A group of men walked slowly into the main city square of the kingdom. Their presence was enough to draw every eye, their movements deliberate, as though they carried judgment itself in their steps.
They were dressed in long black robes dragging against the cobblestones, leather gloves creaking with each curl of their fingers. Their masks were not just masks—they looked as though they had been dragged out of a nightmare.
The long beaks were cracked and crooked, stitched together with black thread, looking like something made from torn flesh. The round glass eyes stretched too wide, reflecting no light, only emptiness. They seemed less like healers and more like vultures wearing human skin.
The air around them felt heavier, colder, as though they brought a storm of death with them. Mothers pulled children closer, and whispers rippled through the crowd like uneasy waves.
"Who are they?" someone muttered with a trembling voice.
"What are they?" another whispered.
Before any answers came, a loud, wet cough erupted from somewhere in the crowd. The sound broke the tension like a whip, and all heads turned. The plague doctors halted as one, their heads snapping toward the sound. A chorus of gasps rose from the people, their fear spreading like fire.
The crowd instinctively parted, clearing a path for the doctors. Their boots echoed as they approached the man responsible for the cough. He stood pale and trembling, sweat soaking his clothes. His eyes were hollow, his lips were also cracked. He looked as though death already held him by the throat.
One of the doctors raised his gloved hand. His voice was muffled and hollow behind the mask, yet it carried across the silence.
"Fear not. We have come to bring salvation and cleansing."
The sick man doubled over, coughing wildly. Desperate, one of the doctors tore off his robe, leaving him naked before the people.
They gasps as his skin was filled with angry sores, some oozing black fluid. Women shrieked and men backed away, pulling their loved ones with them.
"You are infected!" someone cried.
The man staggered forward, hands outstretched. "Please! Help me! Save me! I have not been myself for days." His voice cracked with despair.
"Yes… you are saved," the plague doctor said calmly.
In one smooth motion, he pulled a thin chain from his waist, its edges jagged like teeth. The iron glowed faintly red, as though it had been forged in fire moments ago. With a swift movement, he tightened it around the man's throat.
There was a loud hiss, the smell of burning flesh filled the air, and in a flash, the man's head rolled free, thudding onto the cobblestones.
Screams tore from the crowd. People scattered backward, hands covering their mouths and eyes. Mothers cried, and men cursed, yet none dared intervene. They were all scared.
"Fear not," the plague doctor's voice droned. "There was no hope for him."
Another cough echoed. This time it came from the edge of the crowd. All eyes turned—toward Fanaza. After discovering she carried the plague, Rwaine had planned to take her to a trusted physician. But on their way, they came across the doctors.
She stood weakly beside Rwaine, her frame trembling under his cloak. Her face was pale, her lips dry, her cough rattling her chest. She tried to hide, but the weight of every gaze pinned her down.
The plague doctors began to step toward her.
But before he could get close, Rwaine moved. He stepped forward, placing himself firmly between Fanaza and the doctor. His eyes burned like fire, his jaw tightened.
"I mean only peace. She is infected," the plague doctor said, his voice almost gentle.
"Stay away from her," Rwaine growled, the sound more like a beast than a man.
Behind his mask, the doctor scoffed. A low chuckle hissed from the beak-like mouth. Suddenly, an arrow whistled from the crowd toward Rwaine. With inhuman speed, he raised his hand, catching the shaft in mid-air. With a snap, Rwaine broke it in two.
"I will not repeat myself," Rwaine warned, his voice sharp as a blade. "Stay. Away. From her."
Fanaza pressed against his back, coughing harder, blood staining her lips.
"Boy," the doctor sneered, "you protect a dangerous being, and in doing so, you risk the health of every citizen here. How selfish."
Rwaine said nothing. His silence was a threat.
"Bring the girl," the doctor ordered.
Two other doctors stepped forward, their long sleeves fluttering like wings of death. They moved in unison, their steps echoing against the stones.
Rwaine drew his blade from his cloak.
The fight erupted so quickly.
The first doctor lunged, swinging a hooked blade, but Rwaine parried with a metallic clash, sparks flying. He shoved the man backward with his strength, his cloak swirling.
The second came from behind, striking fast. Rwaine spun, ducking the strike, and his sword slashed across the doctor's chest. His black fabric tore and he staggered, but did not scream.
The crowd shrieked as the fight grew brutal. The doctors moved with unnatural rhythm, like shadows given flesh. But Rwaine was faster, fiercer. His sword cut through their defenses, his eyes cold with determination. One by one, they fell, writhing in the dirt.
Then, Fanaza collapsed.
"Fanaza!" Rwaine dropped his blade, rushing to her side. He cradled her in his arms as she coughed violently, blood spilling onto his hands. Her body shook, her breath became shallow.
"She is not yet a threat," the lead plague doctor said, voice calm, almost mocking. "Her blood is pure—for now."
He turned and walked away, leaving the fallen behind. The crowd parted as his robe swept the floor.
"Are you okay?" Rwaine whispered, his voice trembling.
Fanaza's eyes fluttered open, unfocused. "Why… why do you have five heads? No… just one."
Rwaine's chest tightened. Hallucinations. He held her closer, fear twisting inside him.
"Who are those people?" she asked weakly.
"I don't know, but they are no heroes." he said softly, his voice low as a curse.
******
The palace was in chaos. Servants hurried down the long marble halls with pale faces, their whispers sharp with panic. Guards stormed across the courtyards, their boots striking hard against the ground as orders flew from every direction.
"Shut the palace gates! No one comes in or goes out!" a guard bellowed.
