I left the gates of the city with my entourage trailing behind. The guards bowed as I passed, but their gazes lingered longer than they should. The stench of alcohol clung to me like a second skin, and I couldn’t blame them for staring. Hopefully, washing up would rid me of both the smell and the fog in my mind.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows of the ramshackle huts on the dirt road. The usual echoes of children's laughter and play were absent, leaving the area eerily silent. Refugees, huddled in their makeshift homes, watched me pass. Some looked at me with hope, others with thinly veiled frustration. None dared to approach.

As I walked past the makeshift city beyond the walls, the dirt road narrowed into a simple path, the distant murmur of the river becoming clearer with each step. Under different circumstances, the quiet would have been peaceful, but the dying vegetation around me—browned grass, withered plants—was a stark reminder of the Plague’s grip on the land.

A light breeze stirred the air, bringing with it the sour scent of decay. I wrinkled my nose at the smell but pressed on. The rot faded as I neared the river, where the clean, cold air carried a faint promise of relief. I stepped onto the bank, the gentle currents of the river rolling steadily, carrying fallen branches downstream.

I stared at the water for a moment, hesitant. I knew this river was safe, with no crocodile-like creatures to worry about, and it was a common place for people to bathe and drink. Tentatively, I dipped my toes in and pulled back almost immediately. Cold, but not unbearable. Thankfully not the glacial runoff I had feared.

I glanced back at my guards. They were busy scanning the area for any signs of danger, doing their best to avoid looking directly at me. I knelt by the river's edge, cupping my hands and splashing the cold water on my face. The shock of it was bracing, bringing a clarity I hadn’t felt in days.

Deciding a half-hearted wash wouldn’t be enough to rid me of the stench of alcohol, I stripped off my clothes and waded into the river. The water wrapped around me like an icy embrace, and I forced myself to ignore the cold as I went deeper, up to my shoulders.

“Three, two, one,” I muttered, trying to psych myself up for the inevitable dive. “Okay, on go. Three, two, one... Go.”

I plunged beneath the surface, the cold crashing over me like a wave. I felt the need to instantly resurface, but I forced myself to stay under, letting the water chill me, hoping it could wash away more than just the grime. I floated there for a moment, thinking about the mess I’d made of things—especially with Lian. Hopefully, the Priest’s advice could help me salvage some semblance of friendship.

He had suggested I bring her a gift, something meaningful, like a necklace made of shells or other rare materials. He had been vague, only mentioning that the gift should be valuable in some way, but hadn’t offered much in the way of feedback. Unfortunately, I wasn’t much of a craftsman, and I had no idea what qualified as “valuable” in this case. When I asked him, he simply pointed at his own collection of necklaces.

I broke the surface, taking a deep and calm breath of air and putting the thought aside for now. First, I needed to clean myself. I scrubbed at my skin with my hands, though without soap or a proper brush, it was more of an exercise in futility. Funnily enough, I knew how to make alcohol, but not soap. I vaguely remembered something about using ash, but I couldn’t remember the rest. Scrubbing myself with charcoal crossed my mind, but I didn’t want to look like I’d survived an explosion, so I dismissed the idea.

I swam deeper into the river, my clumsy strokes cutting through the water. It had been ages since I last swam—so long that I could barely remember how it felt. Even back on Earth, I hadn't swum since childhood. The sensation was old but welcome. The walls of the city had been suffocating, and the river, with its cool currents, felt liberating by comparison. I dove beneath the surface again, getting comfortable after the initial shock of cold, letting the water engulf me.

When I surfaced, I realized the current had pulled me downstream. I swam back toward the shore, unhurried, enjoying the rare sense of freedom. Once I reached the shallows, where I could stand, I lingered, feeling the gentle tug of the river around me. I briefly considered opening my eyes underwater, but the thought of decaying plants—or worse, animals—floating around deterred me. With the Plague ravaging everything, I didn’t want to risk something rotten getting into my eyes.

As I stared down, examining the water, lost in thought, a glint caught my attention. Curious, I dove down, feeling around for whatever had shone. After a few failed attempts, surfacing with nothing but rocks in my hands, I decided to nudge the object toward the shore with my feet. Slowly but surely, I kicked it until it was shallow enough to retrieve without dipping my head back underwater.

I reached down and wrapped my fingers around a small, cold piece of metal. My heart skipped a beat as I rubbed my fingers over it, the rough texture unmistakable.

Gold.

