Mana

Jarathia | Jarathia City | Mersa’s Mansion | Bathroom

The bathroom is full of cold tiles and visceral echoes. Sunthia braces against the sink and vomits.

Jenna pushes the door open. “Are you fine?”

“Yes, I am—” Sunthia heaves again.

“That’s not fine,” Jenna comments, stepping up to her side.

Sunthia wipes her mouth, eyes cloudy. “You know… it’s harder to hate someone when they’re dead. I can’t even hate the bandits. It happened. It’s over.” She looks up at Jenna; a thin line of red spreads from the corner of her eye. “But if I may… why isn’t he that open with me—only her? He never tells me anything about what’s going on in him.”

“It’s a different dynamic, Sunthia,” Jenna gently says. “It sounds harsh, but Nine protects everybody here. That girl—she can protect herself. That’s the difference. They're equals.”

“That is harsh.” Sunthia breathes. “I had the potential to be one of the strongest mages ever. Now my mana network is completely corrupted. I was a beauty. Now my body is a broken shell. I feel pain all the time. And the one person I love won’t give me an answer.”

“What did he say?”

“He needs more time.” Sunthia’s voice tightens. “But I don’t HAVE time. I never had—”

Jenna sighs. “You need time too, Sunthia. With all that’s happened, everyone does. The harsh facts are, if they succeed, they’ll leave. They’re adventurers. The only thing you can do is keep fighting the illness and hopefully we find a solution. Then—if he comes back—you can embrace him and he’ll give you a real answer.”

“Don’t give me hope,” Sunthia whispers.

“We’ll never let Jarathia fall again and we’ll fill every heart with hope,” Jenna says. “That’s our duty as adults.”

Sunthia draws a steadier breath, the tremor leaving her hands. “Then… I will keep fighting too, Jenna.”

Jarathia | Jarathia City | Mersa’s Mansion | Morning

A thunderous quake rolls across Jarathia. Mersa jolts up from where he’s slept outside, eyes locking on the volcano. The sealed mouth bursts open—wings of fire unfurl—and panic ripples through the city.

Hanla and Nine snap upright in their room. Fresh bandages wrapped around both of them.

“I see Jenna took care of us.” Hanla says, tugging on her black jacket. “Let’s go down.”

They open the door, coming face to face with Sunthia and Jenna—Maxwell, too.

“Mersa has a plan, Silver Sky.” Maxwell says.

“Let me take a shower first.” Nine replies.

“I’m also voting for a bath.” Hanla adds.

Sunthia deadpans. “I just wanted to say ‘Good morning.’”

“Me too.” Jenna says.

“Come on,” Sunthia sighs, “I’ll show you to the bath.”

They reach the bathing hall.

“Who goes first?” Nine asks.

“I don’t know.”

Beatrix strolls up. “It’s a triple bath—shower area, bathing area, thick walls, no peeking.” She lifts an armful of clothes: cargo pants like trousers and a tank top with a loose cardigan. She tosses a set to Nine. “Raided your home.”

Another set to Hanla, the same pants with a crop top and a wide silk jacket. “Wearing one pair of clothes for days on end before the big showdown is not feminine.”

“These are Raven’s,” Nine mutters.

“I like them,” Hanla says, hugging the clothes tight. “May I wear them?”

Nine nods.

They step inside: first a dressing room, then a steaming stone bath like a hot spring, with wide showers. Another quake shakes the floor.

A crowd gathers in front of the bathing rooms—Maxwell, Mersa, Avort, Tyrese… and over a hundred people more.

“Don’t tell me they’re bathing now.” Mersa groans, moving to storm in.

Jenna catches his sleeve, laughing. “They need to look good!”

“Style is very important, Mersa.” Sunthia chimes in.

Beatrix whistles. Maxwell rubs his temple. “I’m confused too.”

“These are the heroes?” Someone whispers.

“What are you doing—ARGH,” Mersa barks as Tyrese, Jenna, and Sunthia break into laughter.

Inside, water hisses out.

Nine strips off the bandages, studying the scarred skin. “Hope you’re pain resistant, Hanla.” He mutters, stepping under the spray.

Hanla peels away her wrappings and slips into the hot pool. “OH MY GOD, THAT’S SO NICE AND CALMING!”

“Refreshing.” Nine answers.

“I can even feel the water rushing inside me…”

“You sure you’re healed?”

“It was a joke.”

The ground rumbles again.

“It’s a bit shaky,” Nine says.

“Like a massage,” Hanla grins. He laughs with her.

Narrow crystals bud in his palm; he shapes them into a knife and trims his long hair down.

“Hey, Hanla,” he calls, “you had a hole in your stomach. Got it healed?”

“Somehow. There’s still a wound there though.”

