Chapter 16 - Present, Past and Future (Part 2)

Of all the children of Kiringar’s walls, she was perhaps the least deserving of its protection. Only if you knew what had happened of course – and how could anyone be the wiser about it when even she felt nothing as her grief coalesced into flesh and bone?

It was a dreadfully ironic thing, the situation – one that would for sure make a god or two guffaw if they knew. A woman that fell onto the deepest bottom of her life due to that which was not her fault, and yet, the truly woeful consequences of what she had caused remained ignorant to her.

A looming blade over one’s neck. A White Stalker, hunting for her in perfect silence, waiting only for the moment she finally crumbled to strike.

Even earthlings would call it the perfect stage for Murphy’s Law to make itself known.

Akkiria, though? In her ignorance? Well, she could only call it today.

***

It all happened a couple of hours after dawn, the first song of ash and smoke long past – as were the screams of pain as scorching ash removed clumps of cursed flesh out of sleepy Imps.

Akkiria had seen none of that. The [Ranger] had cried herself to sleep with such intensity that she woke up with a dry throat, puffy eyes, and a headache that made her want to slam her head on the wall until it stopped pulsing. Or she died – whichever came first.

With a groan, the young woman dragged her body out of bed and the nest of blankets she had seemed to make for herself in her sleep, only to feel her head heavier than expected. Without looking, Akkiria raised a hand to her horns and felt the fluff affixed to them.

She pulled on the soft pillow, registering the new hole her horns had poked on it with nonchalance, and threw the offending thing back to where its similars rested. It happened all the time – and she had been gathering money for a new set of pillows that would resist the sharpness of her horns, but until then she’d just have to ask Nakir to sew it up again when he arrived.

The [Ranger] got up, already stepping forward towards the cabinet where she kept a couple of needles and some thread, when her heart dropped. The world seemed to open beneath her feet, and Akkiria missed a step. Her fall was ungracious, a mess of sprawling limbs, but the woman felt… nothing.

Her back hit the wooden floor with a bam – her bald head slamming against the floor and adding another pulsing spot to her ache. Tears welled up in her eyes as she curled once more, knees pulled towards her chest like a babe in the womb, and it all felt like too much.

The cold floor. The smell of smoke. The pulsating pain. Her broken heart.

Akkiria felt a hundred things at once, and she couldn’t focus on one single feeling for long enough before another clawed its way to the surface. Anger, sadness, love. So much love, bursting through the seams of all that pain.

Worst of all, there was nowhere she could put her burden down – and oh, she tried. Desperately, Akkiria scratched her chest, trying to find a way to rip her hearts out and feel the relief of their absence – thinking that if she just got it out, all this grief would go with it. Her claws drew blood, but she stopped when the pain grew too much.

It was all too much. Her body was too much. Her mind was too much. And every time his name echoed within her memory, telling her that Nakir was on his way from work and would make her something to eat, and hug her and kiss her neck – all those things they loved to do together – she cried harder.

He wasn’t coming. No one was.

***

It took her almost half an hour to rise again.

Akkiria hadn’t slept again, but after a few agonizing minutes the tears had stopped and all she was left was a dripping snout and constant hiccups – alongside a disconnection from reality. A fog in her brain as the world unfocused and her pain made time extend itself into long, torturous minutes.

She still got up, though. Maybe it was the hunger, as Akkiria couldn’t remember the last time she had a proper meal instead of the small rations those manning the walls were entitled to. Or simply the thirst that had turned her throat into sandpaper – she couldn’t tell.

But the [Ranger] had moved. Slowly, at first, cleaning the snot with the back of her hand as Akkiria found her footing and managed to slip into the sandals she had thrown around.

She was leaving. As soon as possible, uncaring for her appearance or her state – the house was pressing down on her, the weight of the memories making her legs buckle, so it was leaning on the walls that she opened the door and faced the day.

Akkiria regretted it immediately. The [Ranger] had thought her misery would remain confined to the bed, but the scorching rays of the sun and the people around her served as a painful reminder of what she had lost.

The only relief was that no one talked. All of those she passed by, people Akkiria had known her entire life, were dragging their feet with the same sadness in their faces she feared was in her countenance as well. The [Ranger] hadn’t looked – Akkiria feared her reflection would make her break entirely, as every part of her was a reminder of Narik as well.

From the tip of her horns to the small mole beneath her left ear. All places Narik spent entire nights and afternoons exploring, caressing, loving until she giggled and called him silly – only for him to tell Akkiria she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

A smooth-talker through and through, though he hadn’t needed any of his fancy words to rope her in – she had fallen head over heels for him when they were still young children pretending to slay Nightmares like the Rangers, the imp boy always ensuring the half-blood found a place in the play that wasn’t of a monster or a villain.

Akkiria almost stumbled, a wild ikriat making her miss a step. She shook her head and sent the memories away, focusing intently on the path in front of her, letting her legs move her down the familiar streets without complaint.

She was going somewhere – the [Ranger] just couldn’t, for the life of her, know where. And Akkiria only stopped when a voice called her name.

“Akky! Over here!”

An open square opened in front of her eyes, an area where one of the public wells was dug deep into one of the aquifers beneath Kiringar. It was one of the few constructions of the town made of stone, and it stood like a sore spot with the Nightshadow Trees all around it, the canopies blocking the sunlight to give some blessed respite from the heat.

