"You'll be joining the expedition to the Northern Kingdoms." A senior-magos declared. "A team of mages, cultivators, and hunters will be gathering to investigate the Catarina Plague; you will come with us."

Marek's eyes widened, his hands losing their grip over the scroll he'd been reading just a few minutes ago.

The young acolyte blinked and shook his head, goosebumps forming over his skin as he did. When he spoke, his voice faltered and broke. "W-w-why?"

"Are you truly so shocked, acolyte Marek?" The senior-magos asked, a single eyebrow raised. "You are the greatest of our acolytes; what better way to learn more than in the field, yes? Besides, the Archmagos is well aware of your secret healing practices and your unnatural aptitude with it; it was he, who decided that you shall be coming with us."

"I- I- " What could he say in response to that? How was he supposed to tell them that he knew about the Catarina Plague, before anyone even heard of it, that it was far older than any of them realized, that there were forces at work far beyond the grasp of magic or qi? How was he to tell them that his mother had been the first, that she was the whole reason he even bothered coming here? How was he to tell them any of that?

The acolyte sighed, eyes closed. "Very well, though I doubt I'll be of much use in the presence of senior mages."

The senior magos nodded and shook his head. "Agreed - but it is not my place to question the decisions of the Archmagos; gather your things, acolyte. We'll be departing in the morn."

Marek lowered his head, eyes towards the floor even as the older figure turned and walked towards the door. "Yes, senior magos."

Once he was alone once more, Marek slumped in his seat and released a sigh that was far heavier than usual. His eyes fell upon his left arm, much of it covered in robes. Marek reached forwards, grabbing the edges of his left sleeve, and pulled, revealing pale skin - a common trait among acolytes, who spent most of their days within the University, studying the arcane arts. With his right hand raised, Marek chanted, keeping his voice just below a whisper.

"Release Greater Illusion...."

The air around his left arm shimmered softly in response as the effects of a powerful illusory spell was temporarily disabled. Almost instantly, his pale skin greyed, almost like volcanic ash, and crimson veins pulsated just beneath the dermal layer. They were moving - very slowly at that, though Marek knew it wouldn't be long until it overtook his whole body. 'Three more years at the most....'

With a sigh, the illusion returned, turning the ashen skin pale once more. 'Three years... huh, it'll be a miracle if I can hold on for another year without showing a few symptoms.'

"What are you reading?"

Marek's eyes widened. And he very nearly jumped right out of his seat at the sudden voice. His eyes trailed to the right, where a fellow acolyte stood, carrying a stack of tomes with both arms. The girl smiled sheepishly, chuckling softly. "Sorry about that; I've enchanted my footwear so no one can hear me when I'm walking. My name is Marissa, by the way; may I know what you're reading? It seems like a very old tome!"

Marek sighed, leaning back. Hopefully, this Marissa didn't see his left arm. "It is... very old; it's the final thesis of Archmagos Garibald, the mad, which details how and why Qi and Mana are incompatible with each other in large enough doses."

Marissa raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the tome. "Is that the one, where he tests his hypothesis on a few thousand people, pumping them full of Mana and Qi and recording the effects?"

Marek nodded and sighed as he turned to look at the thesis' withered pages. "Yes. Garibald had notes on every single subject, which is why this tome is so damn long. I was reading up on subject 354, who showed elevated signs of adaptability to the effects of having both Mana and Qi in her bloodstream. Unfortunately, she died of shock-induced heart failure, since Garibald didn't bother with anesthetics."

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

He ran a frustrated hand across his face and sighed exasperatedly; what kind of idiot runs these tests without anesthetics on the subjects? Well, a former Archmagos - for one. Marissa took a step forward, placing her stack of books upon Marek's table and leaning over, eyes lingering over Garibald's Thesis. "It's an interesting read, but it ultimately leads nowhere; why are you reading this?"

Marek glanced at his left arm. "I was simply wondering why Qi and Mana are incompatible with each other when - all things considered - there's no real reason why they shouldn't be. One is the energy of life and the other is the energy of the mind; they shouldn't be incompatible, mixing both should not result in poison, and yet...."

"And yet reality is quite different." Marissa finished. "Yeah, I wondered that too, but some things are just what they are."

