Chapter 8 - Ashen Lungs

There was much one could do with knowledge of how a body worked. Humanity, alone and with none of the arcane help of the System, had almost fully comprehended the intricacies of their own biology – an achievement that would make the Earthen race soar higher and higher as more time and money was invested in such research.

Oh, already was there talk about changes made on bodies to augment their capabilities, such as cognitive enhancement chips or extra limbs. But those that thought on such questions, philosophers and whatnot, already saw issues in both availability and morality with those advancements.

Dominic was not stupid. When he had first heard the talk of what scientists were trying to achieve, he commended them and their naive excitement in thought – but the elderly man had seen more than enough of the world to know that it was a work only few would use, and those not suited to partake in those enhancements would remain as forgotten as they already are.

He had seen it happen before, when AIDS first struck Armstrong’s community and Dominic had to follow his friend through hospitals and morgues to try and assist him in his grief. The utter silence of authorities, the sickness spreading as much in blood as in whispers, the years it took for any advancement to be made on the subject even with the pile of corpses growing day by day.

Those were the memories the Impish medical camp brought to his mind. Of an ignored population, struggling with all they had and finding their efforts wanting when put against the might of a plague – of mourners by the dozens, unsure if they would be the next to leave those rooms while covered in white blankets.

Dominic took it all in like a sponge. The first tent he and Trakia visit was the one with the smell of burning meat and ash, slightly hidden underneath the eye-watering scent of the incense burning in the bronze brazier and – according to Trakia – attended by the only two other [Priestesses] here in Kiringar, though Dominic had not seen them.

Still, through smoke and faint fear, Dominic followed the Elder inside the tent, noticing how the making of the walls was different from the cloth that made the temple. Here, in what was supposed to be a place of healing, the walls were bare, beige cloth – the rims and other edges already stained an odd yellow by the smoke that traveled in.

Dominic took his eyes away from the walls and faced the sight, dread appearing in a tighter grip around his cane. The older man glimpsed at the truth of what lay inside and closed his eyes tightly, taking deep breath after deep breath of the scented air before steeling his heart.

Already his legs were trying to flee from the sight, turning soft like jelly and threatening to lock Dominic in place if he even thought of taking a step closer. The weight of the place was a horrifying thing, every raspy breath he could hear from the curled shadows hidden beyond the cloth curtains within was another ice needle in his heart – and yet, Dominic did not retreat beyond a sudden pause.

He had a purpose, confusing and half delirious as it was. Exhaustion had taken its toll on his mind, but Dominic could still see clearly – and if there was anything the [Death Doctor] knew, since the moment he heard Trakia’s talk of an infirmary, was that he could be useful here.

His Class ensured it, right? It was in its description – that he would be able to bring back those at the final edge. That it was his job to do so.

Dominic might not have all the information on what a Class truly was, but from what he had seen, it wasn’t hard to surmise that they were far more important than he had first thought they were worth. It was more than a simple name for your occupation – it was a lifestyle. A way of seeing the world that one would have to adhere to if one wished to continuously grow.

Still, class or no class – purpose or no purpose – nothing could have prepared Dominic for the truth hidden behind the covers of Kiringar.

***

“Here. Put over your mouth and nose. It’ll help with the smell.”

Trakia handed him something before they entered the first division of the tent – an odd mask, shaped to fit into a snout and fairly similar to what the lower half of a diver’s mask would look like. The herbs and flowers inside reminded Dominic of old classes on plague doctors, but this one was fairly circular instead of beak-like.

Still, for even Trakia to have to put on a mask to face whatever was beyond the curtains already was something that put Dominic on high alert. He remained silent as the [Priestess] watched him put on his own mask, nodding in affirmation before entering the small room.

Dominic followed soon after, cane hitting the soft earth with dull thumps. He had to bend a little to enter the room, but after he got through the flap and stood inside the barely illuminated room – that green light of ikriat leaves shining from a clay pot on the corner – the [Death Doctor] had his first glimpse at the patient.

The Imp woman was perfectly asleep, wheezy breaths coming out of her mouth as if her lungs had been filled with water. She… didn’t look any paler than any other Imp he had seen on his way here – in fact, it was the complete opposite. The woman looked tanned.

No, more than that. Sunburnt. From his place, Dominic could see the places on her cheeks and arms where the skin had begun to crack and peel like dry soil. And yet, it all paled when compared to the state of her snout.

