The Truths of Fire

Fire is the one magic everyone trusts here. It is the hammer that smashes the Sephis back into ash, the light they cling to when the fog presses close.

It is not elegant. You prime a vial, ignite the etched rune, and throw. The vial shatters, the rune combusts, and whatever it touches burns until nothing is left to rise again. Even the dome barriers that seal the cities rely on the same principle, a lattice of runes burning endlessly to keep the plague at bay. Whole quarters of humanity survive because fire does not tire.

And yet, for all their brilliance in carving domes into the sky, these people have no sense of the basics.

I have seen doctors patch wounds with cloth pulled straight from the floor. I have seen food handled with the same hands that gutted plague victims. They brand their wards with runes more complex than any circuit back home, but they have never boiled water unless it was for tea.

The Sephis are not the only plague hollowing them out. Ignorance is faster.

◇◇◇◇

There is not even a real mana system in this world. Not like the ones from stories back home where numbers and points measure everything. Here, there is something else, a different kind of fuel.

I have seen it when the sisters hurl fire into the dark, when Reika barks orders until her voice is gone, when soldiers hold the line even as the fog closes around them. It is not mana. It is not life force. Perhaps it is willpower. Whatever it is, it means humanity can always channel something into the tools they wield. And it means humanity will always have a chance to stand against threats like the Sephis.

◇◇◇◇

Three months. That is how long I have lived inside this strange contradiction of genius and ignorance. A city wrapped in a shimmering dome of light, its streets lined with wards more intricate than anything I have seen, yet filled with doctors who think rinsing bloodstained cloth in the gutter counts as sanitation.

And in the middle of it all are Karin and Kaguya.

The sisters are outliers, respected but resented. Rogue operatives, technically unaffiliated, yet tolerated because of their father’s name. He was the genius plague doctor who invented the flame vial magic everyone now relies on. His designs saved cities, etched the wards into the domes, and bought humanity time. That legacy shields his daughters from censure, even as they pursue their own experiments far from the guild’s control.

It is an odd life, being caught in their orbit. Half the kingdom treats them as valuable assets, half as dangerous heretics. And I am their housekeeper, test subject, field agent, and on my better days the one man insane enough to meet them halfway.

◇◇◇◇

That evening I decided to give them something different.

The markets here are strange. Vegetation grows in twisted patterns, some crops unfamiliar, others eerily close to what I remember. Karin had come home from patrol with a bundle of crimson berries the locals called crim. Tart, bright, and sweet once you bit past the skin. They reminded me of strawberries back home.

So I set to work.

The sisters leaned over the table as I filled one of my handmade clear bags with cream, sugar, and the crushed berries. Karin frowned, poking the bag as if it were suspicious.

“These bags of yours are unnatural. You can see right through them. No one makes containers like this.”

“Plastic,” I said simply, sealing it tight. “Durable. Flexible. A tool you should have invented already.”

Kaguya scribbled the word as though it was arcane scripture.

I packed ice around the smaller bag, layering salt into the mixture. Karin tilted her head. “What is the salt for? Surely it makes it worse.”

Kaguya’s eyes lit up. “No… it lowers the freezing point. The cold spreads faster that way.”

“Correct,” I said, shaking the bag until my arms ached. “The reaction speeds up, the liquid thickens, and you end up with something better than frozen fruit.”

Minutes later I tore the bag open and scooped out the pale pink mixture with a spoon. The crim berry ice cream gleamed in the lantern light.

Kaguya’s eyes widened as she tasted it, a muffled squeal slipping past her lips. “It melts and coats the tongue… sweet, smooth, cold—this is alchemy.”

Karin tried to hold herself steady, but the moment the spoon touched her mouth she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. “Damn it… this is actually good.”

I smirked. “Of course it is. Even in a world like this, dessert can still be science.”

Kaguya scribbled furiously, already muttering about scaling recipes for mass production. Karin rolled her eyes and swiped another spoonful when she thought no one was looking.

I leaned back in my chair, watching them devour the results of what had been a bag of cream and a handful of berries. For a moment I considered it. Plastic. Factories. Assembly lines. And then I remembered the floating trash islands back home, the oceans smothered in a tide of bottles and bags that never decayed.

I exhaled slowly. “On second thought… maybe it is better if I gatekeep this one.”

Kaguya nearly dropped her quill. “Gatekeep? You mean your world actually produced this plastic in abundance?”

“Yes,” I said. “And it never went away. Every scrap of it stayed, piling higher and higher until the sea itself choked. A miracle and a poison in one.”