"Maybe... or maybe not; maybe, it just hasn't been fully understood yet." And that was why he came here - to understand. He'd felt the presence of both Qi and Mana - understood both, at least on a theoretical level. What he'd felt all those years ago, in the time before he travelled south, was a mix of both; there was no denying it. Marek could remember that dreadful presence as though it'd appeared only a few seconds ago; the memory of it had long since burned itself in his mind.

And he couldn't understand how that was possible.

The marriage of Qi and Mana....

He closed the tome and shook his head, standing up from his seat and forcing out a smile as he turned to look at his fellow acolyte. "Anyway, I've a potions and herbs class in a few minutes; if you'll excuse me, I'll see myself out of the library."

All the while, his left arm throbbed with a dull pain. And hushed voices whispered at the back of his head.

----------------------------------------

"Master Zhang Fe, it has been a while since we last spoke; tell me, how goes the Emerald Cloud Sect?" Alfaer asked from across a grand, rectangular, wooden table. He sat on one end, sipping on a cup of steaming tea. On the other end was Zhang Fe, one of the very few Sword Saints, whose name was spoken of in awe and wonder across the Cultivator Sects and even a few Mage Universities. An elderly man, whose small frame belied his true prowess; much of his once muscular body had been withered away by the slow decay of time, but his mastery of Qi only grew with his age.

His old comrade in arms arrived much earlier than the other guests, giving them some time for idle chat. Really, he'd been so caught up in the whole Catarina Plague business that abdicating his seat as Archmagos was almost worth it, just to get rid of all the stress. 'Then again, what's the point of more power if I'm not given more responsibility?'

A lot of the old Archmagos' had a tendency to forget that.

"The same, as always, Alfaer - or should I call you Archmagos, now, you old piece of shit?" The old man chuckled, taking a small sip of the same tea - Allovian Red, a favored leaf among the noble houses of the Northern Kingdoms. "You look far older than you should be; I could've sworn you were supposed to be younger than me."

"Not everyone has the miraculous fortune of having an abnormal amount of Qi in their bodies, even at birth, you bitch." Alfaer snorted, though the edges of his lips curled upwards. He'd missed the old moments of his youth... well, some of them, anyway. "Besides, this old piece of shit once beat you in a duel; so, what does that make you, an even older pile of shit?"

Zhang Fe chuckled, his withered, calloused hands shaking slightly as he placed the teacup down. Alfaer noted it immediately and sighed. He spoke before the cultivator could issue his retort. "My friend, why do you refuse yourself the final gift of Qi? I had though it was the end goal of every cultivator to have eternal life, but you... you're allowing yourself to age, even when you could stop it in a moment."

"Ah... you're really not the first to ask me that question, old friend. And I shall offer you the same answer as I have them: I have never seen death as the end of the frontier, merely another path that we all must take eventually. I see no reason to run from it, nor shy away from it; I have lived a long and colorful life. I do not see anything else for me in this frontier; at least, nothing else for myself."

Alfaer sighed, but soon chuckled. "Spoken like a true hermit of the mountains, I see."

Zhang Fe's aged face twisted in mock indignation. "Hey, that happened one time and you know it!"

"Anyway...." The Sword Saint's face turned serious. On to business then, even before the other attendants arrived; though, from their long-range sensors, they would be arriving within the next hour. "What can you tell me about the plague that I don't already know?"

Alfaer coughed into his hand. "It's definitely not a natural phenomenon; I can tell you that much with a hundred percent certainty. Its symptoms are simply impossible, when taking account normal human biology, bacterium and viruses. Beyond that, I have only theories; most of which will be tested once we reach the north."

Zhang Fe raised an eyebrow and gestured forth. "Tell me of your theories then."

"I think...." Alfaer sighed; he really wasn't looking forward to telling everyone this piece of news. But then he had no choice; it was better for all of them to know now than it was for them to find out later. At the very least, they could mentally prepare themselves for what might come. But, the Archmagos hoped to all the gods that he was wrong - that his theory was simply reaching too high. "I think we're dealing with an Old One... or, at the very least, something that's channeling the powers of an Old One."

Zhang Fe slumped back against his chair, visibly aging a whole decade.

"Shit."

"Yeah...."