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r Hariken trembled beneath the sheets, ice cold beads of perspiration condensing on her fevered body. No matter how she twisted and turned she could not settle. Her healing skin still prickled as though infested with the spindly legs of insects.

“Hana,” she cried out desperately into her pillow. “Hana.”

Her assistant burst through the door with swiftness to answer her plea.

“What is it, Doctor?” Hana asked, olive-black eyes aglisten with concern. “Are you alright?”

Dr Hariken reached for her spectacles on the bedside table. Then she hugged her bedsheets around her, still feeling a chill. “I need more tincture. Please.”

“Of course,” Hana said, reaching for the tray of Thalit medicine on the bedside table. She uncorked the bottle containing various herbs and flowers floating in marinade—a miniature woodland. Picking up the glass measuring cup, Hana filled it to the brim and handed it over.

“Thank you.” Dr Hariken tossed back the amber liquid, soothed immediately upon ingestion. Then she rubbed at her tired eyes.

“You should really rest,” Hana said, filling her glass once more before straightening the covers around her shoulders.

“It’s nice of you to be concerned but I’m afraid I cannot. I—” I do not want to face what will happen when I close my eyes. She could not bring herself to say it, unwilling to burden one so rosy-cheeked with youth. She could remember being that young all too well still, full of fire and verve, convinced that the fate of the world was her destiny to undertake.

“I understand,” Hana said. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “I could keep you company instead. If you’d like?”

“You’re gracious.” Dr Hariken smiled weakly. “But you really ought to think about going home.”

“Oh no, Doctor, I couldn’t.” Hana shook her head frantically. “There is still plenty of work for me here and I’d feel simply rotten abandoning you now you’ve grown sick.”

“This isn’t sickness, Hana, and we both know it. No matter how much Akira wants to soothe herself otherwise.” Dr Hariken traced the pattern on her wrist. “This work, I’ve dedicated my life to it. And so I intend to continue. But the danger here is graver than I ever could’ve imagined. I don’t think it will be good for you to stay.”

“I am willing to take the risks as they come, Doctor,” Hana insisted, mouth set firm. “Just the same as you. No one ever told us the battle will be easily won but I will not retreat. Not now.” She reached out to take Hariken’s wrist. “We are so close.”

Dr Hariken followed the trajectory of her gaze, tracing the symbols. “And yet what if this is all part of his design? What if he’s toying with us? And we are mere rats scurrying about his maze for his amusement?”

“What’s brought this on?”

“I deciphered the text on my wrist today.” She met Hana’s judgemental stare with calmness. “Yes, I know Akira warned me away from the cryptograph but I had to. And this is what it said.” She retrieved the piece of paper she’d kept secreted under her pillow and passed it to Hana.

“Tread the course of… what is this?” Hana asked in bewilderment.

“Read on.”

Hana devoured the contents of the note:

Tread the course of ivory salt

‘Til the dragon’s lungs exhale

Cross the wound of despair before I entered my lair

Within its innards you shall prevail

Hana furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand.”

“They’re directions,” Dr Hariken explained, “to the Shadowlands.”

“How can you know?”

“It took me a moment to decipher but the ‘course of ivory salt’ is the White Sea. And the dragon’s lungs exhale refers to the Dragon’s Breath. The rest I have been unable to interpret for now but it seems as though Calante wants me to come after him.”

“And you believe that you shouldn’t?”

Dr Hariken shook her head. “I fear I don’t even know the answer. Not anymore, Hana. I feel so lost.”

Hana’s lips sagged in empathy as she put the note down and took Hariken by the hands. “I would like for you to pray with me, Dr Hariken. To ask for Asemani’s guidance.”

Dr Hariken squeezed back in response before she nodded. “Alright, Hana.”

In the midst of their praying Dr Isuka entered the room, blowing in with the strength of a gale.

“Oh, thank the stars.” Dr Isuka clutched her breast in relief. “You’re awake.”

“What time is it?” Dr Hariken asked. “You’re back much later than we expected.”

“The sun is in its third quarter and I’m afraid I suffered a minor impediment,” Dr Isuka explained, producing a drop bottle from her pocket. “But look, the princess gave me this in the hopes it might finally rid you of your sickness.”