Karin raised an eyebrow, chewing another bite. “Then you are right. Best to keep it rare.”

Kaguya leaned closer, her pen still hovering. “But I want to know. How did your people do it? What was the process?”

I shook my head, spooning the last of the ice cream onto a plate. “Some knowledge is not worth repeating. Enjoy the dessert. Forget the poison.”

Kaguya’s pout said she would not forget. Not for a second.

That was when the knock came at the door. Hard, deliberate, official.

◇◇◇◇

Karin opened it. A guild runner stood in the hall, mask polished, posture rigid. He bowed low.

“Orders from the council. The field agent registered under your care is summoned immediately.”

His eyes flicked to me. Even through the iron grate I could feel his disgust, the same quiet disdain most of the guild reserved for me. Tool, weapon, expendable asset, anything but human.

Karin’s jaw tightened. “We will escort him.”

The runner nodded and left without another word.

Kaguya leaned against the doorframe, her expression still bright despite the tension. “It seems they finally noticed your innovations.”

Her quill twitched as if she could hardly wait to record every word of the meeting.

I stood and brushed crumbs from my coat. “Of course. The one time I improve survival rates, someone decides it is a problem.”

Karin grunted, fetching her gauntlets. “The council will not like being made to look ignorant.”

“Good,” I said, stretching my shoulders. “Perhaps they will finally listen.”

◇◇◇◇

The council chamber was built to intimidate. Stone pillars lined the walls, each carved with runes that shimmered faintly in the torchlight. A raised gallery circled the room, crowded with masked doctors and captains who had come to watch. At the center stood a long table, and behind it the council itself, robed in black, their iron masks gilded in silver.

It felt half courtroom, half war-room. Every cough, every scrape of a chair echoed like a gavel.

They summoned me to stand in the circle at the center, ringed with a faint ward that hummed against my skin. Containment. Not to bind me, only to remind me of my place.

Karin and Kaguya flanked me. Reika was already there, her arms crossed as if daring anyone to speak first.

One of the councilors rose, his voice a rasp behind the mask. “You overstepped your assignment. You altered guild protocol in the middle of combat. You spread unverified claims of invisible pests and ordered captains to obey your words. Explain yourself.”

Dozens of masked eyes fixed on me, waiting for me to stumble.

I let the silence hang until the weight of it pressed heavy against the walls. Then I said, “I saved lives.”

◇◇◇◇

The councilor slammed his staff against the stone floor. “Lives saved does not excuse reckless invention. You spread unverified claims of invisible pests. You undermine our authority.”

I folded my arms. “Invisible pests that kill your soldiers faster than claws. Wrap a wound in filthy cloth, it rots. Wash your hands in boiled water, it heals. The difference is not chance. It is cause.”

The gallery shifted. Some muttered, others stiffened.

Another councilor sneered. “Coincidence. Fire purifies. That is all.”

“Fire purifies nothing if your surgeons wipe their hands on their coats,” I said flatly. “You are killing more with negligence than the plague itself.”

Gasps broke through the chamber.

Reika stepped forward, her voice sharp. “He is correct. I studied day and night to verify his claims. I tested his methods myself. Infection drops when wounds are cleaned, when instruments are boiled, when contact is controlled.”

She raised her hands, runes igniting in a circle of light. The chamber darkened as her projector magic came to life, casting images into the air. On one side: a wound stitched with unwashed cloth, blackened and swollen. On the other: a wound treated after boiling, clean and closed with minimal scarring.

The gallery erupted in whispers.

Reika’s voice carried above them. “This is proof. Not theory. Not heresy. Fact.”

She spread the projection wider, runes flaring until the images bled into the city wards themselves. Outside, citizens stopped in the streets as the vision burned across the dome.

Two masked men stepped forward from the gallery. One was broad-shouldered, his voice a low rumble. “Kaido, plague research division. I confirm the captain’s trials. The results stand.”

The other adjusted his gloves with precision. “Arata, surgeon’s corps. I tracked infection rates before and after. The numbers align. His methods work.”

The councilors stiffened. Some seethed.

And then a voice heavier than theirs cut through the chamber.

“I have heard enough.”

A man rose from the back of the room. His robes were lined with bronze, his mask set with lapis. Not a councilor, but nobility. Murmurs rushed through the crowd. Baron Gregory.

He gripped the table as he spoke. “My daughter is suffering an infection. The surgeons have tried fire, leeches, bloodletting. Nothing has slowed it. If what this man says is true, then let him prove it. He will examine her and cure her.”

