Chapter 10 - Bitter Opportunity

It was in a hurry that both Dominic and Trakia moved. The [Priestess] surged forwards, perfectly balanced in her mismatched legs, and Dominic followed soon after the shock faded away from his system.

“Why is she not breathing?”

Trakia shouted at him, searching for answers someone of his Level, Class, or education did not have to give. The [Death Doctor] approached Celike with a firm grip on his cane, fingers white as he held the metallic head.

Two fingers were stretched forward, touching that same spot beneath the Imp woman’s jaw, and Dominic took a second to feel the waning pulse. It was slowing down, like when you held your breath and could feel the lowering pressure of your blood flow in your ears.

Dominic took his hand back, gripping his new clothes – a set of beige robes that fell to his shins, tied by a belt he suspected was made of Nightmare leather – with shaky hands. His thoughts sped up, fighting against the sudden fear gripping his heart, and the [Death Doctor] tried to remember his own set of System-given abilities.

He called for one of the prompts.

[Spare the Dying]

Hold on for a moment longer.

One of the spells the System granted him along with his Class, and one of the few of his newfound powers Dominic had yet to use. He wished the necessity had come at a later date.

The small explanation was not enough to stop Dominic, who latched onto the name and its possible meaning with all the hope he could find within. It had to help.

“Try to find out what’s happening! [Spare the Dying]!”

The [Death Doctor] barked the order at the same time he felt his mana wane a little, the spell working differently from [False Life] and taking the necessary fuel without his prompt.

Its sudden glow came from his open palm like a flashlight beam, Dominic holding his hand out toward Celike’s chest and feeling the eldritch conversion of that intangible energy within his body into the Spell’s effects. The [Cobbler]’s breath didn’t resume.

Dominic couldn’t tell if it was because the spell didn’t work that way, but he could feel that gray light taking effect on the woman’s body – it just wasn’t making her better. And his mana continued to dwindle with every passing second.

Trakia, in her end, had been hovering on top of the woman’s face and using her own skills to try and assist at the same time her hands tenderly touched Celike’s snout and mouth – the [Priestess] seemed to replicate Dominic’s attempt at a diagnosis, checking the woman’s throat and burnt nostrils for any clue of what was happening.

“I can’t see what’s wrong, Dominic! [Easy Breathing]! [Incense: Soiran Snowbranch]!”

A stick of already burning incense appeared on Trakia’s claw at the same time Celike’s body convulsed as the Skill made her take a deep breath against her will.

The thin stick of incense was as white as snow, the ember on its tip glowing an unnatural blue as Trakia guided the smoke towards Celike’s snout with circular movements of her hands. Dominic, kneeled beside the [Cobbler] and with hands that still shone that gray light, felt the freezing cold that came from the clear white incense smoke.

It made his arm’s hair stand on end, the temperature plummeting in the tent with the strength of the Skill. He risked a glance at the effects and watched with wide eyes as the smoke chilled Celike to the point of turning her lips a new shade of purple.

“Stop, Trakia! You’re going to freeze her, for God’s sake!”

“I need to lower her temperature! It’s the disease!”

The [Death Doctor] shook his head. His mana was halfway to the end and Dominic was about to change the [Spare the Dying] spell for [False Life]. He only hoped the intangible barrier would work on handling whatever was going on.

Still, his eyes turned to Trakia and he held in the urge to shout, lowering his voice to try and explain rationally.

“If you keep using that her body won’t be able to handle the change of temperature. You need to make her breathe! [False Life]!”

The spell gave him that same silent question, searching for the quiet permission of how much power it could take. Dominic gave it a quarter of his total mana without a second thought.

The sudden light gray shine stopped glowing from his open palm and turned into a mote of light, a tiny will-o’-wisp that slowly traveled the distance between his hand and Celike’s chest until it opened up like a blanket as it reached her skin. The spell took effect immediately – gray magic glowing from the woman’s pink skin.

Trakia, in the meantime, bit her lower lip in consternation as Dominic’s words sunk in. Her [Incense] Skill felt useless now that she had heard the man’s warning, so it was with a reluctant movement that she lowered her arm and dismissed the freezing smoke – the white plumes melting in the air at the same time the stick broke down onto cold ashes in her hand. Instead, the [Priestess] focused on her other skill, casting it as many times as she could.

