Knowledge

Jarathia | Slums | Sunthia’s House | At The Same Time

Hanla has hung the documents up on the wall.

She looks at them again and again.

Then a loud sigh.

"I’m not getting anywhere. But it'll be fine. I need a distraction for now and some new information after."

She wanders the hallway, searching for a bathroom.

The first door creaks open. A simple washbasin, with a simple bath and a toilet in the background.

She twists the handles—warm water flows. But her curiosity sparks. She crouches, peering beneath.

Two stones sit neatly slotted under the porcelain: a faintly glowing water stone, and a flickering fire stone, paired for heat control.

Hanla whistles low. “So that’s how it works. Water conjured endlessly, fire stone heating it. A system even a child can use.”

She leans against the frame, thoughts racing.

Water isn’t scarce here. With stones like these, survival itself is secured. That’s why keeping Jarathia’s independence is so important. If foreign powers were to take over…

Her silver eyes narrow, sharp with resolve. “Ridiculous. Even in another world, nothing changes. Greed poisons everything… But no—this time, I’ll crush it first.”

She straightens, then wrinkles her nose. A faint smell clings to her skin after fighting and traveling.

Hanla snorts. “Great. First step to crushing greed? Maybe a long overdue bath. EWW! My sweat is disgusting!”

Hanla starts the bath, strips off her clothes and flexes once in the fogged mirror with a smug grin, then sinks into the steaming bath. Warm water wraps around her body, the heat drawing the tension out of her muscles.

The door creaks open.

Sunthia steps inside, wiping her tired eyes, heading straight for the washbasin. She splashes her face, then freezes when she sees Hanla reclining in the tub.

“Oh—sorry,” she stammers. “I’ll leave.”

Hanla waves a lazy hand. “Not necessary. You’re a girl. Just don’t let Faisc walk in. It would be very embarrassing for him.”

A faint chuckle. Sunthia nods. “Sure… I saw you read the documents on the table.”

Hanla lets herself sink lower into the water, only her silver eyes visible above the rising steam. “Mhmm.”

“Did you… understand them all?” Sunthia asks.

“Your situation’s kinda rigged.” Hanla says plainly, resurfacing to rest her head against the porcelain.

Sunthia watches her for a long moment. Then she places her hand over her chest. “You’re… right, Hanla.”

Hanla cracks an eye open.

Sunthia hesitates, then blurts out her next words. “I had an idea. You and Nine—together—you could save this island.”

Hanla’s gaze sharpens. “Save it from what, exactly?”

“From everything.” Sunthia whispers. “All this suffering. I—I don’t want it to go on. It’s too much.”

Hanla sighs, closing her eyes again. “I can’t save it.”

Sunthia’s lips tremble. “Oh…”

“Don’t make that face.” Hanla mutters, lips quirking a little. “I’ll get weak if you do. What you can do is save yourself. This country… it just needs a future to look forward to. A positive one. That’s all.”

She opens her eyes again, silver and steady. “We’ll head to the city later. I need more information. A clearer picture.”

Sunthia’s sorrow cracks, replaced by sudden joy. She jumps lightly on her toes, her smile genuine, eyes bright for the first time. “Thanks, thanks, thanks! I’m glad you’re here. You know, it’s not normal to meet people like you. Someone with no hidden intentions. Just… a genuinely good person.”

Hanla chuckles softly as Sunthia slips out of the room.

Alone again, Hanla stretches luxuriously in the water.

She didn’t hesitate to ask. A brave girl. A rarity herself.

Eventually, she stands, water dripping from her toned frame. She dries off, slips her clothes back on, and strikes a triumphant pose in the mirror.

Then she sniffs at her armpit. “Smell test… check. Clean as I’ll get.”

Opening the bathroom door, she nearly stumbles over Faisc—legs crossed, hopping from foot to foot, desperate.

Faisc bolts past Hanla like a blur, nearly knocking her over.

“FINALLY! I NEED TO PEE SO BAAAD!” He loudly whines, slamming the bathroom door shut behind him.

Hanla bursts out laughing at the unexpected encounter.

