Finally, the worst came to pass.
One late autumn day, Lofna’s mother fell ill too.
Lofna had thought that after surviving the scorching summer, her ever-vibrant mother—who never tired from a day’s work—had escaped the plague’s grasp.
But this autumn, in the deep chill when plague cases had slightly dwindled, her mother still caught the sickness.
Fever struck. She lay delirious in bed, babbling like every victim on death’s doorstep.
Lofna still couldn’t reach Shel. She couldn’t summon her teacher for help.
Months had passed with no word from Teacher Charles.
Her mother’s mind seemed to drift back to childhood. No longer preoccupied with chores, she only kept asking for candies, longing to see her own parents.
By past experience, this meant her fever had clouded her mind. She wouldn’t pull through.
At last, her father, Prince Noren, appeared briefly to visit her mother—though the couple barely knew each other, Noren remembered Lofna as his daughter through Shel’s connection.
Duty and decency demanded he come.
"Child, accept this loss," Prince Noren murmured. Most of his siblings had perished in the plague; only his robust constitution had saved him.
Now numb to death, he parroted the priests’ hollow comforts: "Our souls must journey to the Underworld for eternal rest. Such things are fate’s design. Nothing can be done."
"Fate…" Lofna hated that word. "Is there no one who can save her?"
"Pray. Perhaps a great power will grant a miracle to fulfill your wish." With that casual comfort, he left. Late autumn pressed hard—Ipoli’s harvest had failed due to plague, the throne remained unclaimed, and princes like him drowned in crises.
He couldn’t spare time for an ordinary daughter.
"A miracle?" Lofna whispered to herself.
Her father’s words sparked a memory.
Shel was gone—but she knew of a place. A being deep in the woods near the Great Swamp. A fiend who looked eerily like her.
It had promised: "I will grant your wish… in exchange for what you cherish most."
But it was a *fiend*. How could she bargain with demons?
Every fairy tale warned: those seeking easy wishes paid terrible prices. The fiercer the desire, the more malicious fiends exploited it.
As she hesitated, her mother worsened—vomiting blood, slipping into unconsciousness.
The cloth Lofna pressed to her mother’s forehead steamed from her scorching skin.
Death drew near.
On the tenth day of illness, her mother’s mind cleared briefly—a cruel sign. This final burst of clarity meant the end was coming.
"Lofna, enough. Return to Mr. Shel’s house," her mother instructed. "It’s cleaner there. Food is plentiful. Don’t stay with me. Tell your father to take the cows and sheep before others claim them. This year’s cheese is stored in the cellar—dispose of it as you wish… And under the floorboard by the hearth, I buried some coins. Take them."
"Mom…"
"It’s fine. You’re strong. You haven’t fallen sick. But staying here risks your life too. Go. Your father will send someone for my burial."
"Don’t give up! Hold on until winter—Teacher Charles will return. He’ll know how to heal you—"
"Lofna, Shel can’t come back. Plague is everywhere. Haven’t you heard the Holy Knight? Traveling far before it ends is suicide."
"…………"
"Don’t grieve, child." A weak cough rattled her chest. "I know Shel is kind… but he isn’t all-powerful. I always hoped you’d marry him someday. A secure life… so I’d never worry about you…"
"Mom, that’s—" Lofna’s face flushed instantly.
"I see how you feel about him. My eyes aren’t blind." Her mother gasped between words. "If a man like that doted on me when I was young… I’d adore him too. No shame."
"If Shel stayed in Ipoli, with you by his side every day… perhaps he’d marry you. I dreamed you’d bear his children. With his standing, you’d live happily all your life."
*Bear Teacher Charles’s children…*
Lofna’s face burned crimson.
She’d imagined it too—herself in a wedding gown, Shel leading her into the chapel, vows spoken before witnesses.
At night, Teacher Charles would gently pin her down, holding her close as he kissed her passionately.
She’d carry his child, letting him cradle her daily, whispering stories, kissing her cheeks and lips…
But such fantasies stayed locked in her heart.
Then her mother doused her hopes: "But as you said—he’s now the Sword Saint’s attendant in the HolySee. Hilna is their Saintess. He’s important now. Even if he visits… marriage may be impossible."
Lofna didn’t understand why her mother rambled on.
"Lofna, have you considered—if Shel marries another, what then? Will you live alone? Marry someone else? Or beg to be his lover? Have you truly thought this through?"
Lofna blurted out, "N-no! I—I only… I only like… Teacher Charles…"
Her mother sighed. "Lofna—you’re greedy for sweets, for play, wild as a colt. Only Shel tolerates you with such patience."
"But child, don’t fixate on him. If… if he doesn’t marry you, don’t despair."
"He’ll still care for you. Like your father cared for me—though we rarely met, this house, the maids, winter provisions… he provided them. He’s reliable compared to most."
The message was clear: Lofna and Shel now stood worlds apart. She should be grateful for scraps of his attention, not dream of his whole heart.
Lofna could only mumble agreement.
After hastily settling her affairs, her mother forced her out of the house, refusing to let her witness the final moments.
Outside, Lofna stood frozen.
Her mother’s frail voice, arranging her own death, seared into her mind. The terror of impending loss choked her.
By dawn, her mother would be gone.
If even a thread of hope remained to save her—she’d grasp it.
Even if it meant bargaining with a demon.
She dressed for travel, strapping on a short blade and runes, just as she had for hunting trips.
Her resolve hardened.
Along the road to the forest, she saw Ipoli’s fallow fields, villages devoid of smoke from hearths, roads untouched by footprints or wagon wheels.
This desolation steeled her purpose.
After a moment’s hesitation at the forest’s edge, she stepped inside. Without looking back, she marched toward the depths.
The fiend had been waiting.