“[Easy Breathing]. [Easy Breathing]. [Easy Breathing]...”

The [Cobbler] convulsed with every casting, her chest heaving with a jerk every time the Skill took effect. It reminded Dominic of a defibrillator’s shock, but instead of jerking the heart back into motion, it forced the lungs to artificially expand and contract.

Still, the [Death Doctor] took the few seconds granted by Trakia’s skill to check on his [False Life] spell – and what he noticed made his face turn sour. Something was eating at the protection. The phantasmagorical vigor was fighting something, being spent in a similar way as to when the White Stalker struck Dominic with its tail.

The [Death Doctor] just couldn’t tell if it was the disease, the sudden crisis, or something else that was eating at his spell.

It was, once again, the silence that pulled Dominic out of his musings. He turned his face towards Trakia and saw the Elder Imp billowing smoke out of her mouth like a chain smoker – increasing the volume already present in the air before waving an empty hand like a maestro, drawing patterns on the billowing smog.

Her silence made his temper surge.

“Why aren’t you using your skill?!”

Dominic’s voice snaps in the air, dragging Trakia’s attention to him as she finishes moving her hands. The Imp’s eyes have begun to shine once more, not as brightly as when her temper flares – but the orange glow of burning embers, an apparent consequence of her magic and skills.

She answered with a snap of her own words.

“My Skill is tapped out. I’m calling the other [Healers]!”

“And will they be able to help?”

“I don’t know! Sun almighty, I. Don’t. Know!”

Dominic can feel the heat in her words, a little more used to the magical inflection of Trakia’s voice whenever her tempers come forward. The [Death Doctor], however, has some anger of his own to wield – and the building frustration of nothing working mixes with that small rage.

“Then you better learn fast! Celike – Celike has minutes only. We need to make her breathe or her brain will die.”

Dominic stared at the [Cobbler], pained eyes watching her still face and chest, worry for the babies clawing at his awareness. She wasn’t breathing. Trakia’s SKill, as effective as it was, didn’t seem to last long – and it was unable to sustain the body.

The [Death Doctor] only stopped when he remembered something – and praised the Lord Almighty for paying attention to the explanations of that first-aid course he had taken.

If whatever it was that kept on blocking Celike’s breathing was mechanical, a solid barrier in her airways, then maybe the same assistance one should give to a drowning person could work.

Dominic moved quickly after the dots connected, bending his body so that his mouth aligned with Celike’s own, and began to blow his breath inside her open mouth.

It was a myth that you had to kiss someone when trying to perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. In fact, all one was required to do was breathe into the body’s lungs and poison them with carbon dioxide – causing the brain to forcefully move the lungs regardless of whatever was inside them.

And Dominic tried to perform the same motions as he had been taught, following hazy instructions he half-remembered.

And still, nothing happened.

Nothing seemed to hear his silent prayers. Neither God nor the System – and Dominic Jones tried for as long as he could, only stopping when he felt the blessing of phantasmagorical vigor wane completely.

***

Trakia, Daughter of Mikalia, watched with burning confusion as Dominic seemed to almost kiss Celike’s sleeping form. When the [Death Doctor] began to blow into her mouth, her expression turned to one of abject confusion.

And then sadness. Part of her understood that whatever it was that the human man was attempting to do – the tight grip on the wooden cane he used telling her more than he might be willing to share – it wasn’t working.

The moment Dominic’s spell stopped shining – that gray light, so similar to the color of his hair, waning completely – the [Death Doctor] stared at her with building despair. A reflection of her own feelings, though hers were slowly being burned as fuel for her [Fuming Soul].

“How long until the [Healers] arrive?”

Dominic’s choked words made Trakia shake her head, dismissing her sudden thoughts, and she felt her eyes warm a little as her [Solar Gaze] activated. Through the cloth walls sewn by Linkri and her [Apprentices], the [Priestess] watched the burning embers that were the life of Kiringar’s inhabitants.

