The morning crowd pressed in from all sides. Raze weaved through the masses, shoulders brushing against merchants, guards, laborers heading to work shifts. The city smelled like smoke and bread and too many people packed into stone streets.
His Inspect skill fired constantly without his conscious input.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Status windows bloomed above every head in his vision. A constant stream of information.
[Merchant]
Name: Gerald Homs
Rank: Initiate (Low)
Core: Blooming
Mana: D
Charm: C
[Laborer]
Name: ???
Rank: Mortal
Core: None
Strength: D
[City Guard]
Name: ???
Rank: Initiate (Peak)
Core: Tempered
Strength: C
Perception: B
The guard's head turned slightly as Raze passed. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second.
Raze kept walking. Steady pace. Nothing suspicious. Just another poor kid crossing town.
But his heart hammered in his chest.
Thump thump thump.
Could the guard sense something unusual? Could Perception skills detect his A rank Mana? His dormant Authority?
The moment passed. The guard returned to watching the crowd.
Raze exhaled slowly.
"Paranoid," he muttered under his breath. "But maybe that's what keeps you alive."
The architecture shifted as he moved through districts. The inn sat in the cheaper quarter where buildings leaned against each other for support, wooden frames patched and repatched. Here near the city center, stone predominated. Cleaner streets. Better maintained. The wealthy lived here, and their money showed.
His game knowledge supplied context automatically. This was Thornwick City. Population roughly fifty thousand. Major trade hub in the Kingdom of Astralis. Alex Dawnsblade would arrive here in approximately one month game time for the "Corruption in the Ranks" quest chain.
That quest ended with half the city guard dead and a demon loose in the sewers.
"Not this time," Raze whispered.
A woman in silk robes passed by, nose wrinkling at his shabby clothes. Her status window showed Adept rank, Refined core. Probably a minor noble or successful merchant.
The social hierarchy was visible in everything. Clothing quality. Street access. Even the way guards nodded respectfully to some pedestrians while roughly shoving others aside.
Magic created power. Power created wealth. Wealth bought better cultivation resources. The cycle reinforced itself.
And people like him, with fragmented cores? They stayed at the bottom.
Unless they had knowledge no one else possessed.
Raze turned down Healer's Avenue. The facility loomed ahead.
Three stories of white stone. Clean glass windows. A manicured garden out front with medicinal herbs growing in neat rows. A bronze plaque beside the entrance: "Thornwick Healing Hall. Est. 847 A.C."
After Calamity. The game's dating system started from the last world ending threat.
This was year 1,203 A.C.
Which meant the next calamity was brewing. The Demon King's return. The Abyssal Corruption. All the disasters Alex would stumble through.
But first, Sophie.
Raze pushed through the heavy wooden doors.
The interior smelled like herbs and soap. Antiseptic. Artificial. The floor was polished marble, his worn shoes squeaking slightly on the smooth surface. Paintings lined the walls. Pastoral scenes. Happy families. The message was clear: health and happiness, available for the right price.
A desk sat directly ahead. Behind it, a woman in crisp white robes scribbled in a ledger.
[Administrative Clerk]
Name: Beatrice Crell
Rank: Initiate (Mid)
Core: Blooming
Mana: C
Perception: C
Social Standing: Minor Noble Family
Raze approached slowly. His clothes suddenly felt even shabbier against the pristine backdrop.
"Yes?" Beatrice didn't look up from her ledger.
"I'm here to see Sophie Dragonheart. Room fourteen."
"Patient name?"
"Sophie Dragonheart."
"Visitor name?"
"Raze Dragonheart. Her brother."
Beatrice finally looked up. Her eyes swept over him, taking in the patched shirt, the worn pants, the lack of shoes. Her expression remained professionally neutral, but something flickered in her gaze. Pity? Contempt? Hard to tell.
"One moment."
She consulted another ledger. Flipped through pages. Her finger traced down a column of names.