The entire nose was blackened and cracked – a burning piece of ember that shone from time to time similar to when the wind passed by a fireplace. The appendage didn’t seem to smoke, but Dominic could see the way pieces of it flaked away like ash – drifting lazily from the woman’s face every time she took a breath.

“What is this?”

He could not contain his shock and it burst through in his words at the same time Dominic thought to keep his bile within his body. Not even during his own treatment had he seen such an awful situation – the Imp woman was more than decrepit, she looked already dead. Thin and gaunt, her sunburnt condition made the poor woman look like a corpse someone forgot under the summer sun.

Trakia did not turn to face him, putting a hand to the woman’s forehead as if assessing her temperature.

“Ashen Lungs. That’s what we call it. It’s – a disease, as you can see.”

Silence reigned between them for a moment, and Dominic sighed before speaking.

“How does it… How does it work? Do you know?”

Trakia bit her lip, black eyes focused on the woman.

“No… we don’t. It isn’t a new condition you see – but no one from my generation or even before that has seen it before. There are… records, of a kind, though they tend to see it as a curse more than a plague.”

Dominic looked at the [Priestess], peeling his eyes away from the awful sight, and watched as Trakia kneeled beside the patient who was asleep on a simple mattress – put on the floor in a hurry. Trakia began to move the body around, slowly turning the sleeping form on their side before bringing it back to its place.

Still, the [Death Doctor] couldn’t help but question what Trakia had said. His own ignorance of all things magical makes it difficult to understand the limitations of this new world. And this seemed like a good enough distraction to his own mind, especially when faced with such a gruesome sight.

“You… you disagree? That it’s a curse, I mean.”

Trakia remained silent for a moment, adjusting the women’s position a little more before sighing. For the first time, Dominic looked at the woman and saw her falter – a thousand emotions in her eyes, all enveloped in exhaustion.

“I do. My Skills would have worked if it were a curse. But none of them… none of them do anything, regardless of how much we try.”

“And your Skills would be able to deal with it?”

“If it was a curse? Yes. It would have been… painful, but it would have worked.”

Trakia bit on her nails, but soon stopped after realizing what she was doing. The [Priestess] straightened her spine and launched her mind and voice into an explanation.

“Record says it began just a few decades after our birth, the first Imps falling to the burning of their own lungs. It grew in number with time – never an enemy strong enough to eradicate us, but an inevitable end all Imps that lived long enough were fated to meet. Some writings say it was the last curse of the Ground against us, but that’s silly – it was already dead when we rose for the first time.”

“But you said you had never seen it before?”

The Imp sighed, her fingers tapping on her lap while Dominic found a more comfortable position on the floor, sitting opposite Trakia. It was more than uncomfortable to have the sick woman between them, and Dominic had to consciously keep his sight away from the afflicted face, but the [Priestess] didn’t seem to mind.

“Correct. The Ashen Lungs disappeared completely after a while, you see – soon after we built our first settlements. We… thought it was a mercy at the time – divine providence and whatnot. The fact it’s back – well, you can imagine the tension.”

Religious meddling always made things more complicated. But, at the very least, Trakia did seem more flexible with her faith than others. Less blinded by it.

“Is it only in Kiringar? I remember Kurian saying that there were other settlements.”

“There are – but if they have been afflicted by it we don’t know. Merchants have stopped coming ever since word got out that the disease had returned. We… are expecting an old resident to return in a few days – so maybe he’ll know more.”

Dominic nodded, understanding. If he were to draw a comparison, it was pretty much as if the entirety of Kiringar had become quarantined – though by the way Trakia kept on touching the patient barehanded, he assumed the Ashen Lungs didn’t spread by touch.

But that did bring a question he hadn’t had the opportunity to ask.

“What about that… man the others had been fighting against? The…”

Dominic tried to grasp a proper noun, but all seemed unfitting. The [Priestess] was the one to break the stalemate, her forked tongue hissing like a water droplet touching an open flame. Trakia’s eyes burned once more, though now the elderly human felt none of the weight.

This hatred wasn’t for him.

“Python. That’s what his kind is called. And his name is Sybilllus.”

The [Death Doctor] gulped, hands tightening around the cane on his lap. He might not have lost as much as Trakia, but he had been there to see it all take place – and this Sybillus was not someone he wished to make an acquaintance of.

Still, from what Dominic had seen of the man, his powers did seem somewhat aligned with what was happening here – the whole rotting flames thing being a clear similarity in his mind.

“Right. A Python. I saw how he fought the others. Could he be the cause?”

He could see the moment his words ignited Trakia’s temper – and also how she reigned it in with a shaky breath.