“You think it’s smart to bathe and shower?”

“No, but I want to look good.”

“Ohh, what a childish fantasy—looking good in a fight.”

“Come on, I gotta keep up with your dumb good looks somehow.”

“You’re right. We might die, but we’ll look good while doing so.” He glances at the empty shelf. “By the way—we have no bandages and wearing used ones is not smart.”

Hanla freezes. “Mhhm… oh, how did I forget—”

She stands, water streaming off her. “SUNTHIA!”

Nine’s call joins hers. “Mersa!”

From outside the door, Mersa booms back, “WHAT?!”

“The bandages!” Both shout.

Mersa inhales, then pinches the bridge of his nose. Jenna ducks into a side room.

“These are heroes, right? Right?” Mersa mutters.

“I think so,” Tyrese quips, fighting a smile.

Jenna returns with two great rolls of bandages and hands one to Sunthia, the other to Mersa. They slip inside—Sunthia in Hanla’s stall, Mersa in Nine’s.

He sees Nine leaning up against the tile and is greeted with a: “Hello.”

“Hello? Only THAT—this damn island—” Mersa starts, then catches Nine’s lopsided grin and stops.

“Idiot.” He says, and a small chuckle escapes him as the volcano rumbles again.

Mersa studies Nine’s torso, criss-crossing with old cuts and fresh fractures.

“I’m sorry for shouting… you’re wounded,” he adds.

“Why apologize? It’s fine. Just wrap me up,” Nine answers, steady.

Mersa starts to bandage him.

“I heard you fought wyverns every day.”

“Yes.”

“Why are you immune to them?”

Nine laughs, a short, surprised sound. “First time someone’s asked that.”

From the next stall over, Hanla hollers, “YEAH, TELL US!”

Sunthia adds, softer, “I was scared to ask. You fought them for us after all.”

Nine thinks, then explains, “After Raven’s death I had a breakdown. My ability went rampant.”
Mersa’s hands pause; the closer he looks, the more he sees crosshatched crystal cuts.
“Inside my body too,” Nine continues. “Crystals sliced through skin and arteries—severed my mana system. I still have mana, but I can’t use it. And the miasma doesn’t affect me. No entry points left, I guess.”

Mersa winds the bandage around Nine’s ribs. “Nine, I’m sorry.”

“And you, Mersa,” Nine says.

Mersa huffs a laugh. “In my youth I couldn’t cast it at all. Unable to use any magic.”

“So you three,” Sunthia calls, “have no magic—and so the miasma’s effects don’t stick.”

In Hanla’s stall. Sunthia flinches at the sight of her wound. Sunthia’s hands move carefully over the worst wound.
Hanla chuckles. “It tickles. Mmm—maybe we can use that knowledge.”

“Sure,” Mersa answers through the wall. “It’s not new. Just… underreported.”

Sunthia finishes wrapping it.

“My foot too,” Hanla says, lifting it.

“Why?”

“I am Hanla Lee—” She grins.

“Oh. Okay.” Sunthia studies the bruised arch. “Ouch. How can you walk?”

“Hehe. By being a badass.”

“Badass!” Nine echoes.

“Badass!” Hanla fires back, both of them laughing.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Mersa says. “Get dressed. I can’t hold off our people for much longer—they’re wondering what’s the hold-up.”

“Don’t worry, we’re done now,” Nine says.

Both get dressed.

Sunthia slips out with Mersa.

At the sink, Hanla eyes Nine’s newly short hair, then sighs. “A new style… without me? Wanna make me a knife?”

Nine shapes clear crystal in his palm, then hands her the new blade. “Sure. But why?”

“I’ve always been proud of my long hair—back then too. But when I look at it now, it reminds me of being someone else. My mom loved my long white hair. And my job. She said it was good, safe. But I always wanted to act, not just watch.” She meets his gaze. “I can say more now. Choose more. And so far, I’m happy with this step.”

“You’re interesting,” Nine says. “I thought you were just an overambitious girl who wants to punch things. And maybe you are. But there’s more. It’s refreshing.”

“Thanks, Nine. I was right about you.”

“About—?”

“You’re kind-hearted.”

Hanla closes her eyes. For a heartbeat: Seira City, her mother’s hands combing through her hair. “My sweet girl.”

She cuts it off. Strands tickle her neck.

She pivots with a playful kick. “How do I look?”

“It suits you better than I thought,” Nine says.

They step out of the bathroom together.

A hundred impatient faces glare, then soften.

“Yeah, sorry,” Hanla says, lifting a fist. “So—can we go punch a dragon?”

Laughter breaks the tension; relief ripples through the hall.

Mersa raises his voice. “Mission: Save Jarathia!”

The reaction hits like a mighty wave: voices raised, weapons even higher, ready for whatever might come.