"Sophie Dragonheart. Black Cough. Current status: stable but declining. Treatment: basic palliative care pending full payment." She looked at Raze directly now. "You're aware of the payment deadline?"
"Two weeks. Yes."
"And the required amount?"
"Fifty gold coins."
"Correct." She made a notation in the ledger. "Visiting hours are until noon. Room fourteen is on the second floor, east wing. Take the stairs on your left."
"Thank you."
Raze turned toward the stairs, but Beatrice's voice stopped him.
"Mr. Dragonheart?"
He looked back.
Her expression had softened slightly. Just slightly. "I hope you can gather the funds. Your sister is very sweet. She deserves better."
The words should have been comforting. Instead they landed like stones in his stomach.
She deserves better.
Translation: she probably won't get it.
"I'll get the money," Raze said quietly. "Whatever it takes."
Beatrice nodded once, then returned to her ledger.
Raze climbed the stairs. Each step echoed in the quiet building. Second floor. East wing. Numbered doors lined both sides of the hallway. He counted as he walked.
Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.
His hand hovered over the door handle.
Behind this door, a ten year old girl lay dying. A girl who'd never given up on her brother even when his core shattered. Who'd held his hand at their parents' graves. Who'd found flowers in the dirt and called them beautiful.
The original Raze's emotions surged through him. Love. Guilt. Desperation.
But also his own feelings. He'd taken this body. Inherited these memories. That made Sophie his responsibility now.
He opened the door.
The room was small but clean. A single bed against the far wall. A window letting in morning sunlight. A wooden chair beside the bed. Medical supplies on a side table.
And in the bed, propped up on pillows, a small figure with white hair like his own.
Sophie.
Raze's breath caught.
She looked so fragile. Her skin was pale, almost translucent. Dark circles under her eyes. Her breathing came in shallow, labored gasps. The white nightgown hung loose on her thin frame.
But when she saw him, her face lit up.
"Raze!" Her voice came out raspy, damaged by the cough. "You came!"
He crossed the room quickly, pulling the chair close to her bed. Up close, the damage was worse. Black veins visible beneath her skin, spreading from her chest. The signature of Black Cough. Mana corrupted tissue eating away at healthy cells.
"Of course I came." He took her hand. It felt cold. Too cold. "How are you feeling?"
"Better now that you're here." She smiled, and the expression was so genuine, so full of trust, that Raze felt something crack in his chest.
She was lying. Obviously lying. Trying to be brave for him.
"Sophie..."
"I had a bad night," she admitted. Her smile wavered. "Scary dreams. And the coughing was worse. But Miss Helen gave me medicine this morning and I feel much better now."
Miss Helen. One of the attendants. Raze's memories supplied the context. A kind woman who checked on Sophie between shifts even though it wasn't required.
"That's good." Raze squeezed her hand gently. "Mary sends her love. She'll visit tonight with soup."
Sophie's eyes brightened. "The good soup? With the vegetables?"
"The best soup."
They sat in silence for a moment. Sophie's breathing filled the quiet. Wheeze in, wheeze out. The sound of lungs struggling.
"Raze?" Her voice came out small. "Am I going to die?"
The question stabbed through him like a blade.
He wanted to lie. Wanted to promise everything would be fine. But those blue eyes, so much like the ones he saw in the mirror now, they deserved honesty.
"Not if I can help it." He leaned forward. "I'm working on getting the money for treatment. And I have some other ideas too. Ways to help that don't cost as much."
"The healers say the treatment is very expensive."
"I know."
"Fifty gold coins is a lot of money."
"I know."
"You don't have to worry so much." Her hand squeezed his weakly. "If... if it's too much, I understand. You tried your best. That's what matters."
Raze's throat tightened. She was giving him permission to fail. To let her die. So he wouldn't have to feel guilty.
Ten years old and already thinking about making things easier for others.
"Sophie." His voice came out firm. Certain. "Listen to me. You're not going to die. I will find a way to cure you. I promise."
"But..."
