Aetherium bubbled away in a rather large and shiny alembic placed upon the table. It had a round base, as most do, and a spout that let the condensate trickle out into another vessel. After forcing a ghost to manifest, it left behind soul residue and aether, or mana. Any impurities could throw off the efficacy of the medicine, or so Cira explained.

The aetherium dust melted into a goopy substance before slowly evaporating, leaving behind an even muckier black tar. Luckily, this could be melted off to clean the instrument afterward, or the opaque vessel would be a nightmare to maintain. Delilah sat on a custom conjured stool Cira made for her before unceremoniously passing out, sprawled out over the plank seats that ran across her (exorcists’) boat after she coaxed them away from it with the promise of drink.

It did not look like a comfortable position. Her legs were leaned over or propped against the side, and most of her weight was supported by her hip and the back of her head on the stern. Still, the look on her face would give the impression she was back on her bed in the Nymphus suite. The ridiculous skull and crossbones hat she wore had fallen off at a point and her golden hair spilled into it.

This left Delilah to gaze impatiently at the hourglass set before her. The red sands fell slowly into the bottom half, and there was literally nothing else to do while she waited. This recipe was as simple as Cira claimed once the ingredients were gathered.

The exorcists were sprawled about on the cold metal platform. Wrapped in their baggy gray cloaks, they took this chance to sleep as well. Before Cira turned in, she had put the last of her barrel of ale in a big bowl for them and conjured cups. They happily drank it as reward for a hard day’s work. Kate had to wait all of twenty seconds before ignoring Cira’s parting words of, “You’re not old enough though, Kate. Here’s some water.” She had of course conjured an unwieldy jug of water for the girl.

“So, what’s got a witch and a pirate working together?” Nanri’s concentration was pulled away from her fabric conjuration by the oldest of Don’s women. She placed her at around that charming woman Rosalie’s age and she had chestnut colored hair.

“My, what makes you think she’s a pirate?” Nanri asked, innocently stumped.

“Are you serious?” The ashen blonde one that seemed to dislike Cira cut in, “She busted into our hideout callin’ herself Captain Dreadheart, ridin’ a goddamn pirate ship! She took Don’s treasure, took everything from him! Her crew’s over a hundred strong in Uru alone. I mean… Look at her!”

She dramatically extended her arm towards Cira, displaying her in all her scurvy glory. Empty glasses lay strewn about the ground and along the sides of her skiff, saber still in hand, hanging over the edge. The tie on her corset had come undone and slid around awkwardly, exposing her belly. Her snores were a vicious riptide.

“She… she did all that, huh?” Nanri gazed at her with something between amazement and concern.

“Damn right she did, so what the hell is she doing with a witch? You tryin’ to tell me she is a witch?!” The feisty one wasn’t having it.

“Well, I’m not so sure about that anymore…” Nanri was no idiot. It wasn’t hard to figure out after the first day, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Her upbringing didn’t afford a lot of freedom, and her family made her the subject of ridicule and bullying. Her peers knew exactly who her prestigious mother and father were and wasted no chance to push her down to make themselves look better.

While Cira was undoubtedly hiding her identy, Nanri somehow couldn’t recall her actually lying to her face. Well, she did tell that guard she was the Hidden Witch once. In short, Nanri had fooled herself on the first day, but Cira had been refreshingly forthright and friendly otherwise. The witches she usually surrounded herself with were secretive and always competed with each other. Peers were enemies, and she was also all her collective peers’ enemy. That’s just how it had always been. She never knew any different.

Meanwhile, the sorcerer was kind, and sharing knowledge put a smile on her face. She did it happily, as if she was glad to have Nanri around as a receptacle. It wasn’t exactly how the young witch wanted to view herself, but she liked to think Cira was having fun as well. For the first time in her life, it felt like the troubled witch had made a friend.

“Then what the hell is she?” The angry one, Jules, derailed Nanri’s thoughts this time, trying to continue her argument.

“Well… She is a sorcerer. That much is certain.” The look on the girls’ faces said it didn’t help them understand, “More importantly, have you given your roles any thought? I’ve almost got the salt linen figured out.”

“Our roles…?” The oldest one, Patricia, looked at the witch curiously.

“Yes, are you three not up to speed yet—or, you four?” She looked at the sponge maidens and Lant, who all shrunk in confusion. “I see… Perhaps this will help you understand. All of Cira’s efforts are in curing the plague.” She pointed at the slumbering Cirina Dreadheart, “We are making the cure as we speak, and exorcists are required to gather an essential ingredient—”

“Hold on!” Lant shouted, “You’re seriously curing it? Like, the whole plague?!”

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“Er, yes, we’re curing the whole plague. Everybody that’s drank the water or eaten the food on this island in… at least the last five years has it, including you.”

Their mouths gaped open as they listened. It was something they’d more or less heard before as Cira berated Don, but they were somehow more receptive to it now. Jules still had something to say though, “So what the hell does that have to do with Don?!”

“From my understanding, he had the bad luck of possessing the substance causing the plague. I’m sure it wasn’t personal.”

They understandably weren’t satisfied with that answer. Before Cira sent Don flying, all who witnessed though she seemed rather offended. There wasn’t anything they could do about it though. They didn’t want to push their luck even further speaking with a bona fied witch, who was clearly close with the young woman in question.

“So, what will it be?” Nanri looked over them inquisitively, “It appears Cira already deemed you an exorcist, but we need one of you girls to join as well.”