“Sickness?” Dr Hariken’s brow furrowed. “I am not ill.”

“Emica, don’t be preposterous,” Dr Isuka replied in irritation, “we’ve both seen your recent behaviour.”

“Yes, but this is not a sickness, Akira. I am—” She paused with a glance towards Hana.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Hana declared, making herself scarce.

Dr Isuka closed the door behind her. “I know you’ve been compromised, Emica. I can see this now. I had intended to spare you, but I feel that you must know.”

Dr Hariken adjusted her spectacles, still in shock. She glanced down at her wrist. “If my magic has been compromised—”

Dr Isuka’s chest weighed with sorrow as she looked into her friend’s eyes. So big and brown they were, set into a cuddlesome face that one couldn’t resist wanting to enclose within their hands.

She cupped Hariken’s cheek within her palm. “We can still fight this, Emica. And we will. Trust me when I say I will not let you fall into darkness. That I will do whatever it takes to expel from you this demonic force. Now I am going to draw you a nice salt bath, and then brew you jasmine tea and I promise you, all will be much better.”

“Alright, Akira,” Dr Hariken said, ever malleable to others’ whims. “And thank you for taking care of me.”

Dr Isuka nodded before she disappeared into the bathroom. There, she spun the taps and spooned a few piles of pink salt into the bath. She knew the water would work more effectively if blessed, so she said a quick prayer before it and added a few drops of the solution the princess had gifted to her.

Dr Hariken shed her clothes to get into the bath once Dr Isuka had left. She dipped a toe to test the temperature and then slowly relaxed into the salts with a sigh. She closed her eyes in repose and leaned her head against the wall, indulging in the warmth of the water.

However, seeping out from within her was an insidious blackness that sullied the bath. The black sludge hissed in anguish, scalded by the unforgiving waters, and responded in turn by lashing out at its host. A hand stretched up from oily essence to wrap around Dr Hariken’s throat.

Then it pulled her under.

Dr Hariken had not a moment to cry out before she was pinned. Her mouth opened on instinct, hoping to scream. Instead, her throat filled with needles from the salt. She flailed and thrashed, trying and failing to catch a grip on the bath’s edge.

In all her life, she had never been a fighter. She had cringed away from the smallest hint of confrontation. Yet, never so violently had she battled for anything as she did for one sweet breath of air. The mere promise of survival.

She tried once more to claw at the edge, to dig her nails into the porcelain. What she touched instead was warmth, softness- flesh.

Dr Isuka gripped her hand and heaved her out of the bath with a great tug. She tossed Hariken to safety on the bathroom tiles before slapping her back.

Dr Hariken inhaled the instant her head broke free, coughing up water and salt.

“Are you alright?” Dr Isuka asked. Her eyes were frantic.

Dr Hariken could only nod in response, still wheezing as she pointed feebly at the bath.

Dr Isuka turned to see the sludge had once more risen. It arched before her like a cobra on the strike. Dr Isuka responded by gesturing wildly with her hands, gathering up the air around her into a gale which she propelled forth into a sudden gust.

The sludge splattered against the wall tiles, temporarily stuck, before it reformed.

Dr Isuka pulled the plug from the bathtub before it could strike again. Then she made several whirlpools in the water—spinning it faster and faster until the last dregs of the sludge had vanished.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Fear the sludge would spurt from the drainpipe kept them paralyzed.

When such fears were put to rest, Dr Isuka turned back to her friend and made a sweeping gesture along Hariken’s chest to expel the water from her lungs.

“Breathe, Emica,” she encouraged as the last spurts of water ejected from her. She sat down and rubbed Hariken’s shoulders.

“Do you- do you think it’s gone?” Hariken dared to ask, eyeing the drain with suspicion.

“I don’t know,” Dr Isuka said, “but I’m going to have Hana contact the Iron Clan to be certain.” She wrapped her arms around Hariken to help her to her feet. “Come on, I’ll make you some tea.”

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“Are you certain about this, princess?” Léandre asked her as they entered the lift.

“I am certain it is the only way we’ll receive true answers.” Laila watched the gilded gates of the birdcage enclose around them before they rose. “My mother wishes for me to extract every morsel I can from the occassi before she… disposes of him. The better to further bolster our intelligence on these creatures should we encounter more in the future. I see no better method to ensnare than the use of honey.” She patted her satchel upon the final word.