Her smoke guided her sight, enveloping the shapes of those working here at the camp at the same time it permeated every sleeping patient and inanimate object. Through the haze, she could feel all – but Trakia was looking for only three.

One was close by, and it would take only seconds for Merino to arrive here – the shape of the [Apothecary]’s goggles serving as a dead giveaway to her expanded sense of touch.

Another had been far at the edge of the camp – Iaakis’s body easily recognizable by the hair she refused to shave like all other Imps, rising in a black mohawk that grew between her two horns. Trakia had chosen to call the [Bone Mender] due to her insight on anatomy, her very Class needing a large degree of understanding on how the bodies she healed worked – even if the woman spent more time fixing Nightmare-made armor than healing bones – but she doubted the girl would have the skills to help.

The third one had been farther from the camp than the other two healers, having already spent himself to the brink of exhaustion during the day. Calling for him had been a long shot, more of a desperate measure than anything else since unlike the young ones, Orieke had the age and status to deny her as he wished.

He wouldn’t do it without a reason, of course, but it was important for Trakia to remember that – especially after she gave so much of her emotions to [Fuming Soul], expanding her own power to keep the camp running and still be a functional woman.

Still, Orieke had apparently answered her calling, and it was not due to some odd characteristic that the [Priestess] knew he was coming. In fact, Orieke was a fairly unimpressive Imp if you were to judge him by appearance – though if you told that to him you’d wake up with a smell so foul your neighbors would call you a walking corpse. So no, it wasn’t due to his appearance that Trakia knew – but because it was hard not to notice the small cloud of sweet-smelling air shoving her smoke away as it passed through the streets.

Was he in there? Traveling with his perfume like an elemental of rosy air? No. That was not it. Trakia’s [Solar Gaze] allowed her to see the burning ember of their pride – and the Orieke’s high-leveled constitution had shifted everything about him.

His ember was a plume of air, pride in the shape of a gas and permeating his entire body. He was the cloud.

Trakia turned her head and looked at the other two once more. Iaakis’s ember was a simple one, shining brightly with stubbornness and defiance – the same girl that chooses every day to question their culture. Merino’s was more muted, and she knew the [Apothecary] only shone brightly when performing his craft.

Vyraka had done a lot to the boy during his apprenticeship, the [Botanist] fully believing pride was the end of many an Imp – and she had culled Merino’s personal one with words and deeds that lasted years. A witch of a woman, her aunt had been, if not in Class, then in temper.

The [Priestess] watched Merino’s approach when she remembered Dominic’s previous question. Her Skill faded from her eyes, vision returning to normal as she rubbed her eyes to relieve the bright spots of impossible colors from her retinas. It was not so different from staring into the light.

“Merino’s on his way – and I’ve called others as well. But they are not suited for this.”

Trakia spoke honestly, though her words still snapped with the remaining anger of her skill. Dominic, for his credit, did not seem to flinch from her tone – suddenly too focused on Celike’s body.

The [Death Doctor] closed his eyes, and seemed to reach a conclusion – or, at least, to finally decide something. He turned towards Trakia with a conviction unbefitting someone of his level, but that the [Priestess] had found in the eyes of the other Elders during the Council meetings. The stubbornness of age.

“We have to save her. We must… I’ll try something else. Just don’t freak out, alright?”

Dominic didn’t even give Trakia the time to scoff at the idea of anything he could ever do freaking her out. The [Appraisal] she had cast earlier showed the man was nothing but a [Death Doctor] – and even if the basic spell showed her nothing but his Class, the [Priestess] had learned to read the signs of a high-leveled person.

There was a pressure to them that Dominic did not have. In fact, the man was as lackluster as any child who just got access to the Voice.

And yet, when he pushed his entire arm into Celike’s chest like some intangible monster, Trakia did take a step back. The man had turned a translucent shade of gray, a measly outline that soon followed into the [Cobbler] until all there was left was the wooden cane resting on the ground.

***

Dominic had been hoping it wouldn’t come to this.

Oh, he would have shown his ghostly capabilities if it came to it – a thought he had early on, knowing that the information he could gain by possessing Celike could very well be invaluable in treating her – but the [Death Doctor] also knew there would be explanations to give if he showed his abilities.

