Calamity

Jarathia | Forest Lorakti

The vast Blackwood forest murmurs in the breeze. Trunks rise like pillars out of the mist—the air tastes of sap and ash. Hanla and Sunthia tread a narrow path, boots whispering over damp needles.

“I love the breeze here.” Sunthia says, drawing a deep breath.

“It’s still misty.” Hanla answers, peering ahead.

“When I was a kid, there was never mist here. It was always so beautiful…”

They crest a low ridge and find a small village tucked away among the trees—shuttered windows, doors barred, no smoke coming from any chimneys. On a weathered porch, a blonde woman with deep red eyes watches them approach—there one moment, gone the next.

“Does anyone live here?” Hanla asks.

“Not anymore.” Sunthia murmurs. “Only people from the Outskirts pass through.”

They step into the village center. The mist thickens—heat ripples up from the soil. Flames lick the ground, coiling into small shapes.

Hanla’s eyes widen in alarm as the shapes keep growing, soon reaching a meter in size.

“Wyverns. Being born right in front of us.” Sunthia whispers, voice weak, frozen in place..

That’s not good. I’m counting at least three. If they’re as strong as everyone says… I can’t have Sunthia out in the open like this.

Hanla’s head snaps toward the building she saw the woman at earlier. “There’s probably someone inside—over there. Run!”

Sunthia bolts for the door and pounds on it. A bolt scrapes—the blonde woman opens it. “Don’t just stand there, girl. Get in!”

Meanwhile, Hanla yanks a small box from her bag and touches a water stone. Her forearm turns slate-grey, threaded with bright blue, water-veined lines—the same sheen runs over her thighs.

The flames in the cracks thicken further. By now, the wyverns start to take their final shapes—five hulking beasts, two meters tall, scales glowing, a faint haze of red dust glittering in their fire.

They charge at Hanla.

She steps forward and punches through the fire, arm plunged into the blaze until her knuckles strike something hard. The water-veins along her skin flare up—a flood of cold surges right into the wyvern. It convulses, and a distinct red core drops to the dirt with a bone-like clack as it disappears once more.

One by one, she meets them bare-handed—driving water through burning scales until each core clatters free.

When things are calm once more, Hanla takes a deep breath, glancing at the cores.

“Hot and dangerous for civilians,” she says, still catching her breath, “but the water stone—and its heat resistance—do the job well.”

She raps on the door Sunthia disappeared through. It opens to reveal a crowded interior—civilians huddled under rafters covered in spiderwebs, thick layers of dust on the floorboards.

Sunthia slips steps back out again, eyes shining. “Hanla, you’re a beast—I counted five! That was incredible.”

The blonde woman smirks. “A friend of Nine’s?”

Hanla shakes her head.

“A shame.” The woman says, half-laughing. “Tell him to introduce himself to people anyway. He’s been killing wyverns non-stop since yesterday. What a madman…”

Hanla glances around—people pile out of the other buildings, revealing they were packed too.

“Why are you all here? It doesn’t look like you live in this village.”

“We do now.” the woman says. “Since yesterday. We got evacuated from the Outskirts.”

“Why?”

“The guards and the bandits are at war. Chisa was shouting yesterday that an attack was coming. Told us to get to the forest—that it’s safer.”

“Chisa…” Sunthia frowns. “It makes no sense. She’s always so impulsive.”

Something’s off. If she knew the guards were attacking, why not use that momentum to her advantage? Why only station bandits there and waste resources on evacuating the civilians? Of course, it’s good to evacuate them, but if she wants control, this choice weakens her leverage. Did I misjudge her?

“The buildings are made of blackwood.” the blonde woman adds. “So we’re safe enough. You can leave, if you need to. You look like you’re in a hurry.”

“I heard the bandit leader was killed.” Hanla mentions instead.

“Yes. No one here believes Nine did it—just before you try to ask.” She sighs. “Though I don’t understand it either. Chisa—the vice leader—she… killed a few who spoke up against her. In front of us. It was brutal, even for her.”

She wants to talk with us. Wants it off her chest. But I don’t have the time for that. If Chisa is killing dissenters, it’s to keep the reins—but it still puts her at a disadvantage. The civilians would make for a great shield against the guards… So why did she evacuate them? What’s the true story behind these bandits?

“Thank you,” Hanla says, “we do need to keep moving.”

“Then do me one last favor.” the woman says, a teasing lilt to her voice in spite of the fear in her eyes. “Tell Nine he can visit here any time—and even stay with me.”

Sunthia pouts. “Hanla!”

“I will.” Hanla agrees, chuckling as they slip back into the mist, walking on.

Jarathia | Forest Lorakti | At The Back Of The Volcano

They skirt the volcano’s rear slope until a small cabin appears—plain walls, a wooden garden chair and a sun-bleached table beneath its eaves. Simple and yet warm.

“We’re here.” Sunthia says.

“He’s got taste, I’ll give him that.” Hanla murmurs. “Close to the volcano, but not far from the villages and the Outskirts.”

“Nine’s always careful.”

Sunthia carefully knocks.
Then again.
And again.

Nothing.

Hanla steps up to rap once—hard.

“Hey! One minute.” A voice calls out.