“I… forget you don’t know these things. Could he be the cause? Maybe. Sybillus is well known as a [Plague Mage] so it should be within his potential, if not capability. But – let me start from the beginning.”

Dominic readied himself for the lesson, watching intently as Trakia summoned the same smoke she had once used to show him Kiringar. Now, the gray cloud left her mouth and shaped itself in a small – but similar – avatar of the [Plague Mage], the sight making Dominic’s stomach churn, but he strayed his eyes to Trakia’s own in an attempt to hold his disgust down.

“Sybillus is a well-known [Mage], Dominic. He is part of the Cult of Eternal Dark – those that see only blasphemy in the Sun’s light – and has also served as the blade of the Cult for a long time now. Our faiths are… fairly opposite.”

Dominic could imagine it. Considering Kurian’s tale, Trakia’s God was the one responsible for killing Sybillus’s own – and Dominic had heard of zealots killing for far less than that.

“Six months ago, he struck the first blow against us. A scout party was found dead on one of the trails during a hunt, their flesh rotten all over as if they were far older cadavers. We… thought it was a new Nightmare at first – one of those based on disease or rot – but Orieke caught the scent of a Skill within the bodies when they were brought.”

“So you knew it had been a trap.”

Trakia hissed in affirmation – and the smoke avatar divided itself into three, two hooded figures now trailing behind Sybillus while more smoke poured out of Trakia’s throat and turned into that same aerial view of Kiringar.

The smoke figures approached the western wall – the one that was directly opposite to the one this medical camp was located.

“We knew someone had struck us – but not who yet. Oh, we knew the cult existed and that they had a [Plague Mage] within their ranks, but they had never pointed Sybillus at us. We thought we were going to have another century of peace between us – and if things were to turn sour, it would just be higher taxes or fewer products being sold – not… not this.”

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The scene played out in front of Dominic, a miniature play composed of only smoke and vague ember-red traces of color. The [Death Doctor] saw Sybillus approach, his subordinates following every step of the Python like shadows, and watched with wide eyes as the [Plague Mage] began to move his hands around as if casting something – tracing vague arcs in the air and gesturing with his clawed hands.

Trakia’s voice was deep as she narrated.

“They came in the dead of night. Only a few of our [Scouts] and [Guards] were manning the walls and none were high-level enough to detect whatever it was that they had used to hide. Thankfully, this wasn’t the first time someone had attempted to invade Kiringar or the Grey House, so there were precautions in place.”

A couple of armed figures appeared on the walls, on patrol.

“When Sybillus began to cast, all the ones able to felt it in the air. Can you imagine it? A Spell of such proportions that very mana in the air was displaced enough to scream at our ears? Sucked into a vortex none could see?”

There it was. A hundred thin rivers of clear, white smoke gathering around Sybillus like an embrace.

“All the ones who had defensive Skills called for them. Miracles and Spells were cast into the night air to try and keep whatever it was that was going on at bay. But he was clever, the rotten snake. Oh, so clever.”

The scene changed, and Sybillus’s shape kneeled on the ground, his palms extended over the soft earth. The other two hooded figures behind him began to move as well, arcane gestures disturbing the mana flow as they began to weave a Spell together.

The [Siege Fireball] struck the walls of Kiringar with a resounding boom, shown by the way all of the smoke wavered around the point of impact. At the same time, Sybillus finished his own incantation, purposefully hidden by the attack.

“Our own protections endured, you see. But none saw him casting his plague upon us – and that was our mistake. We thought the Cult had just struck a preemptive strike, one to make sure we knew there was going to be open conflict, but it was already a deadly blow. His… disease was deep into our soil, and we only noticed it when Guintaro fell ill.”

Dominic listened to the tale with a heavy heart, a grimace on his face every time the smoke changed shape and Trakia showed him the consequences of Sybillus’s Spell. The scene shifted its focus to one of the Imps, bent over as he coughed his lungs out after those from the Cult had long since fled.

“Is that… Guintaro?”

Trakia looked at him, eyes aflame, and hissed in affirmation. She closed her eyes for a moment, furrowing her brows before swallowing a sigh.

“He was one of the Nine Artisans. The youngest of them, in fact – born just a few months after Nifestu. Has the boy told you who they are?”

Dominic jerked at the name of Kurian’s father, a piece of information he only had due to that awful prompt from the System. He shook his head at the [Priestess]’s question.

“We of Kiringar had a vision when we first settled, or so it’s said. Imps were… slaves, you see? When we got our freedom, we had to carve a place in the world – and the only areas able to fit us were those left forgotten, or not valuable. That’s where the Nine Artisans came in.”