He had hesitated to tell Trakia what he could do – and after discovering the lengths she was willing to go to ensure her ideals, Dominic’s hesitation grew exponentially.

But Celike’s life was more important than the consequences of his secrets, and if there was a chance to help her – to save her and her child – who was he to deny that?

Save the youth. Dominic could almost hear the words whispering in the wind, an echo of a commitment he had made long ago. It was his task and burden, one that he chose for himself in his own selfishness, but that guided his actions for decades.

And he wouldn’t stop now. Not because the world had turned upside down and magic was now commonplace. Not because screens were floating in front of his eyes and there were mystical creatures he could talk to.

Wasn't he a [Death Doctor]? It was his Class to assist those at the brink, to save them and guide them towards life, and – despite the scary name – Dominic couldn’t help but know that it suited him. That it was a job he could see himself doing with satisfaction.

So, yes. Dominic Jones threw his hesitation out the window and chose to throw in his last die. Thankfully, despite the decision being made, he still had the mind to warn Trakia of what he’d do.

Well, it was half a warning – and considering the sudden red exclamation point that appeared at the corner of his sight, Dominic could already tell his actions had further consequences. It didn’t matter. He was already in.

Celike was more uncomfortable than Kurian had been, perhaps due to the fairly crowded interior due to the twins he discovered inside her womb, using that odd awareness that came with his possession. Not only that, but the woman was warm – and it was that uncomfortable heat of clammy bodies pressed together, the scorching touch of skin that had stood under the sun for too long.

It made him want to leave almost immediately, but Dominic endured by distracting himself with what he could learn about Celike and the Ashen Lungs. And that was a lot.

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His awareness turned to the Imp’s biology, slowly ticking the similarities between the [Cobbler] and Kurian. The two hearts were one of the greatest differences between the Imps and what Dominic had learned decades before in biology class.

The organs were smaller than one would expect, the size of half a fist, and they pumped vigorously side by side. They rested in between the lungs – the same place he knew his own human heart was… or had been.

He needed to check on that later. Nevertheless, his sudden expanded awareness allowed Dominic to absorb much in just an instant – and the [Death Doctor] used that second of influx to learn it all.

One of the hearts, the left one, seemed to have a special artery that pumped upwards towards the brain and branched at the shoulder to bring oxygen to the arms – after going past the lungs, of course. The other heart, sitting on the right, had fewer pathways for blood to flow out – a single artery that branched widely as it grew downwards, especially at the waist.

Ah. Dominic learned what it was doing as he stopped the sudden influx to process the knowledge. It was sending blood to the wings.

Wings and legs – though the veins and arteries he could see on the lower limbs were thinner than their topmost counterparts. A less developed biology? He… couldn’t tell – but the Imp’s legs were their smallest limbs, so maybe it was just an economic design.

Was that how biology worked? The [Death Doctor] was fairly certain he had learned a little about ‘evolutionary advantages’ so maybe it was just the better configuration.

He would have to see other bodies to be certain. Not that he was eager to do that, of course – Dominic preferred very much to not have his brain scrambled by his abilities – but he didn’t know another way of answering the question that involved such an approach. Unless he began to study dead bodies, which he wouldn’t do.

Not now and not ever, thank you very much.

There were other veins and arteries of great importance as well. A bundle of them was tied around the womb for example, feeding both the babies and the organ they were in. Part of Dominic turned curious if such a configuration was exclusive to the female Imps or if the male ones had a similar branching on their biologies – he hadn’t paid that much attention when inhabiting Kurian, and like most of the knowledge of that day he had not focused on, it had disappeared as soon as he left the body.

Another large pair of veins and arteries branched all over the Imp’s stomach and intestines, irrigating the process of digestion and the auxiliary organs.

But none of that helped, did it? He had been stalling for time – and it was difficult to turn his metaphysical eyes towards the afflicted lungs, all burnt flesh and scarred tissue.

It was an ugly sight, the Ashen Lungs – and this close to the area where the disease called home, Dominic could better understand how it gained its name. Blackened spots grew like an infection, turning the tissue brittle and making the soot it produced pool at the bottom of the lungs.

