Fire and Flesh

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 rune, and throw. The glass 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 ignore the basics.

I have seen doctors patch wounds with cloth dragged 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.

◇◇◇◇

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 breaks, when soldiers hold the line even as the fog closes around them. Perhaps it is willpower. Whatever it is, it means humanity can always channel something into their tools. And it means humanity will always have a chance to stand against the Sephis.

◇◇◇◇

Three months. That is how long I have lived inside this 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 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, tolerated only 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, 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 assets, half as heretics. And I am their housekeeper, test subject, field agent, and on my better days the one man foolish enough to meet them halfway.

◇◇◇◇

That evening I gave them something different.

Karin came back 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 made dessert.

The sisters leaned over the table as I poured cream, sugar, and crushed crim into one of my handmade clear bags. Karin frowned, prodding it like it might bite her.

“These things are unnatural,” she muttered. “You can see right through them. No one makes containers like this.”

“Plastic,” I said, sealing it. “Durable. Flexible. Something you should have invented already.”

Kaguya’s quill was already scratching the word down like scripture.

I packed ice and salt around the bag, shaking it until my arms ached. Minutes later I tore it open and scooped out a pale pink mixture. Ice cream, soft and cold, gleaming in the lantern light.

Kaguya squealed when it touched her tongue. “This melts on the tongue like magic. Smooth, sweet, cold. How did you even think of this?”

Karin tried to hide her reaction, but the slow breath she let out betrayed her. “Damn it. This is actually good.”

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

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

I leaned back, watching them. For a moment I considered it, the real method. Oil, polymers, factories, rivers of plastic bags choking seas that never cleaned themselves. A miracle and a poison in one.

I exhaled slowly. “On second thought, maybe this method stays with us. The milk version is enough.”

Kaguya pouted. Karin said nothing, but for once she did not argue.

The room quieted, the scratch of Kaguya’s quill and the soft clink of spoons the only sounds. For a moment it almost felt like peace.

If plastic was a poison, ignorance was worse. And ignorance was already at my door.

I set my spoon down with a sigh. “Who interrupts ice cream time?”

Then came a knock, hard and deliberate, the kind that carried authority.

◇◇◇◇

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 with the same disdain most of the guild reserved for my existence. Tool. Weapon. Expendable. Anything but human.

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

The runner nodded and left without another word.

Kaguya leaned against the frame, expression bright despite the tension. “It seems they finally noticed you.”

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

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. Not to bind me. Just to remind me.

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

A councilor rose, voice rasping through his mask. “You overstepped your assignment. You altered guild protocol in combat. You spread unverified claims of invisible pests and forced captains to obey your orders. Explain yourself.”

Dozens of masked eyes bore down, waiting for me to stumble.

I let the silence stretch until it strained, then said, “I saved lives.”

The councilor slammed his staff. “Lives saved does not excuse reckless invention. You undermined the chain of command.”

I folded my arms. “Invisible pests kill faster than claws. Wrap a wound in dirty cloth, it rots. Wash your hands in boiled water, it heals. That is not chance. That is cause.”

The gallery murmured, some uneasy, some dismissive.

Another councilor leaned forward. “Coincidence. Fire purifies. That is all.”

“Fire purifies nothing if your surgeons wipe their hands on their coats,” I said. “You kill more with negligence than the plague ever could.”

Gasps broke through the chamber.

Reika stepped up. “He is right. I ran trials myself. Infection drops when wounds are cleaned, when instruments are boiled, when cloth is burned after use.”

She raised her hands, runes flaring. The chamber dimmed as her spell projected images into the air. One side showed a wound stitched with unwashed cloth, blackened and swollen. The other, a wound treated after boiling, clean and closing without rot.

Whispers spread through the gallery.

Reika’s voice cut across them. “This is not theory. This is fact.”

The images widened until they bled into the city wards themselves. Outside, citizens in the streets stopped to stare at the glowing wounds hanging in the sky.

“I have heard enough.”

A man rose at the back. His robes were lined with bronze, his mask inlaid with lapis. Not a councilor. Nobility. The gallery muttered his name in shock. Baron Gregory.

He set his hands on the table. “My daughter is dying of infection. The surgeons tried fire, leeches, bleeding. Nothing has slowed it. If this man’s methods are true, he will prove it on her.”

The council recoiled. One snapped, “Baron Gregory, you would trust your bloodline to an unvetted stray?”

“She is not ash yet,” Gregory said, striking the table. “If there is a chance, he will take it. If he fails, he fails. But he will try.”

The ward around me thrummed as every mask turned to stare.

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. “Boil water. Enough for every tool in this house. Bring salt, clean cloth, timber for splints. Move.”

They scattered.

“Karin. Clear the chamber. No dust, no clutter.”

She obeyed without a word.

“Kaguya. Record every step.”

Her quill scratched instantly.

The windows were thrown open. The basins steamed. Cloths boiled. The chaos narrowed into order.

When the basin was ready, 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 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. Her wound unwrapped, rinsed, rebound morning and night. The used cloths burned. Do this without fail and she will recover.”

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

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

Two guild mages stepped forward, holding glowing orbs. The runes pulsed steadily. One said, “Her lifeforce has 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 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. Stronger calibration. Wider runes…”

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 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, 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.

◇◇◇◇