Withering

Jarathia | City Outskirts | Eat And Smith | Backroom

Hanla wakes to a room that feels wrong—too clean, too white. Scalpels glint on a steel tray. A needle, half-filled with fresh blood, rests beside some gauze. Pain arches across her stomach the moment she moves.

She pushes upright. The floor tilts, her legs nearly give out. “Great,” she mutters, “I’m part of the perfect horror scene.”

A soft shape to her left: Nine, asleep, exhausted. Sunthia sits beside him with eyes closed, both hands holding one of his. Hanla breathes out a laugh. “Stitched up and healing, huh? There’s surgeries with scalpels here? That’s an unexpected first.” She whispers, more to herself than them.

She eases the door open.

Jenna waits in the hall, sorrowful, her eyes wet. She doesn’t bother with words at first—just pulls Hanla into a hug.

“Come on.” Jenna says at last, voice rough. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

They cross into the restaurant. Mersa sits at a corner table with Avort and Tyrese, bowls half-finished, faces hollowed by a sleepless night.

“Jenna’s a good cook I see.” Hanla says as she lowers herself into a chair. The joke earns her a watery smile from Jenna and a grunt from Mersa.

“I need to recover strength for my ability.” Mersa answers, pushing the bowl away. “I can’t rest anyway.”

“So you’ll take the lead?” Hanla asks.

Mersa’s gaze slides to the window. “Did you see Chisa?”

“Briefly. She looked… sad. Nine wants to go talk to her, after. I told him I’d back him up, if she causes trouble.”

Avort’s jaw tightens. Tyrese stares at the table as if it holds all the answers.

“Chisa’s dead.” Jenna says. “She killed every higher-up… and then she passed away…”

The words hang heavy. Before Hanla can shape a reply, footsteps sound behind her.

“Please rest.” Sunthia pleads.

Nine sways in the doorway and then topples. Hanla is moving before she knows it, catching his arm and taking his weight to keep him from going down.

“Breathe.” She tells him. “Focus. I’ve got you.”

Crystals pepper across the tiles in a soft, brittle rain. Nine sniffs once, blood trickles from his nose. Jenna hurries over with a napkin. Together, they guide him to sit against the wall. Hanla slides down beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

Nine lifts his gaze toward Mersa. “I’m… sorry.”

Mersa swallows. “I’m tough.” he says, and the lie is gentle. “I can’t cry now—and she wouldn’t want it either. We’re killers, Nine. A thing you despise.”

“I was judgmental when I arrived.” Nine murmurs. “Now—I understand it and I’m—” He bites his lip. Hanla’s hand finds his shoulder and squeezes once.

“The higher-ups are gone, Nine. It was her decision. Respect it, for Chisa…” Hanla quietly says. “So you’ll take the lead, Mersa—”

He’s staring past them, out the window at the ruined volcano—its shattered mouth sealed shut.

The floor trembles.

Glasses chime. A slow, rolling quake moves through the city, from deep below. Everyone goes still, listening—to the aftershock, to the new silence, to whatever is coming next.

“In the volcano,” Avort finally says, voice scraped thin, “the bandits and the guards butchered each other until the red dust became too much. In the end, they worked together—just long enough to buy us time and seal off the volcano.”

He looks to Nine, then Hanla. “Red Dust Syndrome is a rot in the mana network. When people keep mining and the volcano isn’t allowed to recover, it can’t process the mana.”

Mersa rubs his temple.

“The mayor and the nobles had every report about it. One day it was just… too late. They knew it and blindly hoped that Alpas would still be able to do something. But with a new calamity… How is it possible that these dumbasses made our situation even WORSE?! Nevermind that. We need a plan…”

“How much worse is it now?” Hanla asks.

Nine keeps his tone clinical. “Ten years of over-mining, chaos, then the increase of the syndrome… Mana that couldn’t be cleansed has condensed into beasts and two calamities. What we fought was a remnant of Torvea’s soul. So now we know, Mana is directly connected to our soul… They sold our souls, literally. That’s madness…”

Jenna blinks. “Say that again?”

“The syndrome takes your soul,” Nine repeats, softer, “and turns you into a wyvern or worse. That much is… certain. We saw it, it’s not an assumption anymore. It’s fact!”

Sunthia’s shoulders shake. “No. I don’t want—”

Jenna links their hands. “Let’s take a moment. Mersa, Nine, Hanla—you’re strong. Always remember that.” She guides Sunthia into the back room.

Tyreese exhales. “We knew this might happen. If I’m honest, hearing there really is another… it’s still a bit of a shock…”

Avort nods. “The miasma’s thicker. That last onslaught wiped out both sides. Which means there were many red dust deaths. There will be countless wyverns. It’s not good at all. The people of the Outskirts will be in danger.”

If the volcano should have blown, how did they seal it and how much time did they buy us with it?

She glances at the volcano. “How long until the seal breaks and the calamity goes rampant?"

“The bandits and the guards bought us days.” Mersa says. “A handful, at most. Maybe just one or two… We need to act fast.”

He stands, crosses over to them, and bows until his hair brushes the floorboards. “I watched you fight. I— no, Jarathia can’t stop the fire dragon alone. I want your Guild as an alliance partner.”

Hanla sorts through the whirlwind in her head.

We are still wounded and the next fight is coming up. I don’t know if we can survive that. The golem’s last attack could’ve erased the entire city. Even if we slay this new calamity, another might rise. But the higher ups are dead, and if Mersa takes the lead… He will never let this happen again. He wants an ‘Alliance’? Hmm…

A laugh slips out, then grows in volume. “Nine, was he always this cunning?”