The councilors recoiled. One stammered, “Baron Gregory, to place your bloodline in the hands of an unvetted stray—”

“She is not ash yet,” Gregory snapped, striking the table. “I will not consign her while a chance remains. If he fails, he fails. But he will try.”

The ward around me thrummed as every mask turned in my direction.

I lifted my chin. “Bring me to her. If ignorance has left her to die, then knowledge may yet save her.”

◇◇◇◇

The estate was chaos. Guild doctors crowded around the girl’s bed, masks crooked, instruments scattered across filthy cloth. The child’s arm was swollen and discolored, red streaks creeping toward her chest.

“Out,” I said coldly. “All of you.”

They hesitated until Gregory barked the same order. The room emptied in silence.

I turned to the soldiers. “Boiling water. Enough to submerge every tool in this house. Salt, clean cloth, timber for splints. Move.”

They scattered.

“Karin. Strip this chamber bare. No rugs, no tapestries, no dust.”

She obeyed without a word, tearing the room down to stone.

“Kaguya. Record every step.”

Her quill scratched instantly.

Windows were thrown open. Cloths boiled. Buckets salted. The chaos narrowed into order.

When the basin steamed, I took the blade myself, sterilized and hissing. I raised my voice so the spheres hovering above carried every word to the city.

“This is an abscess. Infection sealed beneath the skin. In your world, it is a death sentence. In mine, it is a simple operation.”

Gasps rippled through the onlookers.

The incision was swift. Pus spilled into the salted basin in a foul stream. The stench filled the room, but I did not flinch.

I rinsed the wound with boiled water, then salt, then bound it with clean cloth. The girl trembled, but her breathing eased.

“In your world this kills without fail,” I said, lifting the blade high so the spheres caught it. “But in a world where I exist? This is nothing.”

The words rolled out into the streets, echoing against the dome.

I turned to Gregory. “She will live. But the cutting is only the start. She must drink fluids every hour to flush the poisons. Water, broth, anything clean. She must be monitored constantly. Her wound unwrapped, rinsed, rebound morning and night. Her cloths burned after each change. Do this without fail, and she will recover.”

Gregory’s voice shook. “And if we falter?”

“Then she dies,” I said simply. “Not because the plague is stronger, but because you are weaker.”

Two guild mages stepped forward, holding glowing orbs over the girl. The runes pulsed steadily. One said, “Her lifeforce has been measured and stabilized. The decline has ceased.”

Relief rippled through the room. I frowned. Lifeforce. That word again. Whatever it was, they believed it measurable.

Another system to study.

◇◇◇◇

That night, while broth simmered in the clinic, I could not let it rest.

“What exactly is lifeforce?” I asked.

Karin frowned. “What do you mean what? It is what keeps you alive. When it weakens, you die.”

“That is not an explanation.”

Kaguya scribbled eagerly. “It is not mana, not energy, but a current. Father said it was measurable with precise runes.”

“Then measure it.”

Karin scowled, but pulled a rune crystal from her belt. She held it over me. For a heartbeat it glowed, then flickered violently. Symbols warped and collapsed. The orb went dark.

Karin cursed. “That should not happen.”

Kaguya muttered furiously. “Rejection? Overload? Impossible…”

Karin’s eyes locked on me. “Your reading was nothing. As if lifeforce refuses to acknowledge you exist.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“Do not call this interesting,” Karin snapped. “Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“Of course. Which is why we will test it again.”

Kaguya was already scribbling. “Yes, yes, repeat trials. More runes, stronger calibration…”

Karin groaned. “You are both insane.”

“Maybe,” I said calmly, sipping broth. “But I am the only one your lifeforce refuses to measure. That makes me valuable. Or dangerous. Perhaps both.”

◇◇◇◇

Later, I ladled more broth into their bowls. The rich scent of marrow filled the kitchen.

“Cow bone marrow,” I explained. “Boiled long enough, it releases minerals, collagen, and fat. It strengthens the body, helps recovery, and steadies the stomach.”

Karin sniffed it. “You are telling me boiling bones makes medicine?”

“Yes. And it makes flavor.”

Kaguya scribbled. “Collagen… marrow extraction… restorative compound…”

I smirked. “Medicine does not always need fire or runes. Sometimes it only needs patience, time, and water at a boil.”

Karin took a sip, then exhaled. “Damn it. You are right again.”

I leaned back, watching them eat. For all their brilliance and obsession, they were still human, still hungry, still in need of simple truths.

And that was enough to keep me going.

◇◇◇◇