A tree of specific tissue, housed inside organs, had wilted sadly under the effects of the disease – branches torn and others sagging in twisted, unhealthy ways as the heat deformed them. Even the arteries and veins that connected hearts to lungs were not unharmed, many transporting heated blood through the wounded canals.

The sight, however, prompted a larger question to Dominic. One that he had to look further closer to the head to confirm, a suspicion that left him worried.

There. There it was. A confirmation that made him shiver in his incorporeal state. The throat was still unharmed.

Dominic watched in silence at the healthy area, one that he had checked before and fully believed meant Celike still had much more time to live and possibly fight the disease. He just hadn’t expected the Ashen Lungs to spread both downwards and upwards at the same time.

Snout and lungs were equally affected, both buckling under the disease. A sad fact that Dominic couldn’t have known about, but that still hurt. He… struggled to keep his emotions for later, but the incorporeal state of his eyes – unable to produce the tears he knew would threaten to spill had he been in physical form – helped much.

The [Death Doctor] willed his focus to remain in the situation at hand. Celike’s lungs were badly harmed and so were her superior aerial ways. And Dominic could easily file that as the reason why she stopped breathing – the battered organs seemed so wounded that every minuscule movement must have been utter agony. But it still didn’t explain why her condition worsened so quickly.

Slowly, the [Death Doctor] tried to assist Celike’s breathing – squeezing the lungs and hoping that, the moment he let go of them, air would flow in and bring new life with it.

It didn’t work as intended. Dominic kept on trying, but no matter how many times he artificially moved the lungs, Celike remained still – and her hearts had begun to slow down critically. Only a few seconds had passed since he entered her body – and little more than a minute since they noticed the [Cobbler]’s silence – but already the [Death Doctor] felt himself buckle under the possible failure.

No. Not yet. He just had to make sure she breathed. Dominic just… had to manually move every muscle in her ribcage, along with Celike’s diaphragm and nose.

How would he even begin to do that? He knew he could do it – it was within the odd, theoretical limitations of what he was allowed to do while possessing someone – but Dominic lacked both the mental fortitude and elasticity to do that. The [Death Doctor] couldn’t focus on dozens of muscles at the same time.

And he needed that knowledge now.

Dominic’s attention diverted back to the twin babies, swimming peacefully within the womb, heads already turned towards their mother’s pelvis. They deserved to have a mother. Celike deserved to raise her children.

And he couldn’t give her that. No matter how hard he tried, begged, or stretched himself – Dominic now faced a painful reality. One that usually was reserved for doctors and those that worked close to the dying. Those that had seen life wane between their fingers, be it in a hospital room or a battlefield.

Sometimes, there was nothing you could do.

***

Dominic Jones rematerialized in silence. Not even the surprised and fearful gasps from the new faces around Celike’s body were enough to make him raise his head – neither that nor the pulsing exclamation point that warned him still, the painful and sore red so similar to the [Cobbler]’s interior.

No. Celike was her name. Mother of two. Dominic would remember that.

“--minic. Dominic! Did it work?”

Trakia’s shrill voice brought him out of his stupor, and he sat heavily on the ground. He felt a sting on his leg as he fell on top of the metallic tip of his cane, the uncomfortable object making his weary legs pulse in pain – but even that felt distant.

A couple of tears finally materialized in his eyes, the first of many. They flowed freely, Dominic not minding their existence and allowing himself to feel the ache in his chest turn duller with every salty drop.

He sniffled on the sleeve of his robe – which had dematerialized with him and reappeared with no larger problems – and raised his head.

“...No. I couldn’t save her.”

He didn’t choke on the words. They hung heavily in the room – a bitter truth that lowered the stifling temperature. One that pooled in the hearts of those present like a block of ice.

The [Death Doctor] did not get up until someone pushed him. Someone, smelling like dizzying vanilla and pomegranate, used their claws to open space for themself – and now Dominic saw those that had entered Celike’s room.

