Days turned into weeks and weeks soon became months, and nothing was becoming positive for Mr. Albert. His son was still dying from the strange illness. His face grew paler and his health kept deteriorating.
Mr. Albert was losing his son and there was nothing he could do.
He had gone to the most sacred temple in the neighbouring kingdoms, knees bare on the rocky floor for hours, his exhausted gaze before the statue of their god. The sun was hot and he was there for hours, praying.
"Heal my son, and do as you wish with me. I'll serve you my entire life, I'll do as you wish. I'll become your servant, your slave, your vessel. But please... save my son."
He had cut his wrist and spilled his blood on the floor of the temple. He wanted to make a sacred oath with the god. He had gone to extremes for this.
But months after his prayer, nothing was happening. His son was getting worse and it was obvious that he would die soon if nothing was done.