"No buts. I've got a plan. Trust me, okay?"
She studied his face. Those too perceptive eyes searching for something. Finally, she nodded. "Okay. I trust you."
The weight of that trust settled over him like a physical thing.
"Good." He forced a smile. "Now tell me about your dreams. The not scary ones."
Sophie's expression brightened. She launched into a description of a dream about flying over the city, seeing the whole kingdom spread out below. Her hands moved as she talked, painting pictures in the air.
Raze listened, watching her animated face. But part of his mind was already working, processing, planning.
His Absolute Genius talent hummed quietly in the back of his consciousness. Information organizing itself.
Then Sophie said something that made him focus completely.
"Oh! And yesterday, a man came to visit."
Raze's attention sharpened. "A man? What man?"
"I don't know his name. He wore a green coat and had a bag with him. He asked Miss Helen questions about my treatment."
"What kind of questions?"
Sophie's brow furrowed, trying to remember. "About the medicine I take. What symptoms I have. How long I've been sick. Miss Helen told him it wasn't appropriate to bother patients, but he gave her a silver coin and she let him stay for a few minutes."
Raze's mind raced.
Ding.
His Absolute Genius talent activated. Connections forming.
A stranger asking specific questions about Black Cough treatment. Paying for information. That wasn't normal. Casual visitors didn't do that.
"Did he talk to you?"
"A little. He asked if I knew when I got sick. If anyone else in our building got sick at the same time." Sophie tilted her head. "Is that important?"
"Maybe." Raze kept his voice casual. "What did you tell him?"
"I said I got sick about six months ago. And that I didn't know about other people because we'd just moved to the city."
Six months. Right when the Black Cough cases spiked according to the game lore.
"Did the man say anything else?"
Sophie thought hard. "He said... he said it was very sad that so many children were getting sick. That someone should do something about it."
Someone should do something about it.
The words had weight. Intent behind them.
"What did he look like? Besides the green coat."
"Um... brown hair. Glasses. He had ink stains on his fingers like he writes a lot. Oh, and a pin on his coat. A silver one shaped like a..." She scrunched up her face. "Like a bottle? Or a jar?"
An alchemist's pin. The universal symbol of the trade.
Raze's pulse quickened.
"You did great, Sophie. That's really helpful."
"It is?" She looked pleased. "I'm glad I remembered."
They talked for another half hour. Sophie told him about the other patients she'd met, about the kind attendants and the strict ones, about the view from her window.
But Raze's mind was only half present. The other half was connecting dots, building a picture.
Black Cough outbreak six months ago.
Concentrated in lower districts.
Official healers charging exorbitant prices.
An alchemist investigating, asking questions, paying for information.
This wasn't random. This was a pattern.
Finally, a bell chimed somewhere in the building. Visiting hours ending.
"I have to go," Raze said. "But I'll be back soon. Probably tomorrow."
"Okay." Sophie hugged him as best she could from the bed. "I love you, Raze."
The words hit him harder than they should have. Memories that weren't his mixed with emotions that were.
"I love you too, Sophie."
He stood and walked to the door. Before leaving, he looked back once.
Sophie had laid back against the pillows, eyes already closing. The brief visit had exhausted her.
Raze stepped into the hallway and shut the door softly.
His hands were shaking.
Not from fear. From rage.
A ten year old girl dying because she couldn't afford treatment. Because some bastards had decided gold was more important than life.
"Two weeks," he muttered. "I have two weeks."
He headed back toward the stairs, mind already working through plans.
Then he passed an open door.
Inside, he glimpsed a desk covered in papers. Charts. Ledgers. No one currently occupying the room.
Raze glanced left. Right. The hallway was empty.
His Perception was terrible, F rank, but sometimes you didn't need great senses. Sometimes you just needed to pay attention.
The administrative offices were on the first floor. This was the second. Medical staff only.
And medical staff kept records.
Raze slipped inside the room and quietly closed the door behind him.