Nine squints at her. “Why are you laughing?”

“He wants an alliance—and to use us as a shield. Like they did with Raven.”

Nine’s mouth twitches up. “You sure about this, Hanla? We’re both a wreck.”

Tyreese manages a crooked smile. “We’ll stitch you up even better and buy you as much recovery time as we can.”

Mersa stays bowed low.

“I’m just an E-rank adventurer. I don’t know how protected you’ll be.” Hanla says.

Mersa drops to his knees, laughing once, the sound hysterical. “Good one. No offense—what I saw was beyond S-rank. That golem was Epic-class. A true calamity.”

“I’m being honest, is all.” Hanla mutters.

“Trust me.” Mersa says. “After this—and the dragon—the world will know who you are.”

Nine rolls his sore shoulder. “Then it’s set. We report to the Adventurers’ Guild, rest, and wait for the seal to fail.”

“Yes.” Mersa says.

Hanla offers her fist. “Alliance partners of Jarathia.”

Nine bumps her knuckles. “I’m just a member.”

“Vice Leader," She counters.

He chuckles.

Avort watches them, something like a bright new dawn gleaming in his eyes. “These youngsters… somehow they give me hope again.”

“No greed in their eyes.” Tyreese adds. “Just stubborn, genuine hearts. Rare to see—and they’re willing to fight, even though they know it’s life or death.”

He hefts a bag from beside his chair and tosses it over to Hanla. It thuds heavy into her palms.

“The calamity’s core.” Tyreese says. “Was hell to carry here, with you two unconscious.”

Nine nods once. “We’re off to the Guild, then.”

Hanla slings the bag over her shoulder and falls into step beside him.

As they push through the door into the ash-covered night, she notices his right hand trembling—still, a heartbeat later, as he forces it flat against his thigh.

She says nothing, matching his pace and together, they walk toward the Adventurer’s Guild, glowing in the distance.

Jarathia | City Outskirts | Eat And Smith | Backroom

Sunthia sits on the bed, knees up, arms wrapped around, skin pale. The door clicks shut behind them.

“Sunthia—” Jenna begins.

“He’ll leave.” Sunthia blurts, voice shaking. “And I’ll die. I’ll die and turn into a beast. A wyvern.”

Tears turn her eyes glassy. Jenna sits beside her, a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll find a solution.”

“I—I—” Sunthia bites her lip until red beads at it. “I don’t WANT to die… I want a husband, a house, children… I want a future. But now I know that I’ll end up as a monster.”

Anger cracks through the fear.

“This isn’t fair! What did I do wrong, Jenna? I mined. I followed orders. I helped my friends. Why am I being punished for other people’s mistakes? When did I turn into a pawn with no agency?”

Jenna wraps her up and holds her close. “You carry no blame. We failed you—the grown-ups. We let your future crumble. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t keep my chin up.” Sunthia whispers. “I’ll die and I’ll die ugly and dangerous. I wanted to protect my body. I wanted to be a princess—with him as my prince. Such stupid fantasies… I’m dirty. I’ve always been.”

Her nerves fray, words tumbling out.

“I can’t even tell him how much I care for him. I saw him bleeding and still couldn’t say it. When I imagine us, it feels… bright. But if I touch his hand, if I try anything—something inside me recoils. I can’t even hate them—guards, bandits, any of them—because they’re dead. And I’m damaged. Clingy. A bother. But, Jenna—” She bows her head. “I still want to live. I want to see tomorrow.”

Jenna’s heart breaks a little. In the curve of Sunthia’s face she sees a child, just for a beat. “It isn’t your fault. Bad things just… happen.”

“But I never did anything bad!” Sunthia’s voice cracks. “I don’t deserve this! I helped. Always. But I’m not strong—”

Her nails rake over her thighs. Jenna catches her wrists. “You’re still beautiful, little sun.”

“I’m scarred. My beauty is—”

“That’s not true. You still shine bright.”

“I hate myself. I can’t endure this.”

“Oh, my little sun.” Jenna murmurs.

Sunthia stares at the floor, then up. She tucks Jenna’s hair behind her ear with trembling fingers. “I despised Chisa. The blood. The killing. It was everywhere. But… in hindsight, she was trying to buy us a future. She was unstable and died to that fate. She did reset everything to zero… But I can’t forgive her yet, what her bandits did was— It’s too fresh… I just CAN’T!”

Jenna nods along, playing with a lock of Sunthia’s hair to soothe her. “We messed up—our generation. We had it easy, ignored Torvea’s warnings. Greed rotted our spines, and they taught people to hate each other—and the weaker ones suffered the consequences. I would not say this out in the open, but… I think what Chisa did was the right thing. She killed the entire system, not just its pawns.”

“And I was jealous of her too.” Sunthia admits, voice small. “She was beautiful. She could’ve sailed off with him, had happiness. She threw it away for this cruel place. She lost her innocence and killed, again and again… and with that, she lost the man who despises killing. But me—I’m dirty. I’ve never been worthy of his eyes.”

“Maybe you’re assuming too many things,” Jenna says softly, “Nine cares about you. He cared about Chisa, too. He hates killing—that’s true—and I think his new adventuring partner does as well. But both of them see you as the beautiful flower you are, Sunthia.”

“If I’m a flower, I’m withering.” Sunthia whispers.

“Did he ever say that?” Jenna asks. “Does anyone else truly think that? Because I don’t think so. Your wounds won't heal, yes. And I can’t fix that. But Sunthia, you’re still here in spite of it.”

Sunthia folds into her again. She cries helplessly—and Jenna holds her tight.