One of them he already knew. Merino stood quietly, fidgeting with his bandoleer and tapping his foot on the soft grass in a show of anxiety. The [Apothecary] looked concerned – towards both Dominic and Celike – and the edge of surprise that had been on his face when the [Death Doctor] suddenly appeared out of her body had receded almost completely.

Still, he kept his distance.

The other stood beside him, directly opposite to Trakia and glaring at the [Priestess] through painted black eyes. A mohawk grew wildly on her head, black hair styled until it resembled a row of spiky growths. It was the first Imp he had seen that sported any type of hair – and he felt silly for believing the creatures were naturally bald.

The female Imp wore darker colors, a robe sewn out of black cloth and embroidered with small fishes that jumped out of the rims and up the sleeves. The little creatures made of thread swam wildly through the cloth, a peaceful image that clashed with the fierce glare of the woman sporting the outfit. Dominic didn’t even have the energy to be amazed at the sight.

The last one, the one that had pushed him out of the way in a sickening wave of sweet smells, was an Imp with almost nothing remarkable to him. His skin was darker than most – almost red – and he was as bald as… well, most of the others. Still, whoever the man was, it was difficult to keep one’s eyes far from him – or one’s mind.

Dominic struggled to even feel offended at the rude action. The [Death Doctor]’s nose pricked, and he sniffed once more, before dusting his clothes and getting up – his trusted cane already in hand.

He took a step towards Trakia, half a mind to turn and watch what the unassuming Imp was doing when his mind cleared and he sagged under the returning emotions. He turned, frightened at the sudden change, and realized something that felt impossible for him to admit. But he had been a fan of Batman – and he knew Poison Ivy.

The man’s smell had clouded his mind like the villain’s pheromones. What an idea. And still, as his grip tightened around his cane for the utter disrespect of not even allowing him the time to feel anything, the [Death Doctor] assumed he was right.

He had just possessed a woman after all. Why not mind-altering scents? It wasn’t even an unheard-of idea.

Regardless, Dominic did not burst out. Nor did his temper flare or he complained like the Small Tyrant he had once been – all snide remarks and poisonous critique.

He stood silently, perhaps a little peeved, but one would only notice that if they looked at him – and for all that his deeds had been both surprising and alarming, he soon faded into the background of the mind of those present. They had focused on the man that smelled of wild vanilla, waiting for his remark as he opened a corked bottle and allowed the pink and yellow gas inside to drift into Celike’s scorched nostrils.

The room waited with bated breath. No one dared to speak or move as the Imp focused intently on what he was doing – and in the meantime, Dominic questioned.

What could he have done better? Was it his fault? Had he been slow? Had he used his skills and spells the wrong way? What was it that worsened her condition so quickly? How could he have given up so easily? Why did he not try harder? What would be of the babies?

The babies. They were almost ready to be birthed. Dominic didn’t know for how long the Imps’ gestational period lasted – but he did know that when a baby turned it was a sign they were close to being delivered.

Twins. What a blessing they would be. How many parents would faint with joy at the news? God, Richard had full-on passed out when he discovered Melissa was pregnant – and if the news had been of twins? Then the [Death Doctor] might have lost his friend far earlier than he did.

Would Celike have jumped out of joy? Did she even know there had been two babies coming instead of one?

Dominic didn’t know. He… couldn’t know. The [Death Doctor] had only met her in death – but now… now Dominic wished they had chatted. That he had learned what a [Cobbler] did here in Kiringar.

Silly thoughts. Dominic knew that. But he still wished for it.

For a last chance.

Dominic froze. His muscles locked in place so hard he could almost feel his bones pop. It should be impossible, right? But there had been something else when he gained his Class.

A different Skill – as mysteriously described as all the others, but Dominic now knew those tidbits of texts carried great meaning. And sometimes… they were literal.

Slowly, fearfully, with a trembling thought, Dominic Jones called for the only Skill he had not used yet.

[A Final Conversation]

One last opportunity for the dead to be heard.

He read it once. Then a second time. Then again and again until the words turned into a blur and that dreadful yellow became only a blot of color, loosely shaped like letters.

A deep breath – and the [Death Doctor] dared to call for it.

“[A Final Conversation].”