Beside one of the massive trunks, leaning on a cart with its side open to reveal all the working tools a [Storyteller] needed, was Junkio. The man hadn’t aged a day ever since she was a child, and Akkiria couldn’t tell if it was the make-up or simply part of his constitution that made him so jovial – but face paint or not, she was pretty sure he didn’t look a day past his twenties.

And, truth be told, he was nearing his forties by now. Either the road had done him wonders or the man had a powerful [Apothecary] in his back pocket.

“Oh dearest, you look absolutely ragged. And thin! Have you eaten yet? Oh, please, sit. I’ve just made some breakfast – I'll serve you some, alright?”

The man grabbed her arm without a care in the world, not even noticing the blood stains on her shirt, and dragged her towards a set stool Junkio used to put out for children to sit on, and disappeared behind his carriage as she slumped on the seat.

He returned a minute later, a wooden bowl in hand, which he offered alongside a small spoon. Akkiria looked at the colorful cubes of cut fruit covered in syrup in utter silence.

“Here it is, my dear. Star above, Akky, you need to eat more. I know you don’t like cooking but Nakir is very good at it, last I heard. You can pressure him a bit, you know? Not like he’d ever say no to you.”

The [Storyteller] joked, a large smile on his face as he patted her leg. Akkiria took in the familiar sight and felt only pain. Junkio was still the same in all ways – the same colorful eyeshadow and deep blush, the same open vest and wide pants tied with a belt, the same pointed shoes ending with tiny metal spheres, chiming like a bell whenever he walked.

Not even the necklace around his neck, the only new addition to his outfit with a golden medallion and a dark, shiny stone in the middle, was enough to break the spell of nostalgia his very presence caused. For a second, Akkiria felt like a child again – running from home to meet Nakir and listen to the [Storyteller]’s tales for hours on end, amazed at the illusions and different voices.

Akkiria looked around, emotions wanting to spill over again. There was supposed to be a stool beside hers, and Nakir would laugh and cheer for the silly heroes for all afternoon – and she’d follow him again and again, even when the stories grew boring, just to see his smile.

The [Ranger] bit down on her lips, teeth almost meeting and drawing blood thick enough to drizzle down her chin. Her eyes shone with unshed tears that – even with her silent plea to not fall – refused to comply. The sniff that rose from her chest broke all pretense of calmness she had, and Akkiria was, once again, reduced to a sobbing mess.

A light, hesitant touch broke through the haze of tears, her eyes managing to discern Junkio’s hand on her arm – the man looking more confused and shocked than anything else – and the [Ranger]’s face frowned in guilt. She hadn’t wanted to bother him – but there was no way Akkiria could keep her heart bottled up.

Not right now at least.

“Akky… What’s wrong, love? You’re scaring me like this. Did you fight with Nakir? Is that it? C’mon, say something.”

The [Ranger] tried to speak, but the moment her mouth opened a bubble of sadness rose from her throat – a crying gasp that sent her into another fit of tears. Junkio’s touch was hesitant now. Slowly, through the haze of her tears, she saw it dawn on him.

“No… No… Oh, love. Even him…?”

Her hiss was a choked thing, but it marked the truth with a simplicity Akkiria needed. There was no way she could engage in words, truthful or not. The [Storyteller] held it together better than her, only rising to kick his wagon and sorely regretting it a moment after.

Junkio didn’t scream or shout. Didn’t try to claw out his hearts like her – and Akkiria felt he was better at grieving for it. Still, it took him a while to calm down. Painful minutes in which she was frozen in place, crying by herself.

Minutes in which her own feelings… consolidated.

Junkio calmed down enough to return to her side, his face a veil of pity. When he spoke, it was a low thing, worried – clad in power enough to fix her attention on him

“Was it the disease? The attack? Sun ablaze, he had been fine before I left! How could this happen?”

The answer bubbled out of her throat, not aggressively – but Akkiria could feel the pressure to follow this sudden instinct and stop crying. Her face twisted, for a second, but she gave up trying to remain in control. It was harmless, after all.

“He… He followed the others after Sybillus. They wanted revenge – thought they could drown him in numbers. Only Kurian came back.”

Supernatural eloquence guided her tongue, the skill’s effect – for she knew Junkio was no [Mage], despite his illusions – fading away after her story ended. The [Storyteller] hissed, not an affirmation, but a low sound that sent shivers down her spine and made Akkiria think of curses and insults.

“How could they let… Fools. The whole Council. I told them to give up on striking him – but they never hear me, do they?”

Junkio fumed beside her but soon reverted to the same worried expression after noticing Akkiria’s eyes. Lightless. He shook the [Ranger] slightly.

“Akky, my love, I’m so sorry this happened to you of all people. Nakir passing away like this… I can’t even imagine how painful it must be to face this. But you can count on me to help you, alright? Anything you need.”

The [Ranger] couldn’t find it in herself or even nod – which only made the [Storyteller] more nervous. With a quick movement, he grabbed a small crystal from his pocket – a tiny, magically imbued, piece of citrine – and pressed on it with intent.

Magic flowed quickly through the air – not enough to alert anyone, it was no great spell like that, but Akkiria could feel the light smell of an illusion. Bless her freaky ancestry for that.

It was one of the reasons why she always loved Junkio, besides his lack of criticism when she stayed until late to listen to the more gruesome stories he usually reserved for teenagers or grown-ups. The [Storyteller] had this smell to him – the constant, but faint, scent of mist and plums.

