Ethan sat in his study, a freshly delivered parchment in hand. His eyes scanned the detailed information about the [Necromancer] Jack had identified. As he read, he absently stroked the feathers of an undead raven perched on his desk, its hollow eye sockets staring blankly ahead.

“Thornhaven, eh?” Ethan mused aloud. “Clever choice for a hideout, I’ll give him that.”

He continued reading, taking note of the [Necromancer]’s description. The mention of animated corpses made him frown. This Malakai was clearly no amateur. He would need to approach this situation with caution.

After reading, Ethan reached for a quill and a fresh piece of parchment. He penned a quick reply:

> “Jack,

>

> Message received. I’ll handle the [Necromancer] situation personally. Expect news within the week.

>

> Keep me updated on your progress with the new illness.

>

> - Lord Theodore”

Ethan rolled up the parchment and secured it to the undead raven’s leg. With a gentle nudge, he sent the bird off, watching as it flew out the window.

With that task complete, Ethan stood and stretched. Despite the pressing matters at hand, he knew the importance of maintaining his routine. He moved to the garden, closing his eyes as he began his daily magical exercises.

Ethan focused on honing his control over the elements for the next hour. He conjured small flames, manipulated water, and created gusts of wind, all while maintaining precise control. The practice left him feeling exhausted. But he wasn’t done. Next came physical training. Ethan went through a series of stretches and bodyweight exercises, then he moved on to practicing his [Swordsmanship].

Finally, Ethan settled for some rune mote creation. He found the process meditative, allowing his mind to wander as his hands worked almost automatically. As he crafted the tiny magical constructs, he got lost in thought—the [Necromancer], the mysterious illness, and the looming political tensions.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Roland entered with a slight bow.

“My lord,” Roland said. “Lord Montague has arrived.”

Ethan set aside his rune mote work, taking a deep breath to center himself.

“Very well,” Ethan replied, standing and straightening his robes. “Let’s not keep our esteemed guest waiting.”

As he followed Roland out of the study, Ethan’s mind was already racing, preparing for the negotiations.

***

Jack turned his attention to a sample of heart tissue from one of the deceased victims.

What he saw chilled him to the bone. The muscle fibers were riddled with crystal structures, far more advanced than those he’d observed elsewhere in the body. They had integrated themselves into the very tissue of the heart, forming a grotesque symbiosis.

“Gods above,” Jack whispered. “They’re not just using the heart as a breeding ground. They’re... transforming it.”

If his suspicions were correct, the crystals were attempting to remake the heart in their own image. But to what end? What could possibly be gained by such a drastic alteration of human physiology which resulted in the death of the infected?

Jack leaned back, his mind reeling. He had more questions now than when he’d started, and the path to a cure seemed more distant than ever. How could he combat an organism so thoroughly integrated itself into its host? How could he prevent the initial infection when he didn’t even know how it occurred?

With a heavy sigh, Jack turned back to his notes. People were dying, and every moment he spent in despair was a moment wasted.

First, he needed to develop a reliable method of early detection. If they could identify infected individuals before the crystals activated, they might have a chance at intervention.

Next, he would need to find a way to neutralize the crystals without harming the host. This would require a deep understanding of their structure and behavior. Perhaps there was a way to disrupt their absorption or interfere with their reproductive cycle.

Finally, and perhaps most crucially, Jack needed to identify the source of the infection. Was it spreading through water? Food? The very air they breathed? Without this knowledge, any cure they developed would be little more than a stopgap measure.

“I need more samples.”

He noticed something strange in one of the tissue samples he’d been examining earlier. The crystals seemed to be... changing color?

Jack quickly adjusted his spell, focusing intently on the sample. Yes, there it was—a subtle shift from clear to a faint bluish tinge. And as he watched, the color deepened, becoming a rich, sapphire blue.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“What in the world...?” Jack breathed, fascinated despite himself.

As he watched, he saw something that made his jaw drop.

The surrounding tissue was regenerating.

Where before the heart muscle had been damaged and decaying, now it seemed to be knitting itself back together. The blue crystals appeared to be facilitating this healing process, somehow stimulating the body’s natural regenerative abilities.

He quickly began examining other samples, looking for similar changes. In most cases, the crystals remained clear and destructive. But in a few—a very few—he found more of the blue, regenerative crystals.

If they could find a way to trigger this transformation consistently, they might be able to turn the disease into a cure. The potential applications were staggering—rapid healing, organ regeneration, perhaps even extended lifespans.

But as Jack’s excitement grew, a nagging doubt crept into his mind. What if this apparent “healing” was just another stage of the infection? What if it was preparing the body for some even more drastic change?

He thought back to the reports of strange behavior in some of the survivors. Increased strength and stamina, heightened senses, but also mood swings and personality changes. Could these be side effects of the blue crystals’ influence?

Jack made a note to request more detailed observations of the survivors. He needed to know if there were any long-term effects of the infection, even in those who seemed to have recovered.