The desk was organized chaos. Patient charts stacked in neat piles. A ledger open to the current week. Medication schedules. Treatment plans.
His Inspect skill activated on everything his eyes touched.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
[Patient Chart: Marcus Wellspring, Age 8, Black Cough]
[Patient Chart: Lyra Stone, Age 12, Black Cough]
[Patient Chart: Thomas Reed, Age 9, Black Cough]
Chart after chart. All Black Cough. All children. All from the lower districts.
Raze's hands moved quickly, flipping through documents. His Absolute Genius absorbed the information at incredible speed.
Forty-three active Black Cough cases in this facility alone.
Onset dates clustered around six months ago.
Geographic distribution: seventy percent from the Riverside District, twenty percent from the Market Quarter, ten percent scattered.
Treatment costs: standardized at fifty gold coins for full cure.
Recovery rate with full treatment: ninety-five percent.
Recovery rate with basic palliative care: twelve percent.
The numbers painted a picture.
This disease was spreading in poor areas. Areas where people couldn't afford treatment. Areas where a twelve percent survival rate meant mass death.
And the cure existed. It worked. But it cost more than most families earned in a year.
Raze kept flipping. Found a section labeled "Disease Analysis."
His eyes scanned the text rapidly.
"Black Cough presents with mana corruption of respiratory tissue. Spreads through ambient magical contamination rather than direct contact. Requires sustained exposure to corrupted mana source for infection to occur."
His breath caught.
Sustained exposure to corrupted mana source.
That meant an origin point. A location where corrupted mana was concentrated. People living near it got sick. People far away didn't.
In the game, the source had been an illegal mana extraction operation. Criminal organization called the Twilight Syndicate. They'd been siphoning mana from underground ley lines, creating toxic runoff that seeped into the water supply.
Alex had discovered it by accident during a completely unrelated quest. Brought in the guards. The ensuing raid turned into a bloodbath. Dozens dead. The Syndicate scattered but not destroyed. They showed up again later as recurring villains.
"Sloppy," Raze muttered. "Inefficient. Wasteful."
He could do better.
The door handle rattled.
Raze's heart jumped into his throat.
Shit.
He moved on instinct. Closed the ledger. Straightened the papers to roughly how they'd been. Looked around frantically for an exit.
Window. Too high. Door. Opening right now. No other options.
The door swung inward.
A man in white healer's robes entered, carrying a stack of folders. His eyes landed on Raze immediately.
[Head Healer Mortens]
Name: Bernard Mortens
Rank: Adept (Mid)
Core: Refined (Mid)
Mana: B (+)
Perception: B
Authority: Medical Authority (Rank Unknown)
Adept rank. Refined core. And an Authority.
Raze was so utterly outmatched it wasn't even funny.
"Who are you?" Mortens's voice was sharp. "This area is restricted to medical staff."
Think. Think fast.
Raze let his shoulders slump. Made his voice small. Confused. "I... I'm sorry. I was visiting my sister. Room fourteen. I got lost looking for the bathroom."
Mortens's eyes narrowed. His Perception skill was probably active right now, reading Raze's body language, heartbeat, breathing.
"The bathroom is clearly marked on the first floor. You climbed two flights of stairs."
"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. I'm just..." Raze let his voice crack slightly. "My sister is really sick. I wasn't thinking straight."
Partially true. The best lies always were.
Mortens studied him for a long moment. Then his expression softened slightly. Just slightly.
"Sophie Dragonheart's brother. Yes, I remember the case." He gestured to the door. "This is my office. You shouldn't be here. Confidential patient information."
"I understand. I'm sorry."
Raze moved toward the door. But as he passed Mortens, a thought struck him. An opportunity.
He stopped.
"Can I ask you something? About Sophie's treatment?"
Mortens's eyebrow raised. "What about it?"
"The medicine she's taking. The palliative care. It includes Moonveil Essence, right?"
A flicker of surprise crossed Mortens's face. "How do you know that?"