A monopoly. A niche one, but a monopoly nonetheless. Dominic understood the plan and even agreed with it – though how the System would affect such things he did not know.

“Guintaro was one of them. He was a [Florist] – as had been his father and those before him – and the foolish boy had been so attuned to his place of work that he felt it all when the soil began to sicken. Sybillus’s disease attacked him first, before even reaching our crops, and thanks to that we were soon aware of what happened.”

Dominic saw the man run from where he had been – some kind of greenhouse, filled with wild growing flowers that were not so detailed in the smoke – and try to warn others.

“To answer your question, Dominic. Could Sybillus have caused this? Maybe. But whatever it was that he had cast that night, Guintaro was the first to burn from the inside out.”

***

The story ended from there. TRakia, despite her brazen outside, seemed unwilling to continue talking about what had happened after she told Dominic about Guintaro’s death. Instead, the [Priestess] put him to work with a short order, telling the [Death Doctor] to make himself useful if he were to keep following her around.

Dominic did so without a peep. He knew better than to interfere in the somber mood emanating from the Elder Imp – and he respected her enough to let Trakia take the time to process what had been said.

Nevertheless, the duo took to the patients for an hour, Dominic and Trakia dividing themselves in assisting those afflicted with the Ashen Lungs, alongside a few other workers trying their best to bring some comfort to the victims.

All in all, the [Death Doctor] had come across enough of the sick Imps to learn a thing or two about their disease – and, especially, how it always seemed to begin.

An incessant cough and a low fever. The symptoms seemed to always be the same, getting worse from there. They did not get any new patients during the hour they had been there, but a couple of the afflicted had just begun to show the symptoms that same day – which allowed Dominic to fully see the stages of the infection.

Those that came in early had hardly any difference from what Dominic saw back home when someone caught the flu. A leaky nose, the nasal voice of someone with their sinuses clogged, and a kind of lethargy as if the sickness had been sucking the energy out of them.

The truly worst part was the panic. Those with more advanced symptoms – or the Burning Ones, as Trakia reluctantly called them due to a lack of a better term – could not fight against their carers both due to the pain they were in and the magical incense Dominic finally understood about. Apparently, the smoke drifting lazily through the air was both easing the pain and keeping the victims sedated for as long as they were there.

Those within the beginning stages, however? Well, they could still despair – mostly because of a truth Dominic did not see or hear, but that hung heavy in the air and in the mourning families in and out of the tent.

No one afflicted had survived yet. It took a few weeks, but in less than five days the symptoms tended to worsen enough that they had to be put to rest – their aerial ways turning into embers and their lungs burning from the inside out.

An awful disease, entirely impossible back on Earth – and as deadly here as it would have been in his homeland, if not more. It was, Dominic realized, an awful similarity between a world with and without the System.

An understanding was still necessary to tackle one’s problems. And neither he, nor Trakia, nor any of the people living in Kiringar understood what was happening – and the System did not seem to care enough to give them answers.

The [Death Doctor] was certain it would know what was going on – but like the very oxygen he breathed, the Universal System appeared to be a neutral force, uncaring in its design. It was… fair – Dominic would be very worried if someone had received more of the System’s powers or knowledge than others – but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

Still, Dominic did what he could – which wasn’t much. Helping the comatose patients was easy, in a way, but taxing to his own spent body and mind – so Dominic chose to follow others and learn, rather than use his scarce knowledge of medicine to assist.

Thankfully, those workers helping with the care of the patients – which he had counted to be about forty sleeping ones and another twenty with few symptoms – were kind enough to chat after a moment or two of assistance. One of them, a male Imp with grayish skin and a pair of thick glasses over his eyes soon warmed up to Dominic.

“A [Death Doctor] and… what did you say you were again? A ryuman? From beyond the Steppes?”

Dominic gave him a small rise of the lips. Merino’s magnified eyes took him entirely, the blackness of them – a trait that seemed to be shared by all the Imps he had met – shining wetly from behind the lenses. The man carried a bandolier across his shirt, one of the first of its kind Dominic had seen, and he kept on fiddling with the different pouches affixed to the leathery strip.

The [Death Doctor] adjusted his grip on his cane, feeling the metallic knob on top and its shiny smoothness. They had both sat on some stools on the more peripheral corridors, waiting for some kind of steaming tea Merino had offered to get colder.

“Indeed. My kind comes from afar. And you said you were an [Apothecary]? How does that work, exactly?”