The command echoed across the stone walls. The heavy gates groaned as chains were pulled and iron slammed shut. Crossbows were raised along the ramparts. The city outside was cut off in an instant.
But inside, fear only grew.
Several guards rushed toward Fanaza's chamber. They burst inside, their weapons drawn, only to find the room empty. The bed was untouched, the curtains swaying slightly as though someone had just slipped through.
"Find the lady!" the captain snarled. His men tore through the room, overturning cushions, opening wardrobes, searching everywhere for her but they found nothing.
"She is not here," one reported breathlessly.
The man cursed, frustration twisting his features. "Search every wing. She must not leave the palace."
Elsewhere, Prince Percival sat with his jaw clenched as the royal physician, Callous, prepared his instruments. The physician's hands trembled slightly, though he tried to mask it.
"This may tickle a bit, my liege," Callous said carefully, holding up a slender needle.
Percival's lips curled in disgust. He didn't flinch as the sharp point pierced his skin. The blood flowed, dark and rich, dripping into a glass vial.
Callous sealed it tightly, bowing as he pulled away. "Until the results are out, you must remain in quarantine. Everyone who had contact with Prince Felix must also be quarantined my liege."
Percival gave him a cold glare but said nothing.
The physician hurried from the chamber. Outside the hall, Queen Lisa and King Loban stood waiting, their faces drawn with worry.
"How is my son?" Lisa demanded, her voice sharp with fear.
"My queen," Callous said, lowering his head, "you should also be in quarantine. This infection—it is not ordinary. But considering the crown prince has shown no symptoms, it may be selective. Still… he must remain under watch, along with Lady Fanaza."
Lisa's breath caught. The weight of his words seemed to choke her.
King Loban's expression darkened. "Find a cure to this infection. I cannot risk this kingdom falling into chaos." His voice thundered through the hall, leaving no room for doubt.
*****
Outside the palace walls, night had fallen. The torches along the battlements flickered weakly against the darkness.From the guard tower, a sentry lifted a polished brass tube, an alchemist's tool that caught distant shapes. His eyes widened.
Shapes were moving on the road. Slow and deliberate. A procession of figures draped in black, their long coats gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
"Who are they?" the guard whispered, his grip tightening on the tube.
As they drew closer, the details became clearer—the long-beaked masks, the hollow eyes, the eerie silence that followed them like a shadow. It was the plague doctors.
They halted before the sealed gate. One of them raised his voice, calm and commanding.
"We have come in peace. To cleanse the kingdom of its impurities and plague. Let us in."
The guards stiffened. "Who are you?" one demanded, voice cracking with unease.
The lead doctor tilted his head slightly, as if insulted. "I have no words to waste on low animals like you. Call your king."
The men exchanged uncertain glances.
Moments later, King Loban himself appeared at the gates, followed by his guards. His robes shimmered faintly under the torchlight, but his face was carved with tension.
"Who do you seek?" he asked, his tone heavy.
The plague doctors bowed deeply, their strange beaked masks dipping low.
"My king," the lead one said, "we have come to cleanse and heal the plague that stalks your land. We are sent by the Kingmakers."
The name struck Loban like a blade. His brows furrowed. Memories stirred, one he had wanted to bury forever in the past and instantly he knew where they came from
The guards froze, exchanging looks of dread.
"Open the gates," Loban commanded.
"My king—" one guard protested, but the king's glare silenced him.
"I said open the gates!" Loban roared.
The chains rattled and the gates creaked open. The plague doctors stepped through, their boots thudding against stone as the crowd inside shrank back in terror.
They were led into the great hall, where the king sat upon his throne, Lisa at his side. Torches crackled, casting long, twisted shadows across the walls. As they stepped in, the atmosphere in the palace changed drastically.
The lead doctor moved forward.
"We were sent by the Kingmakers," he repeated, his voice echoing strangely in the vast chamber. "We are the plague doctors, who travel from kingdom to kingdom, eradicating disease and death. We were called."
"I never called any of you," Loban said flatly. His knuckles tightened against the throne's armrest.
"You did, my king. Perhaps you do not remember."
"What do you want?" Loban said.
"Your kingdom is infested with a deadly plague." the doctor said, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather. "It spreads quickly. Two days after the blood turns green, death is certain. There is no saving them once that happens. Permit us to treat your people, and we will take care of the infected."
"How can I trust you?" Loban asked coldly.
The doctor tilted his head. "The Kingmakers put together a great record of you, my king. One so enticing, we could not refuse your call."
Loban froze, his eyes narrowing. Silence filled the hall for a long moment.
Finally, his voice broke through the stillness, low and heavy. "My sons are infected."
The plague doctor gave a slow nod. "As long as they do not bleed green, they are safe—for now."
******
Later, Fanaza coughed violently into Rwaine's hand. The sight of her blood chilled him, but he forced himself to become calm.
"It's okay," Rwaine whispered, holding her hands tightly.
"It hurts… so badly," she groaned, her voice trembling.
"Where does it hurt?" he asked, searching her eyes for an answer.
With effort, she placed her trembling hand on her thigh.
Rwaine hesitated, heart pounding. "Can I?" he asked softly.
She nodded weakly.
He gently adjusted her gown, lifting it just enough to see. He froze when he saw the skin of her thigh was no longer the smooth porcelain he remembered. It was mottled with hard, angry blisters, swollen and red, spreading like fire beneath her flesh.
Fanaza whimpered, then fell forward into his arms.
"Fanaza!" Rwaine's voice cracked as he caught her, his arms wrapping around her trembling frame. "You need to see a physician."
But even as he said it, his heart clenched with dread.
"I need to take her to Latisha." he whispered softly