"I've been reading. Trying to understand the disease. Help however I can." Raze made his voice earnest. Desperate. "But from what I read, Moonveil Essence is mostly for symptom management. It doesn't address the mana corruption directly. That requires Sunburst Root and Void Lotus extract in combination."
Mortens's expression shifted. Became guarded. "You've been reading quite extensively for a..." His eyes swept over Raze's shabby clothes. "Layman."
"My sister is dying." Simple. Direct. "I'll read anything if it helps."
"The full treatment protocol is significantly more complex than simply combining ingredients. It requires precise mana regulation throughout the process. Exact timing. Specialized equipment." Mortens's tone became lecturing. "Which is why certified healers administer it. Why the cost is what it is."
"But the ingredients themselves aren't that expensive. Sunburst Root is maybe three gold per ounce. Void Lotus extract is rarer but still only about eight gold. Even accounting for other components and the healer's time, fifty gold seems..."
"Excessive?" Mortens's voice hardened. "Let me be very clear, Mr. Dragonheart. The Healing Hall's prices reflect the expertise, facilities, and resources required for proper treatment. If you think you can do better by purchasing ingredients off some street vendor and mixing them yourself, you're welcome to try. Though I should warn you that unlicensed medical practice is illegal in Thornwick. Carries a minimum sentence of five years imprisonment."
Threat delivered. Message clear.
Stay in your lane.
But Raze's Absolute Genius had already caught what mattered. Mortens hadn't denied the ingredient costs. Hadn't justified the price. Had instead pivoted to legality and threats.
Which meant the markup was real. Substantial. Intentional.
"I wasn't suggesting anything illegal," Raze said quickly. "I just wanted to understand. Thank you for your time."
He moved toward the door again.
"Mr. Dragonheart."
Raze paused.
Mortens's expression was unreadable. "The deadline is two weeks. I hope you can gather the funds. But if you can't..." He trailed off. Then, more gently, "I've seen many cases of Black Cough. The end stages are painful. If it comes to that, we can provide comfort measures. Ensure she doesn't suffer."
The implication hung in the air.
Give up. Let her die. We'll make it easier.
"It won't come to that." Raze kept his voice steady. "I'll get the money."
Mortens nodded slowly. "I hope you're right."
Raze left the office and practically ran down the stairs.
His mind was spinning. Too much information. Too many connections.
He burst through the front doors into morning sunlight. Stood on the steps, breathing hard.
Beatrice looked up from her desk, visible through the window. Their eyes met briefly. Then she returned to her ledger.
Raze descended the steps and merged into the street crowd.
His hands were shaking again.
The conversation with Mortens replayed in his head. The defensive tone. The threats about illegal practice. The casual suggestion to just let Sophie die comfortably.
"They know," he whispered. "They have to know."
The markup was too blatant. The prices too standardized across all patients. This wasn't just individual greed. This was systematic.
And in the game, the Healing Hall's director had been connected to the Twilight Syndicate. Profit sharing arrangement. The Syndicate created the problem. The Healing Hall profited from treating it. A perfect loop.
Alex had exposed it by raiding the Syndicate's base. Found documents. Brought them to the city guard.
The resulting chaos killed forty people, including several patients who died when the Healing Hall lost funding and stopped treatments midway.
"Not this time," Raze muttered.
He needed information. Real information. Not game knowledge but current intelligence.
The alchemist who'd visited Sophie. Green coat. Silver pin. Asking questions about the outbreak.
That was a lead.
Raze's Inspect skill had worked on the dropped item mention from the game. But he needed to find it first. Or find the alchemist directly.
He started walking. Not toward the inn. Toward the Market Quarter.
Alchemists congregated there. Shops. Suppliers. Independent practitioners who skirted the legal boundaries.
The morning crowd thinned as he moved into narrower streets. The smell changed. Less bread, more chemicals. Sharp. Acrid.
Shops lined both sides. Windows displaying bottles, jars, dried herbs hanging from rafters. Some legitimate. Some questionable.