He sat there, wondering, debating whether he should send another letter to Lord Theodore to make sure about one certain thing.

That book... Hmm... Maybe it can help with this?

***

> “Lord Theodore,

>

> Check Malakai for a book. Small, leather-bound. Could be crucial. I’m almost certain it will help us with this disease.

>

> - Jack”

Putting away the small letter he’d received, Ethan drummed his fingers in a nervous rhythm on the armrest of his chair. Suddenly, the door flew open and Baron Montague strode in. Tall and lean, with a shock of white hair. His face was a roadmap of wrinkles. But it was his eyes that caught Ethan’s attention—sharp and piercing. Like a predator eying its prey.

“Ho there, young Lockheart!” Montague boomed, his voice filling the room. “Don’t you look like a cat waiting for the butcher’s cleaver to fall!”

The old man’s laughter was infectious—a deep, hearty sound that seemed to originate from his very soul. He lowered himself into the chair opposite him.

“Baron Montague,” Ethan said, inclining his head respectfully. “I trust your journey wasn’t too taxing?”

The older man waved his hand dismissively. “Bah, nothing these old bones can’t handle. Though I must say, the road to Holden was bumpy, then there’s the rivers. I couldn’t be bothered to erect any earthen structures, and erecting any without proper knowledge would only destroy the rivers. Thus, detours. All in all, you might want to look into that, boy. From a professional.”

Ethan nodded, making a mental note. He’d already thought of that. Well, finally I’d put my engineering skills to some bridges. He should his head. “I’ll see to it. How fares Montague territory? I hope the recent troubles haven’t affected you too severely.”

“Oh, we manage,” Montague replied, his tone growing slightly more serious. “But I hear of a spreading sickness in these parts. What news on that front?”

Ethan’s brow furrowed as he considered his response. “It’s... concerning,” he admitted. “We’re dealing with something we’ve never encountered before. My best people are working around the clock to understand and combat it.”

“Hmm,” Montague hummed thoughtfully. “A noble effort, for sure. Very well, as a show of good faith and support, I’ll order some of my finest physicians and [Healers] to Holden. Extra hands can’t hurt, eh?”

“That’s incredibly generous, Baron,” Ethan said, genuinely thankful. “Thank you.”

Montague waved away the gratitude. “Think nothing of it, lad. Now, onto lighter topics. This soap business of yours—quite the talk of the trade routes, I must say. How did you stumble upon such an enterprising venture?”

Ethan leaned back, a small smile playing on his lips. “Necessity, as they say, is the mother of invention. I found the current offerings in the market to be overpriced and of poor quality. I knew I could do better, so I set out to prove it.”

“Ha!” Montague barked. “A noble goal, indeed. But tell me, young Lockheart, have you considered the finer points of the market?”

Ethan’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Montague leaned forward, his eyes glinting. “You’re selling your soap at the same price everywhere, are you not? That’s a rookie mistake, boy. You need to divide your market, adjust your pricing based on location, customer base, perceived value. It’s business; treat it as such!”

Ethan listened quietly, then smiled. “With all due respect, Baron, I must disagree. While I’m certainly in this for profit, I also genuinely want to improve people’s lives. Affordable, quality soap shouldn’t be a luxury.”

Montague stared at him for a long moment. “Oh, you dumb lad,” he said, shaking his head. “Sure, sure. Keep your ideals. We’ll see how long they last in the cutthroat world of commerce.”

The conversation flowed easily after that, touching on various topics. Finally, Montague leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Now, young Lockheart, I have a proposition for you. I could be an investor, distributor, and mass-producer for your soap enterprise. I have but two requirements off the top of my head.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “And those would be?”

“First,” Montague said, his tone suddenly businesslike, “I would require exclusive rights as the sole contractor for production and distribution outside of Holden territory.”

Ethan almost choked. What the fuck? Has this old man gone senile? Surely. Refraining his eye from twitching, e opened his mouth to protest, but Montague held up a hand.

“Now, now, hear me out. My extensive network and resources could expand your reach tenfold. Think of the potential.”

Ethan shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “With all due respect, Baron, that would be akin to sawing off the branch I’m sitting on. I’d be handing over control of my entire operation.”

Montague’s serious expression cracked, and he let out a belly laugh. “Oh ho! So there are some brains behind that idealistic facade after all! Well done, lad. I was merely testing the waters, so to speak.”

Ethan’s lip twitched in amusement. He wasn’t so convinced. The old man was surely trying to get him to agree; Ethan denied it, and now he shamelessly changed his narrative. “And the second requirement?”

The older man’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Ah yes, the real requirement. It’s quite simple, really.”

Ethan leaned forward. “I’m listening.”

Montague paused dramatically, clearly enjoying the moment. “What I require is—”

Suddenly, the door burst open, cutting off Montague mid-sentence. Roland stood in the doorway, his face pale and his breath coming in short gasps.

“My lord,” he panted, “you must come quickly. There’s been an... incident in the town square.”