[Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity.] — Hippocrates

“Was he the only one?” Tariq asked. “Was he the only spy?”

“It seems so. At least he operated alone,” Azar replied.

“Traitor,” Khaleb spat angrily. “What kind of man betrays his own blood, ancestors, and descendants? And for what?”

“For money and empty promises,” Azar answered, even though Khaleb’s question wasn’t directed at him but was more of a general outburst. “You might not have noticed, but he’s wearing a gold bracelet, even though it’s poorly made. His wife also has a few pieces of sparkling jewelry. Probably failed products that any respectable person wouldn’t even glance at. I for one won't.”

“Failed products?” Tariq asked, removing the bracelet from the dead man’s wrist. “What do you mean by that? This is pure gold,” he said after examining it closely.

“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure,” Azar replied, shrugging, knowing he couldn’t change the way of the world. “For you, because you’re poor, this might be valuable. But for the rich in the kingdoms, this is just trash. They would be a laughingstock if they wore such things.”

“How do you know that?” Khaleb asked. “Things might’ve been different in your time. The world isn’t the same now as it was back then.”

Azar raised an eyebrow, amazed by the limited view and understanding his descendants had. “No matter the era, the taste for fine goods remains unchanged, even if the designs evolve. To prove my point, that bomb,” he said, pointing to the small ball on the table, “is worth more than the bracelet.”

Tariq and Khaleb exchanged glances. It was hard to believe Azar’s words. Could a single handmade item really be worth more than a pure gold bracelet? Meanwhile, Kaira turned a blind eye and deaf ear to the conversation after hearing that there were people who treated gold with such indifference.

To her, as a woman, it was an honor to wear valuable jewelry, but she had none other than the golden ring passed down from her mother. A ring that had been passed from mother to daughter for generations.

'Master, Jarah has finished the potion,' Araumir communicated the report received from the shadow folk standing watch.

Azar nodded. It was time to see if Mohul was lucky enough to live another day.

“Now, why don’t you go deal with the mess outside while I wait for Jarah and see if we can save Mohul from leaving this world prematurely,” Azar said to those before him, motioning for them to get to work as he passed by, heading to Mohul’s resting room.

Mohul lay motionless on the cot, his skin pale and clammy, drenched in sweat as his body battled the poison coursing through his veins. His chest rose and fell with shallow, labored breaths, each exhale a strained effort.

His wife, Samira, stood by his side, diligently wiping his face and chest with a damp cloth. Seeing someone enter the room, she stood up, bowing her head respectfully at the sight of Azar and Araumir.

“Miss Samira,” Azar greeted her, bowing his head slightly.

“Azar Syed, you’ve come to check on my husband?” Samira asked.

Azar nodded. “How is he?”

“With my limited knowledge, he seems to be better after your and Araumir Syed’s help,” Samira replied humbly.

“He will feel much better once Jarah arrives with the medicine,” Azar said confidently.

“Azar Syed, will my husband truly recover from this? Can he really be cured? Please, be honest with me. I’d rather face the harsh truth than hide behind pleasant lies.”

“I was telling the truth,” Azar confirmed. “I’m confident in the effects of the potion. You have nothing to worry about.”

Samira smiled gently, blinking slowly as she nodded, accepting Azar’s words.

At that moment, another figure appeared at the door—it was Jarah, the healer. Clutching the vial of potion tightly in one hand, he gasped for air, breathless from his race to get here.

“Azar Syed, it’s done,” Jarah announced as soon as he saw Azar. “I made it.”

Samira nodded in acknowledgment towards Jarah, even though the man was too excited to notice her. It was disrespectful of him not to greet the chief’s wife, but Samira wasn’t an arrogant woman. She understood that the man meant no disrespect; he was simply overwhelmed by his success.

“Well done,” Azar praised Jarah. “Help him up,” he instructed Araumir after taking the vial of warm potion from Jarah’s trembling hand.

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Araumir moved with precision, carefully lifting Mohul’s head as Azar prepared to administer the potion. The liquid, a deep shade of purple tinged with gold, glistened as it slid down Mohul’s throat—a thick and viscous substance that seemed almost alive. As the potion entered his body, it began its work almost immediately.

Mohul’s eyelids fluttered, his face contorting into a grimace as the potion took hold. His veins, once pale and barely visible beneath his skin, darkened suddenly, as if the liquid was coursing through them with an unnatural force.

The sickly pallor of Mohul’s skin began to shift, taking on a faint greenish hue as the flux of the medicine engaged in its fierce battle against the poison. His body twitched involuntarily, muscles spasming as the potion sought out the toxins, expelling them through black beads of sweat that surfaced on his skin.

A low, guttural sound escaped Mohul’s lips, a mix of pain and relief as the potion did its work. His body arched off the bed, only to collapse back down with a heavy thud, his breaths now coming in rapid, shallow gasps.

“What’s happening?” Samira yelled, rushing to help her husband, only to be stopped by Araumir’s firm hand.