When the man had introduced himself, found by Dominic in an attempt to feed what had seemed like some type of medicine to one of the sleeping patients, he had told the elderly man his Class. Apparently, despite his foreign appearance, news of his arrival along with Kurian had spread far enough that people took Dominic in a less alien way than the [Death Doctor] had expected.

“Hmm, it’s a kind of alchemy in a way? Less… magical and a lot more focused on medicines and other healing products – though, you can see that it’s not working very well.”

Merino gave him a pained smile, and Dominic sympathized enough to stretch a hand and pat the man on the shoulder. He was thankful for the lower stature of the Imps – it made it a lot less taxing on his back to perform the motion.

The [Apothecary] did not complain, even if he had tensed slightly over the sudden touch, but the brief contact soon ended. Dominic did not want to cause greater discomfort.

“I’m certain you are trying your best, Merino. But Trakia told me that even her Skills were not helping with the Ashen Lungs. Any idea on why?”

The Imp adjusted his glasses. He seemed to find something in his bandolier with which he fidgeted.

“There… There can be many reasons. The most obvious one? We are not high-level enough to compete with the Ashen Lungs – it is also… the worst possible outcome, honestly. I don’t think we have anyone higher level than Elder Trakia capable of tackling the disease, and if she can’t do it…”

“But you don’t think that’s it.”

Dominic had an inkling, somehow. Maybe he was getting more used to their facial expressions, the way their snouts moved seemed to work as a telltale many times, or perhaps it was just the way Merino talked about things. Like a manager making a proposal that had no soul to it.

The [Apothecary] puckered his lips, one of his tusks pressing on the upper lip.

“It’s not that I don’t think it’s right. It’s just that – it sounds simplistic… somehow. If this really was the effect of a Skill, and a high-level one at that, it would have been boosted by other supplementary Skills.”

Merino gestured now, hands-free of the bandoleer and his supplies.

“Someone like Sybillus? He would have a dozen other Skills to make his diseases into true plagues. But… I asked the Elders to read what stories we have of the first time the Ashen Lungs appeared – and it doesn’t differ from what we see now in any major way. Still… still incurable, but not deadlier.”

Dominic listened to the explanation with rapt attention, absorbing every tidbit of the world he could glimpse through Merino’s words. The [Apothecary] ended up sounding more frustrated by the end, and Dominic took to responding with a kind smile.

“Hmm. I see – then what is it you think is going on?”

Merino huffed, adjusting his glasses as he thought about how best to explain. He leaned forward, almost secretively, and Dominic fought against the pain in his lower back to do the same.

“I was talking with a colleague and we think the disease isn’t actually from a spell or skill. I was thinking it was some natural disease the Cult had somehow bottled and used on us, the spell serving as only a way to spread it all over Kiringar. But then, it wouldn’t make sense to have affected the soil as well.”

“Right. And Guintaro died because of that, right? Whatever it was that Sybillus did, it… affected the soil?”

The very idea seemed difficult to believe in. Even after Trakia’s story, the [Death Doctor] was reluctant to believe someone could have such a… connection to the ground. But then again, maybe that was just a small madness compared to what his life had turned into.

Or his unlife. His… death? Whatever.

Nevertheless, Merino’s face fell immediately after hearing the dead man’s name, sadness and grief twisting his features. Dominic didn’t know how well the [Apothecary] and the [Florist] had known each other, but it seemed the mention of his name was still a painful topic.

“...Yes. It – it didn’t make sense. Why would Guinnie be the first afflicted? He wasn’t even close to the Western Wall at the time… So we kept on trying to understand – but Iaakis was the one with the best possible explanation. Have you met her?”

“I can’t say I have. Is she another [Apothecary]?”

The Imp hissed twice in a negative, his forked tongue visible for a moment. Merino blew on his own cup of tea, bringing it to his lips.

Dominic did the same. The [Apothecary] had told him it was a special concoction that would help with the pain and give him some energy boost. Apparently, all the workers had been relying on it for the past few days.

“No, no. Iaakis is a [Bone Mender]. A type of [Healer], in a way. She… She claims that whatever it was that Sybillus did, it acts like a type of poison – dormant until one is afflicted and then it begins to act like a disease.”

Dominic listened to the explanation, trying to bring in a close enough association to what Earth had already gone through. It was clear to the eyes of the modern man that Kiringar was not as technologically advanced as Earth, and it could very well be that Ashen Lungs was simply a different type of virus or parasite the Imps were unaware of.

