Chapter 5 - Smoke

Northern Facility, Vanstead Dukedom of Augustein, Year 990

The building fell to pieces in a spiraling wave. From its center, the air heated until it burned to touch and stung to breathe. Fires streaked outwards, radiating like sunlight, as web-like cracks expanded throughout what was once solid walls. Then, one by one, the layers of stone fell apart. Scattered debris knocked into neighboring rooms, and more hallways pancaked beneath a growing cloud of grey smoke.

From the outside, it looked like a sudden explosion, a single attack that rendered a solid silhouette into scattered pieces. Onlookers would say they remembered hearing screams, some even recalling writhing shadows within the smoke. Still others would swear they caught fleeting glimpses of an Aberration, the creature they believed responsible for the attack. Those who believed the destruction came from within would dispute this claim, suggesting that any perpetrator would’ve died amidst the flames and rubble.

The facility, once merely an abandoned, distant old building that few travelers would give a second glance, became the talk of the town in its ruins.

It was only when the bodies were found in the aftermath that the rampant speculation quieted to whispered suggestions. No one was willing to raise their voices amidst the dead, and though the identities of the victims were unknown, that day would still be permanently marked in the town’s history as a great tragedy.

—

Winrow, Vanstead Dukedom of Augustein, Year 990

Joan slammed the drink down on the counter, and the sound rang throughout the little tavern. A few other clients glanced her way, pausing their murmured conversations. At this hour of the day, when the sun was only just beginning to lower from its peak, the tavern was still relatively empty. Once night fell, Joan knew tired workers getting off their shifts would stop by after dinner, and the place would grow rowdy with laughter.

Seated on the stool beside her, Leila frowned. She was wearing her watchman’s uniform, though she’d rolled up her sleeves. Her hands were still adorned with their usual dark gloves. In all the years Joan had known the woman, she’d never seen her take those gloves off. It was rare enough to see her without her uniform, even on days off like this one.

A watchman is never off duty, Leila had said once. Joan hadn’t been able to argue against that.

“Bad morning?” Leila asked. Joan sighed.

“You could say that,” she muttered. She picked up her glass and took a deep gulp, enjoying the bitter stinging in her throat. Leila watched her carefully.

“...Did the girl wake up?”

Joan winced and shook her head. “Not yet,” she said, voice quiet. She stared down at the uneven wooden grains of the counter, absentmindedly tracing their swirling patterns with her eyes.

Joan hadn’t known what to expect when she’d seen the smoke. It was rare enough for her to leave Winrow these days, but Leila had asked her to head to Magrath to purchase ore for the watchmen. She typically went herself, but she was busy, the woman had said apologetically. Joan was the only one besides her in the village with a high enough license to purchase the amount of ore they would need for training and scouting. Joan hadn’t been too keen on it at first, but she’d reluctantly agreed. It wasn’t Leila’s fault that the Sovereign had put a hold on temporary ore purchase permits, after all, and she’d known the woman for many decades. And so, Joan had left Winrow and made the trip to Magreth, her old court magician license nestled in her pouch beside the heavy weight of the coins Leila had provided for the purchases.

The trip took longer than expected, but she miraculously hadn’t run into any Aberrations along the way or on the road back. Instead, when she was less than an hour away from Winrow, Joan had seen clouds of smoke billowing into the sky. Instinct had taken over, and she’d ran in the direction of the smoke without thinking.

She hadn’t expected to find a pile of ruins where an old abandoned building had once stood. A crowd had gathered around, whispering and pointing at the still glowing embers lighting up the gaps between sharp debris and charred grass. Her old training had taken hold, and Joan had commanded the onlookers to search for survivors.

A few hours later, they’d found nothing but charred bodies. Her stomach roiled when she saw how small some of them were. There had been children there, trapped within those walls, when the entire building had collapsed.

An old rumor had risen up in her memory, but she’d ignored it in favor of focusing on the immediate task at hand. One of the onlookers was sent to bring the watchmen, and until then Joan sat and waited.

She wasn’t sure what compelled her to go back to the ruins and search again, some hours later. Perhaps it was the growing unease, perhaps she’d simply needed to do something. She was glad she did, otherwise she would’ve missed the motionless figure trapped beneath a pile of debris whose breaths were shallow, but distinctly alive.

“How bad are the injuries?”

Joan looked back up at Leila. She frowned, lips drawn in a thin line.

“Bad,” she said. Joan shook her head. “It’s a miracle she survived. I think the rubble might’ve protected her from the flames. Most of the wounds were from being crushed.”

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Leila winced in sympathy. “Poor girl,” she muttered.

Joan grunted in acknowledgement, gaze still distant. Leila frowned at her, furrowing her brows.

“Is there something else?”

Joan stared into her drink, swirling the liquid around in one hand. She tipped it back and took a slower sip this time before setting the glass back down.