That kid’s timing… He could have knocked. Strange

In the living room, Sunthia is already waiting. Her black hair is pulled into a neat ponytail, sunglasses perched on top like a crown. She wears a sleek black blouse with a thin white shirt layered beneath, red pants tucked into black boots. The outfit makes her look like she belongs both in a boardroom and a rebellion at once.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve gone out like this.” She admits, standing tall. “But I think I’m ready.”

Hanla jerks a thumb back at the bathroom. “And Faisc?”

“Cera’s looking after him.” Sunthia answers, smoothing down her blouse.

Hanla raises an eyebrow. “Cera?”

“The woman you saved last night. She helps guard the children.”

“Cool.” Hanla nods.

Together, the two step out into the streets. Children kick their cotton ball back and forth, shrieking with laughter. Adults of the district, once hollow-eyed, smiling at Hanla.

As Hanla passes, she notices it—small, silent smiles aimed at her, by the people they pass. Not adoration. Not worship. Just… relief. Faint trust.

“It’s nice here.” Hanla murmurs.

Sunthia’s face softens. “I love this island, Hanla. The people here don’t let themselves get too down about anything. Conflicts may arise, pain always stays, but… we’ll never give in to hate. Never.”

They walk together, casual but steady.

Two kids dart into their path, acting out the fight from yesterday.

“I’m the hero this time!” one declares, puffing out his chest.

The other sulks. “No fair! I don’t want to play the evil axe lady again!”

Hanla chuckles.

Then both spot her and rush over.

“You’re so strong! Can you later sign something for me?” The first one blurts out.

“And your kick! All boom—and then she flew way away! That was super duper uber cool! And the way you got so angry that your eyes were burning but then you still stayed calm somehow! It was—it was—” The other stammers, lost for words.

Hanla crouches down, a sly grin tugging at her lips. One word slips out like it can’t be kept inside. “Badass.”

Both kids light up, shouting it at once. “BADASS!”

“YEAH!” Hanla laughs, throwing up a fist. “Badass!”

Behind her, Sunthia can’t help chuckling at the sight. “Ocar, Caros—we need to go.”

The kids wave and get back to their fight as Hanla rises.

A moment later, Sunthia’s tone softens. “Hanla… why are you helping us? I mean, I asked you last night, but… honestly. Why support Jarathia?”

Hanla freezes mid-step.

Why…?

Sunthia’s red eyes shimmer like a star in the darkest night, so wide and trusting that it stirs something old inside her.

As Hanla Carthe, I wrote a thousand articles. I uncovered truths, exposed companies, governments, the rot at the root of it all. I recorded how much suffering existed, how power got destabilized and what resources were monopolized. How countries refused to act as children starved, for a meagre profit that mattered more to those countries than its people did. And only half the world read it, even fewer believed it and clicked their tongues at the abusers and yet, even then… everyone moved on to the next topic.

What about this issue? What about that corruption? No action. No change. Only ever more reports, more promises, all unkept. I had allies. I had support. But every article felt like a whisper in a storm—missing something vital to make a change.

Her fists clench at her sides.

Now I have it. Power. Brute force. If truth alone doesn’t change the world… then I’ll punch my way through until I do.

She looks deeper into Sunthia’s eyes, silver burning like tempered steel.

“It’s simple,” Hanla says, voice firm. “I could talk about it for hours, but it’s actually simple—”

Hanla stops in the street, eyes lifting to the pale sky.

“I was asking myself for a long time,” she starts, voice steady, “why I didn’t do more. Why I only watched. Why I only reported the truth to others. I always wanted to do more, even when it seemed impossible. But now I can. So now I WILL. That’s why.”

Her silver eyes harden, glowing in the morning light. “I want to complete something. I want something to end GOOD. So my reason is simple—I refuse to follow a prewritten story. Any unhappy story I find, I’ll give a new ending. One that's unforgettable.”

Beside her, Sunthia’s red eyes shimmer with tears, glowing like rubies in the sunlight. “That’s one of the weirdest reasons I’ve ever heard,” she laughs through her tears, “but I’ll take it.”

They reach the heart of the city. Merchants call out their wares. The streets hum with life, yet every face looks drained—eyes empty, shoulders slumped.