A jagged nugget of gold, embedded in a whitish stone, rested in my palm. My breath caught as I turned it over, carefully examining the precious metal. How had no one discovered this here before? The river was well-used, yet here I was, holding a gold nugget. I set the piece on a nearby rock and eagerly scoured the river for more.

An hour passed, and despite my best efforts, I found nothing else. My hands were wrinkled, my legs sore from the constant kicking against the current, but I didn’t feel discouraged. Finding one piece of gold meant there could be more. It wasn't useful right now—not in the same way iron was—but the idea of finding gold filled me with a strange optimism. If there was gold in this river, perhaps other metals, even rarer ones, could be hidden nearby.

Before I could let my excitement carry me away, a low-hanging branch suddenly brushed against me. I stumbled back, my heart jolting in my chest, and lost my footing for a moment. For a second, I feared I had kicked the gold into the river, but a quick glance confirmed it was still safe on the rock. I looked up, my pulse slowing as I realized the tree was just another victim of the Plague. Its branches were brown and withered, showing signs of decay.

Right. The Plague. The excitement I had felt moments ago drained away, replaced by the grim reality of what was happening. Gold wouldn’t mean anything if the city was lost to disease. I lethargically turned the nugget over in my hands, my mind shifting from the fleeting joy of discovery to what I could actually do with it.

I could melt it down, I mused. Perhaps craft it into the necklace. Gold was soft—surely it would be easy to melt, right?

With that thought brewing in my mind, I turned to make my way back upstream. I noticed a couple of my guards standing near the riverbank turn, watching me curiously. They had probably come to check on me, wondering why I’d been gone for so long. I waved to them as I walked past, feeling their eyes on me as I headed to where I had left my clothes. It was time to head back.

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The journey to my old house didn’t take long. The building stood a fair distance from the city, untouched for over a month. Dust clung to the windows, and the door creaked loudly as I pushed it open. Inside, the air was stale, the remnants of a comfortable and relatively peaceful life I had left behind when the Plague hit. Unfortunately I didn’t have any tools for metal forging, but i'm sure I could whip something up.

I gathered some supplies–firewood, rocks, and a pair of sticks. I set up the firewood in the old pit, carefully arranging the wood and lighting the fire. It didn’t take long for the flames to start casting its heat into its surroundings. I grabbed the gold nugget, examining the white shell-like stone it was embedded in. Using a larger rock, I struck the nugget repeatedly, chipping away at the surrounding material until the gold lay free in my hand.

I tossed it into the hottest part of the fire, right into the center of the flames, hoping the heat would melt it. The fire roared as I fed more wood into the pit, trying to increase the temperature, but I wasn’t sure if it would be enough. Every few minutes, I poked the gold with a stick, checking to see if it had melted. It remained stubbornly solid, so I stacked more logs on.

After what felt like an eternity, I decided to pull the gold out. Using the stick, I carefully fished it from the flames and placed it on a nearby rock. I prodded it with another stone, and to my surprise, it hadn’t melted. But it did become malleable—just barely. It would probably take an actual setup to melt this down anyway. But maybe, just maybe I can work with this for now.

I threw the gold back into the fire to keep it soft while I quickly gathered what I needed. I found the pointiest rock I could, along with a flat one that could act as an anvil. When the gold was ready, I pulled it out again and placed it on the flat stone. Using the blunt side of the pointy rock, I pressed down, flattening the gold as much as I could, making sure to keep its shape intact.

Once I had it roughly flattened, I used the sharp end of the stone to punch holes in a circular pattern around the gold. Each press was slow but powerful, to ensure that the placement was correct and powerful enough to poke through. After several attempts—and throwing the gold back into the fire to keep it workable—I managed to punch enough holes to form a crude ring. It wasn’t much bigger than a nail, but it would work for the necklace I had in mind.

The jagged edges left by the rock weren’t ideal. I carefully used another sharp stone to sand down the rough spots, working until the surface was smoother, at least enough so it wouldn’t snag or cut. It was painstaking work, taking far longer than I’d anticipated, but eventually, the ring had taken shape. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, but it had a certain ruggedness that felt appropriate—something handmade, something real.

As the fire began to die down, I let it burn out, satisfied with the ring. There was one more piece I could add to the necklace, the deformed metal cat, but it was currently at the hall. For now, I needed to focus on finishing the necklace. I pulled a few strands of string, twisting and braiding them together in a simple but sturdy pattern. Once the braid was long enough, I looped the ring through, letting it hang loosely at the center.

