The Findings...

Hearing Desty, Lucimia recalled the doubts scattered along their road like stones.

Why did the corpses draw no maggots or flies?

Why was there bare soil with no grass?

Why did the trees wear no leaves, like bones stripped bare?

It felt like more than a mere plague, like a storm with a hidden eye.

Where was the outbreak’s spark?

How did it ignite?

What was the Plague God doing?

The grandmother had hinted at someone harassing them, a shadow tugging at their door.

Who was it?

They had nothing but fog for answers.

Lucimia felt a prickle of curiosity, yet her heart stayed cool, like water that refused to boil.

Desty, though, burned to know, like a moth to a flame.

How about you ask that Anjelo later? Lucimia suggested, her voice light as wind on reeds.

Okay.

Soon, Anjelo came with Shebelle, footsteps crisp on the dust like pebbles clicking.

Desty went to question Anjelo.

Lucimia crouched halfway, like a hunter at a stream.

"I’ve cured your brother. Shouldn’t you tell me where that person you saw is?"

Shebelle’s brows knit.

Her head hung.

Her fingers pinched her hem like crabs on reeds.

She squirmed and stammered, no words taking wing.

Seeing that, Lucimia’s face clouded like a stormfront.

Her tone turned ice.

"You’re not lying, are you? You know if you lie, I’ll give the virus back to your brother."

The words hit like sleet.

Shebelle panicked and waved her hands.

"No! I didn’t lie. I—I… I need to check on my brother."

Hah, she even wants to inspect the goods, Lucimia thought, a dry spark on cold tinder.

She faced the wooden door and called Doli’s name twice.

His answer came back quick, like a pebble skipping across water.

She ran back to Lucimia, feet pattering like rain.

"Can you tell me now?"

Lucimia had straightened, arms folded like a closed fan.

"Mm." Shebelle nodded. "He’s in Jaha Town."

"Jaha again?"

"Mm… Before the plague, Grandma took me to town to buy things.

I saw a boy, a bit older than you, rob a restaurant, sweeping up their money like a stray dog snatching meat."

"Then the guards chased him.

He ran so, so fast.

In a blink he shook them off, his shadow gone like smoke."

"Hm…" Lucimia frowned, her brow creasing like ripples.

"Are you sure he’s got some special ability? Not just… a fast runner?"

"I’m sure!"

Shebelle’s voice was firm, like a nail in wood.

"One moment a guard almost grabbed him.

I blinked, and a line slid across my sight.

Then he was far, far away."

Lucimia listened and fell into thought, like a stone sinking in a well.

One second, and he’s gone far?

How far?

Even fifty meters in a heartbeat is terrifying, like a hawk’s dive.

Maybe he’s a Time Ability User.

But which gift is it—Time Halt, or a hand on the river of time?

"Do you know what he looks like?"

"Golden hair.

A knife scar on his right forearm, like a pale snake.

People by the road said he’s a local thug who often does bad things."

"Got it."

And with that, their trade clicked shut like a clasp.

Before leaving, Shebelle clutched Lucimia’s skirt, eyes brimming like a pond.

"Sis, you really won’t give the virus back to Doli, right?"

Lucimia smiled, a thin crescent like a moon on still water.

"I won’t, as long as you two mind your protection, like carrying an umbrella in rain."

"Okay. Thank you, sis."

Lucimia found Desty, like a bird returning to a branch.

"Well? Did he tell you?"

"No.

He said he’d help with other things, but not with this."

Desty shook her head, strands swinging like grass.

"Not tell you?"

Lucimia knit her brows, eyes narrowing like slits of winter light.

Confusion settled like frost.

Why, like a thorn under the skin?

Something felt off, like a drum out of beat.

She watched him lead Shebelle back inside.

In the end, Lucimia let the question fall, like ash from a spent stick.

"So, what do you plan?"

"Mm… I’ll go to Jaha Town with you first.

Maybe we’ll find something there, like shells after a wave."

"Of course."

Lucimia lifted her gaze to the sky.

Morning still held, like pale silk.

Noon was a walk away, plenty of time to travel.

A pity the Flight Spell was off-limits.

Use it, and lightning would strike at once, like a whip from heaven.

Too scary.

After the Bannubi Empire sealed these zones, did they have any follow-up policy?

They wouldn’t just lock them and leave, would they?

Let folks fend or rot, like fish in a drying pond?

It wasn’t impossible.

If everyone died, the virus would fade on its own, like a fire starved of wood.

Wait till most were dead.

Then drop a fireball to scorch the residue.

Make things look clean again, like rain after dust.

Of course, it was only guesswork, a paper boat on a river.

They walked across a silent waste.

Desty couldn’t bear the quiet.

She asked Lucimia, "By the way, in an empire that worships the Plague God, how do they use that Blessing?"

"You’re asking me—who would I ask?"

Lucimia felt speechless, like wind losing its note.

"I’m not demanding answers.

I’m just putting the question out," Desty said, hands spread like leaves.

Lucimia thought a moment.

"Probably like the Kingdom of Sipan.

They’ve got a church, and… Plague Knights?"

"Mm… makes sense."

Desty lowered her head in thought and kicked a pebble, sending it skittering like a beetle.

"The Purification Church holds an Exorcism Ritual every month to clear contamination.

Then the plague… church, what would they do?

They shouldn’t have that kind of Purification ability, right?"

"No idea.

Didn’t you ask Anjelo?"

"I did.

He wouldn’t say."

"How strange," Lucimia muttered, the words like gnats in the air.

It felt like Anjelo was hiding something, keeping a lid on a kettle.

Even after helping them, he only told Lucimia about the no-fly zone and how to leave.

It was like pointing to a gate but not the garden.

Oh, and if Shebelle hadn’t mentioned the Plague God, Lucimia wouldn’t even know.

She wouldn’t know how the Bannubi Empire fought Evil Entities.

Not just her.

Desty and even the Purification Church itself had no idea how the Bannubi Empire fought back.

People here never told outsiders.

Was it custom, like a wall grown from habit?

Did Shebelle only spill it because she was young, like a cup tipped by a careless hand?

It wasn’t impossible, just a quiet path through reeds.

Otherwise Anjelo wouldn’t keep pushing Lucimia to leave fast.

Shebelle’s grandma too, both like brooms shooing birds.

Why do they want us gone in a hurry, like a storm at our backs?

Tsk.

Lucimia clicked her tongue, a pebble on glass.

Riddle-mongers, get out.

Her thought snapped like a twig.

Shebelle said the Plague God helped the empire’s people.

It kept them from sickness, made every body strong, like spring sap in the veins.

Lucimia guessed the Plague Authority Power didn’t just spread disease.

It could also heal it and halt outbreaks, a twin-edged blade.

Which was why it counted as help.

That felt reasonable, like a pattern in frost.

Then why did the virus return, like weeds after fire?

Could some Plague Knights with a disease-spreading Blessing be doing it on purpose, like sowers casting bad seed?

Or had the Plague God bared the fangs of a Dark Deity and begun harvesting power, like a reaper in night?

Say everyone it cured carried its mark, like ink under skin.

When all were marked, it could sweep the net and take them in one go.

But that still felt wrong.

If so, all would fall sick at once, like lamps snuffed together.

Not start at a point and spread outward.

In the first case, there’d be no need for lockdown zones at all.

The latter looks more like a normal plague, like ink bleeding through paper.