Nevertheless, when the spell came to fruition, it was perfectly adaptable – answering whatever request Junkio silently made to it as long as it was within its capabilities – and for now, the older imp chose something she knew very well. The symbol of an old story, one of the few non-tragedies Akkiria actually liked, rising from the crystal in the shape of a feathered quill.

The [Scribe]’s Dawn. A lesson about time, hidden within the quaint day-to-day tale of a [Scribe] from legends. Akkiria almost slapped the stone away from Junkio’s hand, but managed to keep her impulse in check, even though her anger grew thicker.

She wasn’t looking for a lesson about things that could not return. All she wanted was to grieve. Or, maybe, try to find a place that didn’t evoke memories of Nakir and his shiny smile.

Her eyes watered, but Akkiria cleaned them before the tears spilled over again. The [Ranger] sighed, exhausted.

“I don’t want to hear it now, Junkio. Please. Just… Just let me stay here for a minute, alright?”

The [Storyteller] paused. His mouth opened, wanting to retort, perhaps, but Junkio gave in to her wishes. He patted her on the leg – and Akkiria allowed it for a moment before she moved out of the touch.

Silence ensued between the two of them, Akkiria with her eyes closed – trying to organize her thoughts in a sudden bout of clarity, words coming easier as they shaped thoughts and turned into comprehensible statements. The [Ranger] only noticed the oddness of it all a second later – and when she looked at the [Storyteller] beside her, his face was blank.

Immediately, Akkiria tensed up. Not because Junkio gave her any sign of a threat – he was no Nightmare for her to shoot down with arrows, and she was certain even he would die with a well-aimed shot – but due to the sheer… intenseness.

Like one of the [Artisans]. As if she were witnessing a type of power coalesce, not deadly – not like her arrows or Elder Cariken’s sharp sword – but that could still be used against her if the owner of such might so wished. A deeper presence, an intensity in the air, a profound gaze as if they could see–

Everything.

Akkiria held her breath, shivers going down her spine. She was no longer a child – watching the [Storyteller]’s powers and not understanding the depth of them – and now, with that veil of ignorance pulled out of her eyes, Junkio was intimidating.

“You know your heart better than me, Akky – but won’t you let me help you? At least a little?”

The [Ranger] recoiled, almost falling from the stool she was sitting on. Her eyes turned wide, trying to focus on anything but the well of power in front of her, slowly approaching like a storm. Unstoppable.

It took everything from her to make her tongue move.

“N-no – there’s no need. I can… I can deal with it on my own.”

Akkiria grimaced as she spoke, her face looking pained – too raw from the sudden burst of emotion to put on the elaborate mask of assurance the [Ranger] desperately wished for right now. Junkio saw right through her lie as if it was air.

“And how long would that take, my love? How long ‘till you can go through the loss of such a love? It will never fade. The pain – it’s always there.”

His eyes unfocused from her, turning distant. Akkiria took the moment to breathe deeply, her lungs inflating in a painful spasm that almost made her cough – but the girl did not dare make a sound, not when the [Storyteller]’s eyes bore into her so suddenly.

“But I can make it easier for you to go through these hard times, Akky. It – does get better, in a way, but it’ll take too long. It will end… sooner, for you.”

Now she fell, the stool no longer able to support her as Akkiria leaned her body back. The fall was ungracious, and she could feel the spike of pain as her bottom hit what felt like a stone, but her eyes… They were glued onto Junkio’s own, the power behind them making those dark eyes as appealing as a Succubus’s charm.

And his words… Akkiria latched onto them with an intangible grip, her fear and resignation giving in to insidious, insidious hope.

“What – What do you mean?”

“All this time lost – suffering, trying to find the next step – there’s no need for you to go through all that. It’ll all be quicker… I can show you where you need to go. Where fate compels you.”

Junkio extended a hand – but Akkiria still had questions.

“How? How – how would you do that?”

Now he grinned, proud and full. The maelstrom in his eyes sparkled, for a moment, and that smell of his – plums and mist – grew thicker around them like a dose of Orieke’s perfumes.

“What is life but a story, my love? And what is a story with no one to tell you about them? Nothing. Stories don’t exist without a voice – and the one that tells them always knows more. That’s what I can give you, Akky. Guidance onto the next scene, where your pain is lesser and your heart blooms through the grief.”

The [Ranger] hesitated. Her teeth closed on her lips and the sting of pain from the bruises she had made earlier gave Akkiria some clarity – but to see what?

She stared at that hand, offered without a price, from someone that knew them since they were children and had – if she was not mistaken – the power to make his words real, and gulped. Slowly, trembling and with her hearts beating wildly, Akkiria raised her own blue hand… and took his own.

The [Storyteller]’s grin grew wider – and before she could even think of something to delay it all – Junkio made the world shift.

“[Tale: The Hero’s Journey].”

***

Merino’s entrance was something Dominic never expected to see out of the quiet, almost shy, [Apothecary]. When he entered, claiming to have found a possible solution to the Ashen Lungs while looking straight into the [Death Doctor]’s eyes, his countenance was… manic.

As in, Merino kept on fidgeting in place, his left foot tapping the floor with a maddening rhythm while the paper in his hands trembled like a leaf. The young man’s eyes, wide and darting around to take every single detail of the room, alerted Dominic immediately.

He rose to his feet, cane in place on the floor, and approached the [Apothecary], stopping only a step away when he saw another detail. Merino was sweating. Not like someone that had just performed a light jog – but full-on losing water as if the room was a sauna instead of a chaotic workshop, his clothes soaked and turning darker with the wet stains.