Raze passed three apothecaries before his Inspect skill pinged something unusual.
[Suspicious Individual]
Name: ???
Rank: Initiate (Peak)
Core: Tempered
Perception: B (+)
Status: Alert
A figure stood in an alley between two shops. Green coat. No visible pin from this angle. They were watching the street with the focused attention of someone hunting for something specific.
Raze kept walking. Casual pace. Don't look directly at them.
But his peripheral vision tracked their movement.
The figure's head turned slightly. Following his progress.
They'd noticed him.
Damn his F rank Perception. He'd been made.
Raze turned down a side street. Quickened his pace slightly.
Footsteps behind him. Matching his speed.
His heart rate spiked.
Thump thump thump.
Not fast enough to run. That would confirm he was fleeing. But fast enough to put distance between himself and the pursuer.
The Market Quarter was a maze if you knew it. Raze had the original's memories. Three months of odd jobs meant he knew these streets.
Left turn. Right turn. Through a narrow passage between buildings.
The footsteps followed. Closer now.
Raze ducked under a merchant's awning. Wove through hanging fabrics. Emerged on the other side.
Market stalls crowded the space ahead. Perfect.
He dove into the crowd. Elbows jostling. Voices raised in haggling. The press of humanity.
A hand grabbed his shoulder.
Raze spun instinctively. His D rank Agility barely sufficient to break the grip.
The figure in the green coat stood before him. Up close now. Brown hair. Glasses. Ink stained fingers.
And on the coat, partially hidden by the fabric folds, a silver pin shaped like a bottle.
[Apothecary's Assistant]
Name: ???
Rank: Initiate (Peak)
Core: Tempered (Low)
Perception: B (+)
Agility: C
Status: Investigating
The figure studied him. Their eyes sharp behind the glasses.
Then, quietly, barely audible over the market noise: "You were asking about Black Cough treatment."
Not a question. A statement.
Raze's mind raced. Deny? Confirm? Play dumb?
His Absolute Genius talent weighed options in milliseconds.
This person was investigating the outbreak. Had visited Sophie. Was tracking leads. That made them either an ally or a very specific kind of threat.
"My sister has it," Raze said simply. "I'm trying to save her."
The figure's expression shifted. Something like recognition.
"Room fourteen. Sophie Dragonheart." They nodded slowly. "I remember. Sweet kid. Didn't deserve this."
"None of them deserve it."
"No. They don't." The figure glanced around. The market crowd pressed close. Too close. "Not here. Follow me. We need to talk privately."
They turned and started walking.
Raze hesitated for exactly two seconds.
Then followed.
What choice did he have?
They wove through the market. The figure moved with practiced ease, taking turns that avoided main thoroughfares. Into quieter streets. Older buildings.
Finally, they stopped at a narrow doorway. A shop front with dusty windows. A faded sign: "Thatcher's Apothecary."
The figure produced a key. Unlocked the door.
"Inside. Quickly."
Raze entered.
The shop was small. Cramped. Shelves lined every wall, packed with bottles and jars. A work table dominated the center space, covered in alchemical equipment. Burners. Distillation tubes. Mortar and pestle.
The figure locked the door behind them. Drew curtains across the windows.
Then they removed their glasses. Wiped them on their coat. Put them back on.
"You were in Mortens's office. I saw you leave the Healing Hall looking agitated."
Raze's blood ran cold. They'd been watching the facility. Watching him.
"I got lost looking for the bathroom."
The figure snorted. "Sure you did. And I'm the queen of Astralis." They moved to the work table. Started organizing tools. "I've been investigating the Black Cough outbreak for three months. You're not the first desperate family member to start asking dangerous questions. But you're the first who actually knew enough to make Mortens nervous."
"What makes you think he was nervous?"
"Because I watched him pace his office for ten minutes after you left. Then send a runner somewhere. Probably to report an unusually informed civilian asking about treatment protocols."
This person was good. Observant. Patient. Thorough.