The door opens, revealing Nine—white tank top, long wet hair clinging to his shoulders, cobalt eyes cool and unreadable.

He sighs. “Come in. Your adventurer friend too, I guess.”

“You’re not angry?” Sunthia asks.

“Why would I be?”

“Because I brought someone!”

A quick grin flickers across Hanla’s face. “Wanna join my guild?” She teases.

“No.”

“You’ll say yes eventually.”

Sunthia clears her throat. “So… we may enter?”

“Sure.”

Inside, everything glints. A crystal table. A crystal cupboard. Even the doors are latticed in near-white facets that catch the light. A leather couch anchors the room.

“Lots of crystal.” Hanla says.

Sunthia drops onto the couch and swings her legs, a small smile sneaking through. Hanla wanders past a shelf stacked with Books.

Soul Reversal, The Soul and Mana, Mana Network Stability…

Strange. Regona looks medieval—but here the furniture leans more modern: glass lines, clean edges. Like my old home, if it got fused with this world.

“Nine.” Sunthia asks quietly, “you didn’t kill Jerome, right? He’s… still here?”

“He’s dead.” Nine says. “I didn’t kill him.”

Sunthia lowers her gaze and nods.

“Nice cabin.” Hanla says. “Feels like my home, just… more modern.”

“Is that so? I took inspiration from my master.”

“From Raven? The style here is… different.”

He scratches his temple. “So your home looks like mine, but Jarathia doesn’t—yet my furniture matches yours. Are you an airhead?”

“What!”

“Never mind.”

He’s prodding me on purpose. It’s friendly, though. Different from back at the Guild…

Sunthia stands and hugs him. Nine’s hand settles on her hair.

“I looked everywhere for you.” She whispers. “I—I was so worried.”

“Hey. It’s fine. No one’s touching you again.”

She holds tighter, then sits back down. A crystal Rubik’s cube gleams on the table, she turns its colored facets with soft clicks.

“We could introduce ourselves to each other.” Hanla says. “But I heard you’re busy. So what if we combine our goals?”

Nine leans against the wall. “What do you think my goal is?”

“I heard stories. Some hate you, most civilians call you a hero. You want to save this island—keep it from the grave it’s digging itself.”

“I see.”

Crystal needles rise from the floor and hang in the air around Hanla like a crown of knives. Nine’s eyes harden.

“What Domain sent you? What do you want with Jarathia? Say it now.”

“You’re not even shouting.” Hanla replies. “That’s such a weak threat.”

The spikes close in further.

“Nine, stop.” Sunthia warns. But he doesn’t. “NINE! STOP! LISTEN TO ME! WILL YOU PLEASE LOOK AT HER OBJECTIVELY FIRST?”

The crystals shatter to harmless dust.

“She protected us!” Sunthia says, voice shaking. “Look at her. REALLY look at her.”

Nine does. He meets Hanla’s gaze, searching.

Hanla closes the distance, steady as stone. “That rough facade is already fading. I don’t like lies either. So just be honest with me: you’ll join!”

“Your guild? Why are you so persistent?”

“Because I want to save this island—and others. I mean, just look at them.”

“Without any personal gain?”

“It’s an adventure!” She says. “And I get to change something—allow THEM to change things.”

“Then I’ll be honest too.” His voice cools. “Honesty, a good heart, friendliness—they get abused. Nothing good comes of them. If you truly believe otherwise, you’ll break—”

“I know suffering.” she cuts in. “I know injustice. I know how close to impossible it is to change minds. So don’t lecture me.”

Silence falls between them.

“Then what’s your plan to save this hellhole?” Nine asks.

“How about saving the mayor’s son first!”

Nine barks a laugh—his expression brightens too fast. “Sunthia—she’s a lunatic.”

“She is.” Sunthia agrees. “And she’ll even try it without you.”

Nine chuckles again. “It’s Hanla, right? So what’s your grand plan to save the old mayor's son?”

“I thought about sneaking in and ignoring any Calamity,” she says, “but if it’s as bad as people say and keeps growing… the island will have a giant problem. So I wanna fight it now.”

Sunthia steps up to Nine’s side. “She’s serious. Please help her. And she’s strong too.”

“Normally,” Nine says, “I’d refuse without a second thought. But if Sunthia says this is our best chance…” He exhales. “I’ll try.”

Hanla blinks, not yet processing the words’ meaning.

Nine disappears down the hall.

“What was that?” Hanla asks. “That sudden change?”

“You’re like Raven.” Sunthia says softly. “Painfully so. You listened—to the miners, to that woman just now. And his old Master was the same. She listened to everyone, always helping. We also don’t have much time. A huge conflict is coming and we need all the help we can get.”

“I understand…”

So, basically, I said I’ll take on a suicide mission and asked him to join me, and this changed his mind. I KNEW BEING RECKLESS WAS ALWAYS THE RIGHT CHOICE! TOLD YOU IT’D PAY OFF EVENTUALLY, ROKKU, HAH!

Nine returns in black cargo pants, a white undershirt and a loose black unbuttoned shirt thrown on top.

“I’ll just wait outside for a moment, looking cool and all.” Hanla says, glancing from him to Sunthia and back again.

Nine nods.

And so Hanla waits outside the door, her shoulder against the wall, breathing in the cool air of the volcano’s far side.