Orieke stepped forward, and Dominic could hear the voices behind him discussing what was going on – Saleko’s own hisses hurting his ears – but the [Death Doctor] focused on the young man. The signs… they were all there – fidgeting, sweating, a lot of pent-up energy…

Dominic closed in the distance and leaned forward, taking a whiff of Merino’s scent, especially from his face.

And there it was. Tea.

“How much did you drink, Merino?”

His serious tone broke through the energy of the [Apothecary] and he managed to stop for long enough to look ashamed. Chastised. Dominic narrowed his eyes for a split second, before putting a small smile in place.

“Two cups? Three? You aren’t feeling well, are you? Orieke, could you grab him a seat? And something to eat, if there’s any – I think he drank too much of that tea of his.”

The [Perfumer] looked confused for a second, but Dominic’s serene countenance made him hiss in affirmation after a slight second. As he returned, the [Death Doctor] began to guide Merino towards the seat – a hand on his clammy shoulder as they approached another stool – and allowed the young man to fall heavily on his seat.

“So… how much?”

Merino raised the piece of paper like a flimsy shield, trying to hide behind it. Dominic dragged his own stool to face the [Apothecary], giving a quick sign to the others that he had it handled, before waiting for Merino’s answer.

A single trembling finger rose.

“One cup?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Two distinct hisses – and Dominic sighed in understanding. He patted the young man on the leg and watched Orieke return with a small plate, something like fruits on top of them. Or boiled vegetables, due to their fairly opaque look.

“That’s dangerous, Merino. One jar of it could very well make your heart stop for all that I know. Just… here – eat something. It will make you feel better.”

Perhaps comparing the [Apothecary]’s tea to what Dominic knew could happen if you drank too much coffee was not the best of strategies, but the signs were too glaring – and he had plenty of experience when it came to sleepless nights fueled only by that bitter, dark nectar. The [Death Doctor] also knew what helped settle one down.

The best solution was sleep, of course. The second best? You just have to stuff your stomach with something, preferably heavy food, like a burger or pasta, and you’ll be back to napping in no time.

Under his gaze, Merino began to try and speak something – but the old man hushed him immediately. Even if it was important, Dominic doubted the [Apothecary] could be coherent.

So, slowly, the younger imp began to pick small pieces of the food – parting pieces with his claws and bringing them to his mouth. It took only the first savoring for a moan to rise from his throat, and Merino fell onto the plate like a ravenous beast as the ignored hunger assailed his senses.

Dominic smiled and waited patiently for the [Apothecary] to finish his meal at the same time others came to stand beside him. Biakis, Orieke, and Kurian formed a frontline – their presence surrounding Merino, until Dominic made a gesture for them to disperse, lest the shy [Apothecary] run the risk of choking on his food.

The others stood a small distance back. Saleko hadn’t moved from his place – even though Dominic was certain that chair could take him closer if the [Toymaker] so wished – and Iaakis stayed beside her mother like a shadow, even as the [Seamstress] settled a few steps behind them all.

Vriako continued his silent vigil.

“Is he alright?”

Biakis asked, looking more curious than worried. Dominic eyed the [Witch] but answered.

“He’s fine. A little energetic I think, but it should settle soon. Just… give him some time to get better.”

“Do we have time?”

The [Perfumer] said from beside Dominic, but to that the [Death Doctor] simply frowned.

“I don’t believe we are in that much of a hurry – and we can spare a few minutes for him to settle down. No need to pressure him while he’s like… this.”

Orieke shrugged.

"If you say so."

All of them settled on watching the [Apothecary] dig into the food, and knowing only one staple crop of Kiringar, Dominic couldn't help but indulge his curiosity.

"So, what are those? Ikriats?"

He pointed towards the steamy pulp of the vegetable. It reminded him of a sweet potato with its creamy skin, but the red interior was a dead giveaway of how otherworldly it truly was. There were other things on the plate as well – thin, cracker-like biscuits and a fluffy slice of something that smelled like wild honey. Cake, perhaps?

A grumble came from behind the [Death Doctor], the voice quick to cut on the conversation.

"Those are sanguitas. Wild crops. Now, can we please ask the boy what he meant by 'treat' the Ashen Lungs? It's quite important, I dare say."

Saleko's sarcasm elicited more than one sigh, to Dominic's surprise. He didn't turn around to face the [Toymaker] though, letting the Artisans solve this issue as they saw fit.

"You really believe he found something to help?"

Biakis asked towards the eldest of them, the [Witch] tilting her head in curiosity. Saleko sighed, but didn’t snap at the question. If anything, his answer sounded honest to the [Death Doctor]’s ears. Proud, almost.

“I’d bet on him over anyone here. Vyraka was a hag on the best of her days, but she was good at her job. If anyone can solve this, it would be her apprentice, wouldn’t it?”

“You… really do believe that, huh?”

Saleko eyed the [Witch], silently. When the [Toymaker] spoke again it was with a sigh on his lips.

“Sometimes I forget how young you are. You didn’t get to see what she was capable of, did you? Vyraka was… a beast, in her own way. Even Guintaro’s father feared she would occupy his place as an Artisan – but she never cared for that, the mad woman. Even when she complained about money.”

“But she was a [Botanist], right? Not an [Apothecary] like Merino.”

“Yes. But she became more than that by the end.”

His smile was mischievous, and the [Witch] scoffed at the little secret she could not discern. Dominic only had half an ear at the conversation, too engrossed in Merino’s desperate attempts at swallowing all the food on the plate. When he was done, cleaning his mouth with the back of a hand while blushing in embarrassment, the [Death Doctor] had his question at the ready.