He whispered, so low even he had a hard time hearing it – but the System knew, and it pulsed the requirements into his brain. His mind. It tweaked, just a little, adding a piece of information that had not been there a second earlier.

The Skill needed something. Much like his [False Life] spell asked for a certain amount of mana – that intangible energy Dominic could not feel until he cast something out of his so-called Grimoire – this skill needed more than intent to work.

A focus was needed. Two of them, in fact. One was physical – and Dominic looked at Celike’s body and knew it fit the System’s criteria. The other, however, was less tangible.

He needed something to narrow down who he was calling. Not the… shape of them, but their interior. Their personality and memories. Their soul, for a lack of better term.

But how to call someone he did not know? Her name was not enough – there had been other Celikes and there would be more with the same name as time went by. Not even a surname would have been enough. Not even if the name was unique.

A name helped, somewhat, but it was not enough. One could not be reduced into a word, even if it held great power or meaning. It would never be enough.

But what else could he add?

What else… But stories?

***

The confirmation none wanted to hear came a moment later, while the [Death Doctor] brewed his thoughts and tried to decide how to proceed. It arrived in word and smell, a synesthetic experience that left those that were not a match to the speaker dizzy.

“Dead. How did this happen, Trakia?”

“Her… her condition worsened quickly. Did you not get my letter?”

The man turned to the [Priestess] with a click of his forked tongue.

“No. I had just left for the Grey House when you called. Are there others? No. Tell me later. We need to do something about the baby first.”

That elicited a reaction from Dominic, who focused once more on what was going on. The [Death Doctor] had been as silent as a statue, but now he took an unconscious step forward. If they could do something for Celike’s children…

“Can we save them? The twins have already turned. If we could just…”

Open her belly. Lord Almighty, what an awful thing to consider. Dominic felt his heart shrivel at the knowledge of what they’d have to do – but if… if it saved the babies, wasn’t it worth it?

Was that even the right question?

The male Imp didn’t turn his head to face him – but he spoke with a hissier voice than any other Imp the [Death Doctor] had met.

“We will do what we need to. Which one of you can do it? Iaakis?”

“Hm. Yes. It’s not that hard.”

Iaakis – who seemed to be the very same [Bone Mender] Merino had talked about – spoke nonchalantly, and her tone made the older man’s gaze turn sharp. The younger girl visibly gulped, and her defiant glare waned under the man’s own stare.

“I’m not asking if it’s hard, Iaakis. I’m asking if you have the skills and the knowledge to do it. This is not the moment to be flippant.”

“...I understand, Uncle. I’m able to do the cuts – but we need something to keep the babies safe. If they suffocate…”

“That’s fine. Just get them out safe and I’ll do the rest. Merino, do you have the [Clean] spell?”

The [Apothecary] jumped slightly, adjusting his goggles in a show of nerves. Nevertheless, after the second it took him to adjust his mind back to the conversation, he hissed once in confirmation.

“Good. Cast that while Iaakis does the operation. The other two – just stay out of the way.”

The man barked order after order, a quick-thinking commander Dominic would equate to an efficient boss if he had the mind to compare. This was not the time for that, however, and after seeing all three of the newcomers place themselves to do the… c-section, the [Death Doctor] finally closed the distance between himself and the silent [Priestess].

The excited look in his eyes shone pure.

“Trakia. Can you… tell me a little about Celike?”

The [Priestess] turned, surprised, until her face clouded over.

“This is not the time for that.”

Her whisper was a hiss that hurt to listen, but Dominic persevered through the pain. He tightened his grip around the cane, feeling it sink a little more into the soft earth as he leaned on it. When he spoke, it was low and firm – a heavy whisper.

“Please. I need to know more about her.”

Trakia narrowed her eyes at that.

“Why? It won’t change anything, Dominic.”

“Just… just tell me. Who was she? Who was Celike? You said she had a husband?”

The [Priestess] sighed, narrowed eyes softening as they closed for a moment. Her mouth tightened, but she didn’t dismiss Dominic’s question this time.

“She had one. A [Healer], of all things. He died with the first wave of the Ashen Lungs – after spending weeks tending to the sick. Eiko. That was his name.”