Hanla’s voice dips, recalling her past life, not wanting to be overheard. “The papers told me something I’d like to check. Apparently, only twenty to thirty percent of a merchant’s gain is profit. The rest? Taxes. Insane ones.”

Sunthia’s brow furrows. “You mean—”

“If it’s true, the taxes are out of proportion. And I’ve seen no schools, no infrastructure, collapsing streets… And I’m sure the mines drain people’s lives every day.” Hanla exhales sharply. “It's brutal.”

“Hmm. I know.” Sunthia admits softly. “But these are just your thoughts, Hanla. If you want answers, I know a merchant here. A rough man, but highly respected in the past. He might tell you what you want to know.”

Hanla nods, but they catch a heated conversation before they start walking.

“WAIT, WHAT?! Say that again!” A miner says to the merchant he’s talking to.

The merchant raises both eyebrows. “I saw the garrison march toward the volcano.”

The miner runs a hand through his hair. “Are they insane? Fighting in the volcano?! With magic?! Idiots! They’ll spawn a HORDE of wyverns!”

The merchant just stares. “What do you mean?”

“The fire wyverns COME FROM THE MINES! Mining too deep, too recklessly, wakes them up! If you don’t regulate the digs—”

“What? That’s the first time I’ve heard—”

The miner’s jaw drops. “Wait! You didn’t KNOW?”

The crowd, having stopped at the first shout, shifts uneasily. A man in a black shirt and white pants pushes forward, his voice sharp. “Lies! Lies from bandits and workers! Wyverns have always existed! No one knows where they come from! This is fearmongering!”

The crowd mutters, some nodding, some frowning. The argument swells until it’s more noise than words.

Hanla doesn’t interfere. She watches, silver eyes unreadable. Then, quietly, she turns and walks away, leaving them behind.

Sunthia follows, throwing Hanla a confused glance. “Why aren’t you interfering?”

Hanla shakes her head. “You can’t change a mind if it’s already made up. You have to know your environment, Sunthia, and then you’ll see which people can change—and which ones are trapped in their fantasies. If I told you one plus one is three, and I’d grown up that way and believed it with all my being, you couldn’t change my mind.”

Sunthia frowns softly. “Hmm…”

“And even then,” Hanla continues, “every system, every measurement, every event, everything… it’s all made up. Maybe that’s why people react violently to the truth and facts. They downplay them. They deny them. Only when reality starts to destroy their own life do they MAYBE admit they were wrong. And even then… some never will. That’s cognitive dissonance. It’s shocking to see, but all around us.”

Sunthia studies her with wide red eyes. “You sound… intelligent in ways most adventurers aren’t. Could you explain this to me in more detail? Like psychology?”

Hanla smirks faintly. “Sure. Every piece of knowledge can be important someday.”

Their steps carry them through the streets until a large house of blackwood rises before them. According to the sign, it’s half a restaurant, half a smithy.

“We’re here,” Sunthia says, her lips curving into the faintest smile.

Hanla whistles. “Wow.”

Her stomach growls loud enough to answer with her.

Sunthia chuckles. “Hungry? Me too. It’ll be my treat.”

“Thanks,” Hanla says, grinning.

As they approach the door, Sunthia glances sidelong at her. “You know, I like talking with you. More than I expected. You’re… new. Full of knowledge.”

Hanla blinks, then laughs softly. “You think so?”

But her thoughts slip inward.

She listens, even when I’m only speculating. She soaks up knowledge like a sponge. Back in my world, we had smartphones—every piece of information from all over the world, in one little device. That’s how I learned about potential causes, connections, the hidden systems…

She remembers the glare of her screen in that old life—an article with her name: “The Anti-Capitalist Journalist Hanla”

But I was never against capitalism. Never against most systems of the world. Only against objectifying humans. Selling our souls to feed a machine that takes everything from us. People misunderstood me on purpose. Even with infinite knowledge at their fingertips, they wanted to argue instead of acting. So I kept pushing on my own. And for that, I was killed—for chasing truths I wasn’t supposed to tell.

Her lips press tight as the thought fades. In retrospect, I at least made for a very good threat.