“Why did you drink so much of it? Merino, you can’t do that again – imagine if something went wrong and you were all alone? Lord Above, my boy, you need to be more careful.”

Scolding the [Apothecary] didn’t feel good, especially with Merino curling inwards even further at his words, but Dominic did not let it pass without at least a slap on the wrist. Keeping oneself awake with these methods could very easily get dangerous.

The [Death Doctor] ignored the little exclamation point that appeared at the corner of his vision.

“Sorry, Elder. But… But I really think I have it. I took the idea you gave me and began searching in the books I have, and I swear I found a few herbs that might be able to help. My Skills tell me so.”

“Your… Skill?”

The imp hissed, finally presenting the piece of paper he had been clutching at ever since he arrived. Dominic heard his answer while reading the small list.

“[Lesser Efficiency Prediction: Medicine]. It… kind of tells me which ingredients might work in a recipe – but it won’t tell me how to use them, so it’ll take some time to experiment after we have it all.”

Dominic raised his eyes, looking from above the rim of his glasses. Merino had a hand at the back of his head, scratching the nape of his neck in embarrassment. The [Death Doctor] sighed, but now he knew a little more about how to react to such freely-given information.

Plus, the sharp whistles of admiration that came from the others told him much as well.

“Alright, then. Thanks for telling us, Merino – it sounds like a great skill, really. But how does the remedy work? And what is it that you need from this?”

He raised the recipe, only for it to be snatched by Orieke’s eager claws. Dominic didn’t fight it – he wasn’t sure if he even could – but it still took him a bit by surprise. Still, the soft hums coming from the [Perfumer] as he read the list did bring him relief.

Biakis and Linkri quickly joined the reading as well, Iaakis taking a glance at the paper before taking a step towards her friend. The [Bone Mender]’s greeting was silent – and Merino’s smile, genuine.

Nevertheless, the [Apothecary] didn’t take long to explain.

“I kept on thinking about what you told me, Elder. To tackle a symptom instead of the disease? So I tried to find which symptom was the most dangerous–”

“The heat. That’s what this is for. You want to stop the disease from burning the flesh.”

Orieke interrupted, narrowing his eyes at the [Apothecary]. Merino gulped under the analyzing glare, but even the stout [Perfumer] was unable to keep that private smile of his from surging.

“It’s quite genius. And using Lindria’s Tears for it? It should work quite nicely with that alone. But there’s no balance to the recipe.”

The [Witch] beside him furrowed her snout.

“It looks like a brew. Look at it. Not a single stabilizer – just… pure frost.”

“Indeed. It should be quite volatile. A few minutes, perhaps. And you want a pure affinity, right?”

The [Apothecary] hissed once, fidgeting on his seat as the Artisans scrutinized his work. Dominic kept his hand on his leg, a constant reassuring pressure – and a small obstacle in case Merino’s nerves made him flee the room. As time passed, the poor imp seemed to regret more and more the decision to come here so brazenly, even if the others had nothing but compliments for his idea.

“But it will work, won’t it? Prediction skills tend to be quite accurate.”

Linkri asked, her dress perfect even with the constant rising and seating of the past few minutes. The [Seamstress] kept her posture straight, heels clacking on the stone floor as she gave in and joined the inner circle.

“Yes, that’s what I’m trying to understand.”

The [Perfumer] raised a hand towards his chin, and Dominic took the opportunity to intervene.

“Then how about we listen to Merino’s explanation? I’m sure he’ll answer many of our questions if we take some time to listen.”

Dominic smiled at the [Apothecary], trying to look as reassuring as possible. The lowering of Merino’s shoulders was a good sign – and when he took a deep breath to settle himself, the [Death Doctor] sat back to listen.

“Right. Uh, I tried to consider how the disease worked exactly – it’s not only a fever, and it also isn’t a flame. It behaves more like… well, poison, though that was Iaakis’s idea.”

He gestured towards the [Bone Mender], who shrunk under their gaze.

“What really makes it deadly, though, is how it burns up one’s lungs – and considering there’s some clear arcane characteristic to the disease, I tried to find how to treat that symptom alone.”

“Then why not make it last longer? This would require multiple applications, wouldn’t it?”

The [Perfumer] asked, still not understanding why Merino would go for such an ephemeral solution. In return, the [Apothecary] began an explanation filled with gestures – and Dominic struggled to restrain the smile at how similar both imps got when excited.

“Because the symptom is ephemeral. I found some old ideas from Teacher, back when she was trying to grow an anti-curse flower, and she kept on writing about how the specimen wouldn’t work past minor hexes because of how complicated they got. Something about curses getting too personal for a single solution to work on them.”

Biakis hissed once, and the affirmation seemed to propel Merino forward. He licked his lips, his forked tongue wetting the parched skin, and continued.

“So I went back to the Diagram of Elements, and there it was. Ash, as an affinity, is too related to Chaos, for a long solution to work on – it would keep on fighting the medicine until it broke the body. But, if we gave it a neutral element and made them fight in short bursts, then the symptom would retreat for a while and the patient would only need another dose when it came back.”

Orieke narrowed his eyes. The [Perfumer] seemed to understand the logic, but the solution didn’t seem to look as great to him as it was to Dominic.

“You’re talking about being bound to the medicine. They would have to take it for their entire lives. How many times? Once a day? Twice?”