The room seemed to hum with energy, the air around Mohul crackling as the potion spread through every fiber of his being—purging the poison from his blood, cleansing his organs, and mending the damage inflicted upon him.

Sweat poured from Mohul’s body in rivulets, soaking the linens beneath him. Azar watched closely, his eyes never leaving Mohul's face, his hands ready to intervene should the effects of the potion become too much for him to bear. But he knew this was necessary—that the pain Mohul felt now was the price of his survival.

Minutes passed, each one feeling like an eternity, until finally, Mohul’s breathing began to steady. His skin, which had taken on that unnatural hue, slowly returned to its normal color, the darkened veins fading back into obscurity. The tension in his muscles eased, his body sinking into the cot as the potion finished its work. His face, once twisted in agony, softened, and his breathing became deeper and more rhythmic.

Azar sighed in relief, wiping his brow as he observed the changes. Mohul was still unconscious, but the danger seemed to have passed. The medicine had done its job, purging most of the poison and stabilizing his condition. Now, it was up to Mohul to recover, to regain his strength, and to overcome the trauma his body had endured.

The room was quiet again, save for the soft crackle of the oil lamp and the gentle sound of Mohul's now peaceful breathing. Samira stepped back, her hands trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment. From Azar's face, she could tell that the battle wasn't over, but for now, the tide had turned in their favor.

"The potion is a success," Azar confirmed what everyone had been hoping to hear. "How many vials have you obtained?" he asked Jarah.

"T-three," Jarah replied, alternating his gaze between Azar and Samira.

"Good," Azar nodded. "Administer them once every eight hours. The poison isn’t fully subdued yet, but Mohul is out of immediate danger."

"Yes, I will do as you say," Jarah replied, glancing out the window at the sun's position to estimate the time. He could see it on the fluxolit, but old habits died hard.

"Thank you," Samira approached Azar as he stood up. "Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Ancestor or not, you are this tribe's savior."

Azar smiled wryly. "Make sure you change everything that has been touched by your husband's sweat. Burn them outside the camp if you don’t want to risk everyone’s lives. I'm not sure if you have enough ingredients to concoct potions for everyone."

"I will change them immediately," Samira said, showing everyone out before she went to summon the women to help her.

The Mirha tribe was busier than ever, especially now as they dealt with the aftermath of the explosions and the news of the traitor. Azar and Araumir didn’t bother with the rumors circulating among the tribesmen or the people trying to curry favor with them. They walked in silence outside the settlement, seeking both silence and privacy.

"What will we focus on now?" Araumir asked, remaining standing. "You took on the responsibility of preparing a place for the Sarabi tribe to move closer. But after this incident, are you still planning to do it?"

"Not without the means to cleanse the tribes of all impurities," Azar replied. "You will set out for the Calabi tomorrow. I want you to search for a suitable place for the Sarabians to move to along the way. If you can't find a place on your own, I want the Calabi tribe to help you. They will be in charge of helping the Sarabians settle down after all. Also, I want you to convey a message to Surumadur. I want every resource directed toward finding at least one truth crystal. You can contact Yusuf as well."

"A truth crystal?" Araumir repeated. "Do you want to make the Heart-Revealing Crystal? Do you think that’s still possible?"

"I don’t believe the world has changed so much since my departure that even the laws governing this planet have altered. Crystals are created by the planet itself, collecting environmental flux for centuries. You just have to find a deep enough hole or fissure in the sand and dive into it. With a bit of luck, you can find the crystals we need. But be cautious of the creatures lurking underground; some of them might still be able to feed on the energy of those crystals," Azar instructed.

Araumir gave a wry smile. He had his wings to rely on, yes, but diving alone into the depths of the desert wasn't a wise move, especially since he didn’t possess the power he once had.

"Wouldn’t it be better if I visited the tribes? Maybe they have kept such crystals as legacies or something. You should know, master, that even I can die if I encounter one of those Catastrophe rank beasts underground," Araumir voiced his concern.

"You can try it your way," Azar conceded, aware of the danger Araumir might face if he followed his method. "I honestly don’t believe the people around here have the knowledge or power to keep such crystals for themselves, especially since the truth crystals i need are at least half a human’s size. Only the truth crystals of this size can be used by multiple people and cleanse themselves of the remnants of energy from the previous use. But even if the tribes don’t have one, they might know the location of a mine," Azar suggested.

"How much time do I have?" Araumir asked, knowing his master wouldn’t wait for the truth crystal indefinitely.

"The sooner, the better," Azar replied. "But if you can't find any within a month, I'll have to come up with another solution to the problem of moles among my allies."

"I understand," Araumir agreed. "But, master, what will you do if I’m gone for a month? If someone attacks the Mirha, or worse, targets you, there will be no one to protect you."

"I'll set up some defenses. I must take the risk regardless," Azar said seriously. "Life only rewards those who are willing to take risks; it never benefits those who hide behind someone else’s mantle. At this moment, only you are capable of bringing me what I need to lay the foundation of my organization. If I restrict your movements out of fear for my safety, we will fall too far behind our enemies, and the hope of creating a foothold for us in this world will remain just a thought."