The [Death Doctor] nodded, feeling the solemn atmosphere that had fallen with every hushed tone. Slowly, he asked for more.

“Okay. She was a [Cobbler], right? An… apprentice?”

“Yes. Vriako’s. I… don’t know much about her work – but she came to the temple when she discovered her pregnancy. And she seemed happy. Satisfied. Vriako was beaming with pride when he learned of it later.”

“Were they family?”

The [Priestess]’s lips turned upwards a little. A pained, distant smile – soon followed by the sound of two hisses, still as hushed as their entire conversation had been.

“No. She was from a new generation – he… found her trying to test one of his shoes, I think? Vriako told me the story once. Something about her proving new sandals unsupervised. He took her as a student soon after – and his other disciples had been supportive of it as well.”

Almost there. Dominic could feel it, every piece of information helping narrow down who Celike had been. Just a little more.

“What about the babies?”

“The… babies. Of course. She learned of them later than most – but she did come to the temple with the offerings. Celike… she had asked me something as well. Ah. She wanted me to talk to Linkri – the babies needed a blanket, and she had saved enough money to ask for her to make it.”

Trakia still remembered the tinkling of coins. It would have been difficult to ask the [Seamstress] of Kiringar for anything, but the [Priestess] had put on a word as a favor after seeing Celike’s excitement. She also didn’t know if Celike ever managed to see the final product.

Dominic smiled at that. Celike would have been a good mother. He believed that – he wanted to believe that – and it felt disrespectful to consider any other possibility.

Nevertheless, the [Death Doctor] felt it was enough. He now knew a bit of Celike’s story – or, at least, how others had perceived her actions. All he had to do now was present that knowledge to the skill.

To give the System what is required.

But… Dominic stopped for a second. He had disconnected tidbits of information. A little bit from different periods of Celike’s life that had shaped her – but that were not linked. Not yet.

Though, as he thought about it, Dominic couldn’t help but grin. He had the solution for that, hadn’t he?

The [Death Doctor] thanked Trakia in a hurry, who narrowed her eyes as he limped away and approached Celike’s body. He went around the trio trying to save the babies, sticking to the cloth walls of the little division that had been the [Cobbler]’s room, and stopped as he loomed over her head. His cane touched one of the horns, forming a connection.

Dominic Jones focused for a second and prompted his mind to open for what he would do.

Slowly, carefully, he changed the picture of what he knew – added a little more of his own when needed – and only stopped when he sewed a story for the System.

A girl, entering a store with her parents and trying on new sandals she found on a shelf. Leathery ones that were tied over her calf by another Imp amazed at the childish audacity.

Then an opportunity talked between her parents and presented by one of the Nine Pillars of Kiringar.

Soon, an [Apprentice], beginning her first day in a workshop she had only ever seen from afar, being welcomed by others that had been chosen, and chose, this craft as she did.

Then, a [Cobbler]. One that received the signal from the System as she finished sewing the last leathery strip in place.

A woman, taller but still vibrant, falling in love with a [Healer].

A wife, ready to grow old together with the one she chose to love every day.

A future mother, feeling the heartbeat of two small Imps within her womb and smiling as her husband begged to feel their kicking once more.

A doting parent, saving all she could to give her children the best she could – talking to a woman that smelled of acrid smoke and hearth fire at the same time.

Close to the end, a widow – lost in grief for the one she loved, killed by a disease none understood, and now alone to tackle motherhood.

Then, a fighter. Not in Class, but deserving of the name for her attitude as she persevered through the sudden fever and coughing fits – clinging to life for as long as she could, even when the pain grew unbearable.

Finally… a body. A soul disconnected from the material. But one that the [Death Doctor] called for once more.

It was done. The [Death Doctor] knew the moment the System took his offering like a sponge and accepted what he had to give.

He smiled, triumphant, eyes watery but not yet crying again. And then, with no larger fanfare, Dominic Jones whispered a call for a mother and a widow and a [Cobbler]. A wife and a daughter and an [Apprentice].

A call for the impossible.

“[A Final Conversation - Celike].”