“Better that than dying, Elder. This will work – and the ingredients are not as expensive as they could be. Lindria’s Tears are the worst of it, but many are easily grown. If we can create a place to produce them, we can have the worst cases of the disease lasting for years instead of months – long enough for us to find a true cure. And if we can deal with the pain, the patients might even wake up.”

The [Apothecary]’s explanation – though wobbly – received a firm nod of assent from Dominic, someone that understood the need for constant medication when dealing with chronic diseases – and, if he understood correctly, that was Merino’s solution.

To turn a deadly diagnosis into something that could be dealt with. Painful, still, but it was an improvement in all the ways that mattered in his book.

“He’s got you there, Orieke. Very clever, Merino. Nice work indeed.”

Biakis was the first to give her true approval, and with the other Artisans following her lead, the [Perfumer] couldn’t help but sigh in resignation. Merino, in the meantime, reached a whole new color on his cheeks – the pink deepening so much it was almost fuchsia.

“Well, I can’t disagree with that. Hmph, the ingredients are simple indeed – the Winter’s Dew can easily be produced in my laboratory, and some of these herbs… well – we can always rehydrate them. Bia, do you have some of these?”

The [Witch] plucked the list from his hands, reading it one last time.

“Only the Boreas Root and the Invigrapes. There should be enough for a cauldron of it – not like I use it much anyway. But… the Tears will be hard to come by.”

Merino’s face fell. The [Death Doctor] spoke from his seat, claiming the room’s attention.

“Something wrong?”

“Not wrong. Just… Guintaro was the one to take care of these more magical plants. We – never got to fixing his greenhouse after he passed, so there’s nothing left. They are too flimsy to survive out of their own environment without care.”

Dominic nodded, an eye on the [Apothecary], as he remembered the apparent friendship between him and the dead [Florist], but besides a quivering exhale Merino held pretty well.

“I hoped you’d have some left. It’s the only thing I don’t have access to – otherwise, I could begin experimenting today. But with it gone…”

The [Death Doctor] frowned, adjusting his glasses as they threatened to slip from his face.

“Can’t we replace it with something else?”

“We could… But Lindria’s Tears are easy to come by – even if we have none of them here. Plus, they are not that hard to grow if you keep a close eye on them. And we need a cheap recipe for this to work.”

Orieke explained, thoughtful as he considered the options. Dominic kept to his silence, understanding the problem – but the [Perfumer] seemed to need the moment of quietness to reach whatever conclusion was brewing behind his narrowed eyes.

“The only way is to go and grab some, then. It wouldn’t take that long – a couple of days north and one can easily reach the Frozen Gates if they keep a constant pace. The Nightmares on the way are not that strong as well. Though… I doubt anyone would be willing to go out there right now.”

“What? Why? No one would deny the task if they knew what it was for… right?”

Dominic’s questions met the wandering gaze of the Artisans, all of them suddenly in tune as Orieke presented his supposition. And the [Death Doctor] was not the only one confused – Iaakis and Kurian, both having been silent ever since the beginning, also looked just as confused as Dominic felt.

“It’s not that they can’t do it – but Cariken has all the Rangers on a tight perimeter around the walls, and with the numbers so reduced after the attack – I just doubt he’d spare a team to do this. Not with the Nightmares so active around us, at least.”

“Then what about other people? There’s no way only Rangers are the ones that explore the area. You’ve just told me the [Storyteller] travels around a lot, doesn’t he?”

Ther [Perfumer] stopped, looking at Dominic as if searching for something, before his shoulder sagged. With two fingers, Orieke massaged his snout in frustration.

“It’s not that they won’t do it. It’s that not a single person would be willing to go. First, because imps don’t travel alone, Dominic – Junkio is a dot way out of the curve when it comes to that. As a species, we are… fragile. As much as it pains me to admit.”

Orieke frowned, matching Dominic’s own expression.

“No imp will go out there without taking precautions first. As in, trapping the way towards the Frozen Gates with such a zeal that a single step out of the way would make the ground collapse. Plus, Dominic, they are all scared. The Ashen Lungs took away most of their desire to fight, and Sybillus' newest blow sapped all the vigor that was left.”

Now, the [Death Doctor]’s eyes lit up. Dominic’s frown grew to the point his glasses slipped, and it was from above the lenses that he looked at Orieke.

“They… won’t fight?”

The very idea seemed alien to his ears. Even in his worst days, when all there was to accompany him was the beep of the machines and the constant drip from the IVs, never did Dominic lay down and stop moving.

He had searched the world for a cure. And even now, after having met the final fate of all that drew breath, the elderly man still struggled.

Orieke didn’t seem offended by his question, but the [Perfumer] saw things differently still.

“Would you? Most have lost entire families. Parents, siblings, neighbors, and loved ones. Many have to watch the remaining burn from the inside out without being able to do a single thing. Go outside and see, Dominic. They are already grieving to the point of giving up. It’s a Star-granted miracle that we are still so active.”

He gestured towards the other Artisans, and all watched things no longer there. None cried. They had few tears left to give after losing four of their numbers, but they were all… distant. Searching for something far away.

“So no. It will be impossible to form a team cohesive enough to go out there and bring the Tears – not out of the common imps. None would risk losing the remaining time with their loved ones, and many still believe the disease comes from outside the walls. And before you ask, the Temple won’t help either – they are already stretched thin trying to keep the afflicted alive, to leave would be a death sentence.”