“...Do you remember those old rumors, back when the coup happened?”

Leila squinted her eyes like she always did when she was thinking. “Which ones? There was an awful lot of stuff that came out,” she remarked in a half-hearted attempt at a joke. Joan, however, remained somber.

“The experiments in northern Vanstead,” she said.

Leila’s eyes widened before the watchman’s expression morphed into a more serious one. She gripped her own cup but made no move to drink, instead simply tightening her fingers around the glass. The woman exhaled.

“I thought it was propaganda,” she muttered.

Joan shook her head. “I did too,” she admitted. “But, Leila, those scars… I can’t think of any other way to explain them. Wounds like that don’t just happen.”

Leila was quiet, eyes flickering with disbelief that slowly settled into weary acceptance. The two of them had known each other long enough for Leila to know that Joan wouldn’t be mistaken about something like this.

Joan ran a hand through her hair, tugging on some of the greying strands. “I can’t believe I ever supported the Raymoths,” she muttered.

Leila patted her back. “It’s not your fault. All of us did, including me.”

“It’s different. I was a Rose.”

“You were a doctor.”

“A doctor who healed the wrong people, clearly.”

Leila sighed and raised her drink. “It’s over now, at least,” she muttered.

Joan nodded in agreement. She held up her glass as well, and the two women wordlessly clinked their glasses together before taking long sips. They sat in silence afterwards. Around them, a few more patrons were beginning to filter into the tavern as the sun slid closer to the horizon. The noise around them grew.

Finally, without turning, Leila asked, “How much magic do you have left?”

Joan stared down at her bare hands. Wrinkles were visible on the looser skin, remnants of the passing years. It still felt odd sometimes, to not look down and see those crisp white gloves she’d worn for so long. She’d gotten another pair when she came back for when she had to use magic, ones made of thick brown cloth, but they didn’t have the same feeling.

“Enough,” Joan answered simply.

Leila’s eyes flickered over to her. She hesitated. “If you’d like, I wouldn’t mind giving you some ore. The watchmen don’t need much.”

Joan chuckled. “I don’t think a sergeant should be saying that in public.” She shook her head. “I’d rather not go to court over unauthorized ore usage.” She was already lucky enough to have retired before the coup, or she probably would’ve been killed with the other old Roses who had served the Raymoths. She wasn’t keen on testing fate again.

Leila snorted as well, but her laughter soon died down into something more somber.

“Be careful, okay?” she said. Her voice lowered, and she spoke with increased urgency. “I’m serious, you know. If your reserves get close to a third, tell me.”

Joan smiled thinly.

“I will.”

—

The house was dark when Joan entered. She fumbled around for the oil lamp she always kept by the door, then made her usual rounds of lighting the candles within the small home until the space was filled with a soft, warm glow. Joan set the oil lamp down and sighed, taking a moment to adjust to the silence. She’d ended up staying at the tavern longer than expected, and it had, as expected, grown rather loud. In the past she would’ve joined in on the rowdiness, but now she just found herself weary. She shook her head, wondering if this was what aging felt like.

Joan turned and crept across the creaking floorboards until she reached a room situated near the end of the hallway. Inhaling, she slowly opened the door and stepped inside.

Three cots had been crammed into the space, all of their sheets folded neatly and kept clean despite two of them not seeing use in a long time. A light breeze fluttered in from the open window, giving the space a slight chill that made her shiver. The curtains billowed in the wind, and Joan stepped over to close the window.

Once she was done, she turned around to stare down at the one occupied cot. Lying beneath the blankets, a girl slept so still that she could easily be mistaken for a corpse. Joan frowned and took a seat on a small stool set beside the head of the bed.

Maybe “girl” wasn’t accurate. On closer inspection, she was probably a young adult, though her malnourished limbs and closed eyes made her look much younger. Her hands were folded over the blankets, and between the heavy bandages and wrappings, Joan could make out hints of scars beneath. She closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling. Finally, the woman opened her eyes again and raised her hands above the still form.

A soft mauve light glowed from the center of her palm. Swirling, delicate markings climbed up her arms as numbers appeared on the back of her hands. It still felt strange to see them instead of simply sensing them like she had when she’d worn the gloves every day.

FORM | MAJOR

Magic Reserves: 39,876 → 39,864 / 118,604

Maximum Output: 12

Variability: 9

The light enveloped the unconscious figure, surrounding her in a soft glow. Joan closed her eyes, ignoring the immediate exhaustion that began every time she used magic these days. She forced herself to focus on the wounds.

In the back of her mind, she muttered a silent apology to Leila. But no matter what the other woman said, she had known the second she’d seen those scars that there was nothing she wouldn’t do to ensure the girl in front of her woke up again.

It was the least she could do.