Raze's Inspect skill provided limited information, but what it showed was consistent. Initiate rank. High Perception. This was someone who'd built their capabilities around investigation and information gathering.
"Who are you?" Raze asked.
The figure pulled something from their coat pocket. A small vial. They set it on the table between them.
The liquid inside was faintly luminescent. Purple. Viscous.
Raze's Inspect skill activated automatically.
[Corrupted Mana Sample]
Quality: Poor
Origin: Underground Source
Toxicity: High
Status: Under Analysis
"I'm someone who wants to stop children from dying," the figure said quietly. "And I think you might be someone who wants the same thing. So let me ask you directly: how much do you know about what's really causing the Black Cough outbreak?"
Raze stared at the vial. At the swirling purple liquid.
His game knowledge supplied answers. The Twilight Syndicate. Illegal mana extraction. Corrupted ley lines. The systematic poisoning of the lower districts for profit.
But revealing that knowledge meant revealing himself. Meant explaining things he couldn't possibly know.
His Absolute Genius talent processed scenarios. Calculated risks.
Then made a decision.
"Enough to know it's not natural," Raze said carefully. "Enough to know the Healing Hall is profiting from it. Enough to know there's a cheaper cure they're not offering."
The figure's eyes widened slightly behind their glasses.
"You do know." It came out almost wondering. "How? Where did you..."
"Does it matter?" Raze interrupted. "The question is what we do about it."
Silence stretched between them.
The figure studied him for a long moment. Weighing. Deciding.
Finally, they extended a hand.
"Kael Thatcher. Licensed apothecary, unlicensed investigator, and currently very interested in how a broke kid from the Riverside District knows more about this situation than most city officials."
Raze shook the offered hand. Kael's grip was firm. Calloused from work.
"Raze Dragonheart. Broke kid with a dying sister and nothing left to lose."
Kael nodded slowly. "That's a dangerous combination. The kind of combination that gets people killed."
"Or the kind that changes things."
A smile flickered across Kael's face. Brief. Grim. "Maybe. Let's talk about what you know. And then let's talk about what we're going to do with that information."
They both sat at the work table. The corrupted mana sample glowed faintly between them.
Outside, the city continued its daily rhythm. Markets. Guards. Healers. Syndicates. All the moving pieces of a world on the edge of catastrophe.
And inside a dusty apothecary shop, two people began planning how to save it.
Or at least, how to save one small piece.
Raze pulled out Mary's pouch. Set it on the table beside the vial.
Thirteen gold. Twenty seven silver. Two weeks. One dying sister.
"First," he said quietly, "we save Sophie. Then we deal with everything else."
Kael picked up the vial. Held it to the light. The purple liquid swirled.
"Agreed. But understand something: once we start this, there's no going back. The Syndicate doesn't forgive interference. The Healing Hall protects its profits. We'll be making very dangerous enemies."
Raze thought about Sophie's brave smile. About the original Raze's final moments of desperation. About a story he knew by heart where everyone died because the protagonist was reckless.
"I'm already committed," he said. "The only question is whether you are."
Kael set the vial down. Looked at him directly.
"Three months I've been working on this alone. Gathering evidence. Testing samples. Watching kids die." Their voice hardened. "Yeah. I'm committed. Let's burn this whole corrupt system down."
They shook hands again.
A partnership forged in anger and desperation.
Raze's Absolute Genius talent hummed. Information organizing. Plans forming. The web of causality spreading out before his mind's eye.
Two weeks until Sophie's deadline.
One month until Alex arrived in Thornwick.
Six months of Black Cough spreading.
And now, finally, someone fighting back.
"Alright," Raze said. "Let me tell you what I know. And you tell me what you've learned. Then we figure out how to save forty three kids and stop a criminal organization."
Kael pulled out a notebook. Flipped it open. Pages covered in notes and sketches.
"Start from the beginning. Don't leave anything out."
So Raze did.
And the plot began to shift.