“Well, someone has to do it. We can’t just give up – not when Merino’s recipe can work so well.”

Orieke gave him a glare of his own, the [Perfumer]’s scent thickening around him – vanilla turning into an insidious smell, instead of the usual background scent.

“I never said we will give up. Just that the solution won’t be found in those already suffering so much.”

The [Death Doctor] narrowed his eyes, swallowing his own distaste for the idea of not including the grieving imps like a bitter pill, and thought over Orieke’s words. The answer was simple, especially with how clear the [Perfumer]’s focus was on him.

“You want us to do it.”

Orieke’s grin shone brightly, even through his yellow teeth. The other Artisans shot him a look, but the [Perfumer] had the audacity to shrug his shoulders in response.

“You, me and Merino, yes. Unless you believe I’d be better than you at harvesting the flowers, Merino.”

The [Apothecary], chin almost dropping to the floor as he listened to Orieke’s idea, quickly gathered himself at the question. Dominic could almost see the thoughts running behind his eyes, but that might just be a side effect of how much the poor imp blinked.

To the elderly man’s surprise, though, the young man sat straighter in the end.

“Uh… I’d like to go, Elder. And, no offense, but I have the skills to bring back the Tears safely.”

“See? Now that’s a plan, then.”

The [Perfumer] seemed ready to move on, but Dominic interrupted immediately.

“Wait, hold your horses, for Christ’s sake. Why should I go along? I’m a [Doctor] – I’m supposed to be here with the sick.”

It was odd how naturally the affirmation came, but Orieke was quick to destroy the budding ideas Dominic had.

“And you, Dominic, need levels. And some teaching. Even if you’re an old man, you know next to nothing about the System or, apparently, even where you are. If you come along, I can tell you all you need to know without rushing through topics.”

“I’m sorry, Orieke – but learning is not as nice as saving lives.”

There was no argument in Dominic’s mind. Even as curious as he was, it would be worthless if he sought information when so many imps struggled to breathe but a few hundred meters away.

“And are you? Saving lives, I mean? You forget that my Skills tell me much, Dominic – and your powers can’t tackle the disease in any meaningful way. Or am I wrong?”

The [Death Doctor]... froze. Immediately, Dominic thought back on his skills – and, to his chagrin, Orieke’s words were right. It was a conclusion he had first tasted back when Celike struggled to latch onto her life, his spells serving as a precarious hold on her life.

None of his powers healed. They just… delayed death – but none closed wounds or helped in fighting the disease. And though they were valuable, his energy was limited.

Ashen Lungs would still kill them in the end. Just like Celike.

“And more than that – there’s an edge to your Class as well. That new Skill of yours makes it clear, doesn’t it? Don’t settle onto a Path so soon, Dominic. Remember what I told you? We make our Class as well – and the next step in your advancement might be out there instead of cooped into a tent, looking the Reaper in the eyes.”

The elderly man could see the logic – but there was also a flaw in there.

“But you told me I could ask for a Skill as well, right? That we have some influence on it all. Why can’t I just stay here and use my skills and spells on the patients?”

Orieke’s hairless brow rose, his grin growing even wider. From the sidelines, Dominic saw Saleko facepalm.

“Who said anything about not using your skills? And this whole trip is supposed to expand your horizons, old man. There’s only so much you can grow by repeating the same thing, and some new trouble will be great in making you grow. Also, don’t think you know everything just because you heard me for a few minutes. I’m not that good of a teacher.”

Orieke’s light scolding made Dominic pout – an odd look on his face, but a lingering remnant of frailer days. Nevertheless, much to the despair of his weary bones, the [Death Doctor] could understand the importance of what the [Perfumer] was offering.

And you have to grasp these opportunities, don’t you?

His sigh sealed the deal.

“Fine. But I’ll need something for the pain. God knows I’ll be of little use with my knee pulling me back.”

Orieke gave a quick clap, his grin losing its edge to turn into a genuine smile. Dominic gave a tired one of his own in return. There was no denying he was excited as well.

“There you go. Now, all we need is–”

“I want to go too!”

Kurian raised his remaining hand, struggling to keep the aloof facade over the excitement that made his legs shake. His proposition, however, was met with the fastest denials Dominic had ever heard. Coming from him, even.

“Absolutely not, brat.”

“As if, boy. Ain’t no way you’re going.”

“Now, Kurian, you know that won’t happen.”

“It’s too dangerous, Kurian.”

Four denials, three coming from the Artisans around Dominic – Biakis’s being, perhaps, the largest surprise, considering the [Witch] could be as brazen as they came – and one from the [Death Doctor] himself. In front of the unwavering wall of seniority, Kurian bit his lip in stubborn defiance.

“I know that – but Father used to take me north all the time to see the Gates. I can be a guide. Really!”

Still, the [Death Doctor] shook his head.

“I know you want to go, Kurian – but Orieke is the only one of us capable of protecting someone. Plus, you need to stay and help the other with the prosthetics, alright?”

“Not necessarily. He doesn’t have to be around after I make the sketches – oh. Oh. I’m sorry.”

Iaakis said, painfully honest, and curled inwards under the glare of the Artisans, her mother snapping her neck so quickly to face the [Bone Mender] that Dominic feared a fracture. He sighed, a sound that only got deeper when he turned around to see the [Survivor] refusing to budge.

With a victorious grin, the young boy made his argument.

“See? I can be helpful – for example, there’s a shortcut around the main path that will save you half a day of travel. Father taught me all before he… passed.”