Léandre nodded, clearly uncertain, but considered faith in the judgement of his charge to be a worthy investment.

“I want to thank you for coming with me, Léandre,” Laila said, her smile unfurling like a spring bloom, “Lyra, she would’ve- she wouldn’t understand what I was trying to do here.”

“Lyra only does what she feels is her duty,” Léandre told her carefully, as ever serving the role of no man’s land between their conflict. “She is strong-minded but well-meaning. You mustn’t think too harshly of her.”

“I don’t,” Laila insisted with a heavy sigh, “I just loathe to quarrel with her.”

“And so does she.”

The lift tolled its end as the gates drew open to the sterile white walls of the ward.

“Here we go,” Laila proclaimed, rolling her shoulders back the way she would before bar practice.

Léandre squeezed her shoulder comfortingly, and they both shared a smile. One could always count on Léandre to be a safe harbour in uncertain seas.

They approached the cell to find Dr Mielette already awaiting them.

“Did you manage my request?” Laila asked, adjusting the strap of her satchel.

“I did,” Dr Mielette confirmed, opening the door to the cell. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Laila tilted her chin in response, entering freely into the wolf’s den. Inside, Dominus was still seated upright from before—only now he had full usage of his arms and neck, still clasped with magic-inhibiting rings. Tucked over his legs was a portable table which Laila rested her satchel upon.

“Hello again,” she greeted in her mother tongue, almost for theatrical flair. “I come bearing gifts.” She unbuckled the flap of her satchel and produced a pad of sanded paper and a box of fine quality charcoal. “I elected for something blunt, in case you get any ideas.” She flipped to an empty page and opened the lid of the charcoal box.

Dominus watched her with eyes narrowed. He had been hand-reared on self-interest, where nothing was ever given without gain. To him, such magnanimity could never come without hidden intent. He was right, of course. Though the princess’s aims were far less malevolent than he expected.

Laila gave nothing away, only meeting him with that prim lace smile she gave every acquaintance out of courtesy; all sweetness and no substance—one’s cup of neighbourly sugar. “Go on.” She gestured towards the paper. She’d seen through his own eyes his proclivity for art and seized upon the opportunity to ingratiate herself to him. Hopefully, his art would tell her what his mouth refused.

Dominus couldn’t deny the paper tempted him; that the impulse for artistry didn’t still stir at the sight of an untouched canvas. But the image he had framed in his mind was not of the home he so longed for, more how striking the princess looked with her face suffused in incandescent light. How flatteringly it embraced her smooth brown skin and its constellated shimmer; her golden curls spiralling about her like the corona of the sun. He wanted to contain the image and secrete it safely to paper where the sands of time might never bury it.

He picked up the charcoal, almost fearing it wouldn’t do justice in her portrayal. Yet he commenced with his sketch, a stern focus overcoming him as soon as he put charcoal to paper. He drafted with unnerving detail the high arc of her cheekbones to the ski slope of her nose to the pillow plumpness of her lips. Her hair, especially, was nothing he’d ever seen in his lands—tight ringlets that were golden as wheat.

Laila watched him, equally engrossed, marvelling at the speed and dexterity he employed in his craft. It wasn’t long before she was able to interpret the makings of her features in his image.

“Wait, is that—” Her voice trailed as it gave way to awe.

Oh, it was her to be certain. That same smile and coy head-tilt, beckoning in invitation. Even outlined in colourless charcoal she radiated a vivacity that leapt out from the page. For a moment she could only stare, lips parted, wondering how someone purported to be so fiendish could craft such beauty with their hands.

“It’s wonderful,” Laila said, a rosen warmth blooming across her cheeks.

Dominus swallowed in response, regarding the enticing cherry stain on her cheeks with a deep-bellied hunger. Not the kind to feed, but the kind to yearn. He longed to trail his fingers along the star-flecks on her cheek and map the pattern there. His shoulders shifted uncomfortably as he picked up the charcoal to begin another sketch.

She put her hand over his gently to stop him. Then she raised it up to hover before his cheek.

Dominus glanced at her searchingly, curious if this was the payment she required. Nevertheless he submitted to her palm, allowing that small spark to trickle down his spine like warm water as she opened his mind.