I held it up, examining my work. The gold ring glinted faintly in the dying light of the fire. It wasn’t a masterpiece—it was rough around the edges, imperfect. But hopefully the rarity of the stone would overshadow my poor workmanship.

Since I was done with this for now, I decided to check out the garden. Since I wasn’t able to bring the garden with me, I simply left it as is. Perhaps something had survived? The path back to the garden was bare. As I walked, the signs of decay were everywhere—wilted plants, dead foliage, brown grass crackling underfoot. The Plague hadn’t even left my garden standing.

In a corner of my garden, a strange sight greeted me. Among the dead and dying plants, a small patch of flowers stood tall, their vibrant violet petals seemingly untouched by the blight. It was almost surreal, seeing life in the midst of so much death. I knelt down, carefully brushing the dirt away from their base, inspecting them. They were healthy, alive in a way nothing else around them was.

It was a beautiful site.

With everything else devoid of color except for the pale sky above, the world had become a mix of gray and brown. The flowers, vivid and defiant, seemed to glow in contrast. I reached down and gently took one by the bottom of the stem, holding it up to the light, admiring its resilience.

This would look perfect on the necklace. Sure, it would wilt eventually, but for a few days, it would make for a striking addition. Carefully, I gathered a few more flowers, keeping their stems intact. Taking out the necklace, I wove the stems into the braided cord, letting the violet petals accentuate the gold. When I stepped back to look at my work, I still wouldn’t call it perfect, but it was much better—something I could give as a sincere apology.

The walk back was quicker than before, though the weight of the upcoming apology made it feel longer. I walked past the slums and the gates without any hindrance. Inside the city, the streets were quiet, people moving about with a sense of unease that had become all too familiar since the Plague had taken hold.

I found Lian near the healer’s center, performing one of her rituals. She didn’t notice me at first, so I waited off to the side until she finished her work. Once her ceremony was done, she packed up her things and began to leave. I hurried after her, calling her name. She turned, her expression unreadable, her frown deepening when she saw me.

“Lian,” I said, stopping a few feet away. Without another word, I bowed deeply, then straightened and held out the flowers and the necklace. “I wanted to apologize. For everything. I made this necklace and brought them for you, as a gesture of sincerity.”

Her eyes flickered down to the gifts in my hands, lingering on them for a moment before she met my gaze. “Did my father tell you to do this?” she asked, her tone steady, her tone betraying nothing.

I hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. He helped me with this as I still do not know what is seen as a genuine apology in the city, but I wanted to show that I’m trying.”

Something flickered behind her eyes, something calculating, but she said nothing. Finally, she took the necklace from my hands, turning it over in her fingers. “I accept your apology, Sage Jie Mins,” she said formally. “But only in the way you intended.” There was a cool distance in her tone, a boundary she maintained carefully. Still, I felt a sense of relief wash over me—she had accepted it. But as I looked at her, I noticed something had changed. The lively spark in her eyes was gone, replaced by something much duller.

Her gaze drifted back to the necklace, and she frowned slightly. “Where did you get these?” she asked, more curious now.

“I made them?” I answered. Confused by the change of topic.

“I know that, this rock is pretty, and I think this is the only rock I’ve seen with a yellow color, but I am more curious where you got the flowers.

“Ah, from my old garden,” I replied. “They were still alive, even after everything else had died. I found them pretty, and thought they were a great addition.”

Lian’s expression tightened slightly, her lips forming a small smile. “These flowers… they’re known as ‘Shadow’s Grasp.’ They’re poisonous. You’ve given me a deadly flower as an apology gift. Should I take this as a sign of a double meaning?”

Panic rose in my chest. “No, no,” I stammered quickly. “I just thought they were pretty. I didn’t know they were dangerous.”

She hummed to herself as she stared at the necklace. “I’m not surprised you didn’t know they were dangerous, as they are exceedingly rare. The only reason I know about them is through the records. But how did these flowers survive the Plague? Are they perhaps the antithesis of the Plague?”

I was still worried about the implication of giving her something deadly, but for some reason my brain hung onto the word ‘antithesis of the Plague’. Were the flowers fighting off the Plague somehow?

“How deadly are they?” I asked, my tone more serious now as I stared at her.

She shrugged, a bit more relaxed now. “Deadly within a few hours if ingested. But otherwise, they’re harmless to touch.”

I started pacing around the hallway.

“Perhaps?” I left the word hanging in the air.