His face dimmed slightly, but Kurian strode through the grief with only minimal pause. It did remind Dominic he still had to talk to him about his Skill. So much to do.

Nevertheless, the [Death Doctor] was unconvinced. Bringing Kurian with him seemed like a bad idea in all the ways that mattered – especially with him being not only a child, but one still recovering from his wounds and as low-leveled as he was.

“It’s still too much of a risk, my boy. And having you safe is worthier than speeding our journey. Right, Orieke?”

Dominic turned towards the silent [Perfumer] – and, blood turning cold and paralyzing, he watched Orieke’s face at its most thoughtful state. As if he was considering it.

Immediately, the [Death Doctor]’s eyes widened.

“....Orieke. Orieke. You can’t be serious.”

The [Perfumer]’s eyes kept on calculating, silently considering, and both Dominic and Kurian waited with bated breaths. One felt as if a blade came for his neck – the other as hopeful as any child on Christmas day.

The imp’s eyes narrowed, turning into slits as he looked at Kurian, and with a hissier voice than usual – he accepted.

“He can come as well. It will be good for him to learn some things and gain some levels. Especially with his new Class. And we want his prosthetics to turn into a Skill, right?”

Linkri stepped forward before Dominic could even come up with a response.

“I didn’t mean we should put him in danger. He can integrate it all in safer ways. Here, far from harm.”

The [Perfumer] looked at her, unmoving. His eyes were settled now, darkness gaining just a bit of a shine.

“And how long would that take, Linkri? He’s a [Survivor]. Kurian needs to go out there and adhere to his Class to grow, and you know that. I’ll be around all the time, Linkri – there’s no need to worry about it. We are just gonna level him until… Level 8. How about it?”

The [Seamstress] hissed twice in denial, arms crossed over her chest.

“There are still safer ways, Orieke. For Sun’s sake, listen to what you’re saying. How could you ever think it is a good idea to take him out there?”

“And who are we to deny him? The boy can make decisions for himself – and he won’t be alone. We’ll be back so soon you won’t even notice – and then you can give him the artifact with enough time for him to grow used to it. We both know such integration will only happen at a Capstone Level. Will you have him wait for months until then?”

He licked his lips, and Dominic used the pause to struggle against his ideas. Orieke knew way more than him when it came to the workings of the world – and he had already shown how much he cared about these people around him. There had to be some validity to his words.

And things grew a bit clearer as the [Death Doctor] distanced himself from his worry. In a land where levels could easily grant you so much, striving for a system-granted solution sounded almost perfect.

His eyes locked on Kurian’s stumps, the boy’s single functional eye watching the debate in front of him with the utmost attention. To Dominic, though, the tension on his shoulder and the tight fist showed him much.

Who was he to deny the boy a way of removing his disabilities as soon as possible? Orieke’s plan was sensible. The sooner Kurian received his prosthetics – and magically attuned to them, or whatever – the happier he’d be.

And Dominic should strive for that.

So the elderly man sighed, defeated.

“I see your point, Orieke. And… I have to agree. We should make Kurian feel better as soon as possible. But can you ensure he will be safe?”

The [Perfumer] looked surprised at his sudden change, but soon hissed an agreement – turning his back to a scowling Linkri.

“One more won’t make a difference, Dominic. And Kurian has the skills to survive many encounters – if not the training to use them. This will be good for all of you.”

The [Death Doctor] nodded. It wasn’t how he had first imagined things to happen, but he couldn’t say it was worse for the new addition. If anything else, a goal to be accomplished during the journey only incensed his heart.

Dominic cleared his throat.

“Alright then. I won’t be the one to stop you. We’ll just have to be more careful.”

A moment to breathe seemed to be shared by all of them – and now that the majority of those going had expressed their consent, even the Artisans seemed reluctant to make further a case. What truly surprised them, as the tension died down and Kurian settled beside Dominic with an unwavering grin on his face, was the sight of another hand slowly rising. Shy and trembling, but willing to risk it.

“I – I want to go too.”

Iaakis spoke with her eyes locked onto the floor, pointedly ignoring the way her mother hissed in immediate disapproval – but instead of the vocal denials Kurian had received, hers was thoughtful, and even Orieke participated in it.

“I understand it, niece – but not today. You must stay back to ensure the prosthetics are made perfectly – none of us know as much of the body as you do, and I truly believe your expertise will quicken the process. Your job will not be less important for it, especially since we are talking about only a few days before our return.”

The [Bone Mender] took the words in silence, head only rising to search Orieke for something only Iaakis knew. In the end, she hissed once, and Dominic watched a fire begin to burn behind her eyes. A steely conviction.

She shot him a look, seemingly deciding something, before turning towards Kurian. All the time, her eyes never dared to face Linkri – and Dominic took it all with the commitment to keep an eye on it. The girl was quite the introvert, past the seemingly rebellious exterior.

“Then… then there’s no time to lose. Kurian, why don’t you come with me? I’ll measure what I need and you can begin your preparations.”

With quick and wobbly steps, Kurian followed Iaakis out of the room – traversing deep into the atelier. Now, with only the Artisans, Merino, and Dominic left – Vriako still tending to the babies – they faced each other with resolution.

Some gazes were deeper than others, worried or scowling – but all in all, Dominic could feel they were all on the same page when it came to their plans. With a groan, Saleko adjusted his position on his chair.

“Well, since you all madmen are willing to go out there, then you’ll need supplies. Let’s see what we can arrange for all of you.”