Cira had said it would be nice to have one more, and they all heard her, but Nanri didn’t want to leave it so open ended.

“Wh-what does an exorcist do…?” The third sponge maiden was short and timid, if a little top-heavy, with long dark hair. This one introduced herself to Nanri as Sarah.

“You get to dress up like those guys,” She pointed at the snoring cloaks, “and Cira will forge you a blessed weapon to fight ghosts with. Oh, most of them just stand there though, so it’s not too dangerous or anything. Our team of four didn’t encounter a single problem and two more will make it a breeze.”

They looked at her with blank eyes, “Fight ghosts…?” Sarah shivered at the mere thought. So did Lant, but his fate was sealed.

“That’s right. They die in just one hit.”

“They… They die?” Jules was thrown for a loop, “But aren’t they dead?”

“Ahh, right. That’s the important part. You’ll really be helping their souls pass on, leaving just our ingredients behind.”

The three looked at each other and Sarah wasn’t the only one scared at the prospect. Their faces fell into frowns and shared a teary look of fear. Jules however, just looked annoyed, “I’ll do it… These two aren’t cut out for it.”

Patricia and Sarah each took one of her hands with tears in their eyes, “You don’t have to do this!”

“She’s right! Don’t do this, Jules…”

“The witch says one of us has to, and I don’t mind fightin’” She shook their hands off, “I’ll be just fine.”

“That’s great!” Nanri’s bright smile nearly broke Uru’s law, “What weapons do you plan to ask for? I’ll make your armor around that.”

“Gauntlets for me. I fight with my fists.” Lant timidly, yet proudly stated.

“I can’t say I’d want to get that close myself,” Nanri said thoughtfully, “but close quarters it is. I’ll try Cira’s trick and make you something heavier.” She turned her earnest eyes to Jules.

She squinted at the witch for a moment with uncertainty, “A crossbow, I guess.”

“Got it.” She nodded astutely and returned to her work. She still had the staff of salt Cira made her in the Nymph Sanctuary and was getting the hang of the making fabric out of salt. It was essentially chainmail, but with near-imperceptibly small links. It was incredibly tedious for her too. She wasn’t sure if it was anywhere near as strong, and it wasn’t half as smooth as the original articles, but it was almost the same thing.

She spent the next few hours diligently crafting a light rogue-like armor for Jules. It was all white and clung tight to her body with scale-like plates covering her chest and vitals. The hat was the same style as the others though. But white. For Lant, she made a suit of armor with the same platemail but over the entire body, this time with a half-helmet.

Enchanting turned out to be a monotonous task with the borrowed needle she used. Cira had casually pulled it out of her pocket earlier and tossed it at the witch, making her almost dive to keep it from falling down to the salt—a stick of orichalcum that could buy a mansion up at Port if one ignored the absurd enchantments.

It was so easy she found her thoughts drifting off again.

I’ll do it… I’ll definitely ask her tomorrow. If I don’t, I’ll be trapped in Earth Vein’s machine until I’m as old as Mother. Dragging me along would only cause Cira trouble… but I have to follow my heart! Cira herself would admonish me if I didn’t…

Her mother’s disappointed face was well-etched into her mind, and it came to the forefront as she had these thoughts. Her father, of course, an Earth Vein royal, would have a heart attack. It could even affect relations between them and the Nightwing Isles as a whole. Nanri would be branded an outlaw over the entirety of the Gandeux and Mystic Skies put together, maybe further—the high coven could even make efforts for her capture. ‘Something tells me that for you, Nanri, the path to true sorcery would be a treacherous one.’ Cira’s will certainly prove true…

That’s not my problem, though. I never asked for this. To study abroad, to come here of all places. Nobody ever cared what I wanted to do. Not a single time. But Cira said I shouldn’t listen to any of them. That I should only strive to do what I truly want to, deep in my heart.

So how can I not ask to join her on her travels? Even if she rejects me… Even if it turns out I’ve been a fool this whole time, I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t try. Nanri clenched her fists, having made up her mind.

The enchantments on what would become the two new exorcist’s armor were now complete. She imagined Cira would do something to them with blessed silver when she awoke, so she let out a yawn and stood up to stretch her legs. Looking across the way at the litany of Earth Vein employees, she noticed they were the only ones left awake aside from her. The sun had likely risen outside and everyone in Cira’s wake was worn out.

Walking over to Delilah, she noticed the hourglass before her still had a great deal of time left. The girl, however, had fallen asleep with her face planted on the table. Judging by when it started… there must be half a day left in there.

Nanri looked around a couple times, wearily dragging her eyes between all those who’d long-since began their slumber. Nine, ten… eleven, twelve… Wait, I forgot to ask Cira who those two were. They fell asleep so quickly.

It was generally ill-advised to let alchemical processes stew overnight, especially distillation or anything that involved heat. Minute changes in environment or even an anomaly within the ingredient could make things go awry. Somehow, the witch didn’t think Cira would bother caring about such a thing though.

After another powerful yawn crept its way out, Nanri knew sleep was calling to her as well. Taking the scrap salt-linen she crafted earlier, she threw them over herself as a blanket and leaned against the outside of their skiff, just outside of Cira’s reach in case she waved that sword around in her sleep. They were just far away enough from the rest of the plague ward to where only the trickling of water could be heard.

With the wooden hull against her back, Nanri drifted away with the rest.