Still, he was not a biologist in any way. Or a true doctor, despite what his Class called him. But Merino’s and Iaakis’s ideas did remind him of an old science lesson on viruses – something about how they were not alive outside of a body and would only begin to work in reproducing and causing disease after they infected someone.

Dominic put down his cup.

“So you think it isn’t a proper ailment like others, but a different type… Do other species also suffer from Ashen Lungs?”

Once again, Merino hissed. Two sharp sounds left his mouth as his unfocused gaze looked at the rising steam from his own cup.

“No. It seems to be restricted to us.”

The [Death Doctor] hummed, chin on his hand as he thought for a bit. If this really was a virus, he did know part of the treatment was in dealing with the symptoms and either waiting for it to end or making them undetectable, like AIDS.

Perhaps… perhaps that was a good idea?

“You said you were testing different medicines, right? Have you tried to tackle the symptoms alone?”

The Imp adjusted his glasses and the green reflection of the ikriat leaves shone on Dominic’s eyes. Merino coughed in embarrassment.

“I… Not really? What do you mean by that?”

“It’s a human idea. If we can’t go for a cure, maybe we can try to fight a symptom at a time. My kind does suffer from different diseases as well.”

Then again, maybe introducing hyper medicalization to the Imps wasn’t something he should do. But if it helped…

Merino frowned at the idea.

“So… a different remedy for every part of the disease? No, that’s impossible. The body would be overtaxed by it all. The mana of the process would make them resistant to it in little time as well.”

“The… mana? Oh, you mean magic. Really? Huh. Well, then what if you didn’t use any magic during the process? We, humans, have fought previous diseases with only plants and their natural effects. Maybe something out there can be used to fight the symptoms?”

Merino listened intently, trying to grasp Dominic’s words without immediately refusing the idea. The elderly man couldn’t help but smile at that – it was always nice to meet a young person willing to change their own perspective on things.

Leaning forward for his cup of tea, the buzz of the drink was a real and palpable thing, making Dominic sweat a bit as the warm, earthy concoction drove away the fog of exhaustion from his mind and turned his dull pain into a distant sensation. This was some powerful stuff. Better than coffee, even, and he knew more than one academic that would kill for the kick this could give.

Lord Almighty, he could have used this himself back when he had been insanely working to bring the company some profit.

“I… could use some of the ingredients, I guess? There are a few that could help – maybe if I go for opposite affinities? The tears could be –”

Merino’s voice turned into an inaudible mix of words, whispered thoughts prompted by the ideas forming in his mind. Dominic watched it all in silence, the sudden memory of a few of his friends losing themselves to a work they loved bringing a surge of nostalgia to his chest.

Martha had been the same whenever she had a new idea, hadn’t she? The architect had been one of the few he had met able to enter a “creative zone” at will – a time where her focus was so honed onto a single task that she seemed only to live for her purpose. It was enticing to watch… until he or one of his friends had to remind her of the world outside. Usually by way of ripping the woman’s sketches from her hands.

Have you ever seen an angry architect throwing entire sheets of balsa wood at you as if they were shurikens? It’s not something one is usually subjected to, but many took Dominic’s words as truth when he told them it hurt like hell and back to be hit by one of those. Especially when the thrower was an angry, sleep-deprived gremlin of a woman.

The [Death Doctor] did not fight the small smile from reaching his lips. These were good memories. Painful ones, as well. In the end, Dominic simply shook his head, focusing back on the present as the bout of sadness made the tea’s herbal aftertaste turn sour in his mouth.

He was about to ask what Merino was thinking about when his name came from amidst the smoke, carried with an emergency by Trakia’s voice.

“Dominic!”

Immediately, silence fell upon the medical tent – and even the [Apothecary] sitting beside him was pulled from his own thoughts by the alertness in the [Priestess]’s voice.

Dominic froze for a second – and Merino patted him on the back with a little push, apparently far more used to this than the elderly human was.

“Go. The smoke will show you the way. It sounds important.”

The [Death Doctor] turned alert and nodded towards Merino, setting his cane on the floor as he rose from the seat. He left the rest of the tea behind, but before the distance between him and the [Apothecary] grew too wide, Dominic turned towards Merino.

“Tell me if you come up with a plan, Merino. Or even if you need some help. You can look for me if you need anything, even if only to discuss ideas.”

The Imp hissed once, and Dominic left him behind to maybe find a solution to the Ashen Lungs.

With hurried steps, the Elder walked forward. He would face whatever it was that Trakia threw at him.