a candle, Da Vinci carefully took out the golden paintbrush. It still glowed, but he noted with a pang that its golden light was dimmer than when it had first appeared in his hand. The immense energy expended in "drawing" the destructive machine to obliterate the giant mechanical spider in an instant had clearly taken its toll on the wondrous artifact.
He closed his eyes, concentrating intently. He didn't think of complex chemical structures unknown to his former world, but of the desired outcome – a remedy that could reduce fever, alleviate inflammatory pain, and be safe for the user. He recalled the principles of extracting active compounds from plants, which he had studied, and an image of a specific herb he'd seen the Healer use for high fevers, albeit with little success. He had a clear "mental image" of what he wanted to create.
Da Vinci slowly, almost hesitantly, swept the golden brush through the air above a large, dry leaf he had procured. A faint, pale golden ink flowed from its tip, slower and less voluminous than before. It coalesced into a small amount of fine, greenish-brown powder on the leaf. The faint, familiar aroma of the herb the Healer used wafted up, but it was many times more concentrated and pure than he had ever smelled.
As the last of the powder materialized, Da Vinci felt another drain of energy from his body. More alarmingly, the once-pristine white bristles of the brush had visibly darkened. The soft golden luminescence that had once radiated from it was now so faint it was barely perceptible, as if the magical ink within was drying up, or had been nearly exhausted.
He tried to swish the brush again, attempting to "draw" even a small drop of clean water. The bristles looked even drier, more lifeless. The golden light almost winked out. Da Vinci stopped immediately. He now knew: this brush's power was finite. Destroying that colossal automaton had consumed a vast amount of its "fuel," and any further creation would have to be done with extreme caution.
The next morning, Da Vinci took the powder he had painstakingly "drawn," wrapped it in another clean leaf, and discreetly gave it to the old woman, the village Healer. He explained, with a polite demeanor, that it was an old remedy he knew from his "distant homeland" and wished for her to try it on the most severely ill patients, without revealing its miraculous origin.
The old woman looked at the strange powder in the leaf wrapper with a mixture of skepticism and suspicion. But when she met the earnest and concerned gaze of the young stranger, coupled with her own desperation as existing remedies failed, she decided to try. "I will try it," she said curtly. "But if it causes harm..."
"I assure you, it is as safe as my knowledge can ascertain," Da Vinci replied with a firm tone.
The results, a few hours later, were more astounding than anyone could have anticipated. A few patients who had been laid low by high fevers and inflamed wounds began to show marked improvement. Their fevers subsided, a little color returned to their pallid faces, and their pain lessened enough for them to move slightly. It caused a stir of surprise and quiet elation among the caregivers.
News of the "stranger's peculiar but effective medicine" spread through the village like wildfire, from whispers to more open discussion. Though no one yet knew its true origin, it was like the first drop of divine water on the parched earth of their despair, igniting a small spark of hope.
Da Vinci observed these reactions from the quiet solitude of his hut. He felt a small measure of satisfaction at having helped his fellow beings. Yet, at the same time, a gnawing anxiety about the state of his vital brush consumed him. It lay hidden, looking weak and lusterless. He realized acutely that he could no longer use this power extravagantly. He had to find a way to "refill its ink" or restore its energy if his dream of "drawing" a new, better world was ever to be realized.
Eldrin and Kiana began to pay closer attention to Da Vinci. They saw the changes in the village and heard the rumors about the medicine. He was no longer just the "Chosen One" mentioned by assassins, but a mysterious individual possessing knowledge and abilities that might be key to their survival. Yet, the question of the "medicine's" origin, and the true extent of this man's power, remained a profound enigma they had yet to unravel in this land of ashes and secrets.