Only this time he was more determined to narrow the focus on what she’d see. He pivoted her away from any memories that might further divulge knowledge he did not wish for her to know, closing and padlocking the doors. But before he could reach one she already entered and inside was a lady with hair the colour of autumnal leaves with eyes that shared his hue.

“Your mother,” Laila deciphered, withdrawing her hand with wonder. She hadn’t expected for a monster of legend to have a mother like her. Or a family at all. The revelation caused something uncomfortable to settle in her chest.

His gaze was hard in response, annoyed at having left a stone of vulnerability unturned.

Laila turned on her heel, triumphant on her way out of the cell. “Thank you for sharing.”

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Dr Hariken took a sip from her glass cup of jasmine blooming tea and traced both thumbs around the rim.

“Feeling better now?” Dr Isuka asked as she drew the covers over her friend. The sprite-officers they’d sent from the Iron Clan had done a sweep of the room and given it the all-clear, so the two had retreated to bed.

“Yes.” Dr Hariken nodded meekly in response.

Isuka sat on the edge of the bed, brow creased in thought. “I have something to confess to you.”

“Yes?”

Isuka sighed deeply for some moments, trying to scavenge the right words to say. “After your ordeal, I think it might be best if you took some leave from your studies.”

“You believe I am unfit for duty?” Dr Hariken asked, confused and hurt at the implication behind Isuka’s words.

“No, no, not at all.” Dr Isuka held up her hands in refusal. “It is only that the princess has asked one of us to voyage north in order to discover Calante’s dwelling place. It can’t be me. You are the one with the expertise with the cryptograph. But if she hears word of your condition she may cease funding.”

“I see.” Dr Hariken nodded, taking another sip from her tea. “What must I do?”

“I suggest a brief period of rest in one of the solarite sanatoriums. There, they can offer you a rigorous purge and further treatment. Make certain you will no longer have any traces of chaotic magic in you.”

Hariken swallowed, her throat tightening. “The solarites will believe I have been tainted.”

“No, Emica,” Dr Isuka replied, struggling to infuse sympathy over her mounting frustration with a subject she had little understanding of how to approach. “I promise you that Asemani’s agents will not turn from you. They only desire to aid. You would only stay for one month. After which, if they deem you to be cleansed, we can proceed with the expedition as planned. In the meantime, I will handle everything leading up to the voyage and be prepared to embark in your stead.”

Dr Hariken traced the rim with her thumbs again, saying nothing.

“Does that sound fair to you?”

Do I have a choice? Hariken wondered. Externally, she nodded. “Whatever you see fit.”

“Emica—”

“I am tired, Akira,” she said, “I would like to sleep.”

Isuka nodded, remorseful yet relieved to have the conversation over with. She switched off the lamp on Hariken’s bedside and crossed over to her own bed on the other side of the room, sliding off her slippers before she tucked herself in.

Dr Hariken drank the last of her tea before she set her glass aside, her stomach in knots.

She lifted up her wrist and traced her fingers along the indelible pattern. How foolish she was to embark on this torrid love affair with forces so beyond her mortal grasp. She thought back to the years she’d spent pilfering back alley bookstores, haggling with merchants of questionable wares, and pasting newspaper clippings in her journal that held so much as a whiff of malevolent phenomena.

So convinced, was she, that she would be able to leave her mark on the world by fighting evil. Seems it was evil that had branded her instead. The bitterest pill of irony she couldn’t force herself to swallow.

She decided that she wouldn’t. She would face the world and its judgement with her head held high and show them she was still on the blessed and pious path. She felt her depression ebb with this conclusion as she tucked her covers up to her chin and drifted off to sleep.

As the night passed, the moon unveiled itself from behind the black swathe of the night sky, as pleasing to the eye as a pearl. Lunar rays pierced through the thin bar between the shutters into the scholars’ room and played mournful witness to the events that would unfold.

The bathroom drain gurgled, a deep-throated sound, as emerging from the sink with a great yawning stretch was the same blight that had been flushed down before. It slithered down the expanse of the sink to the tiled floor, oozing its venomous sludge across the room and beneath the crack of the door. An amorphous head reared up in search before it located Dr Hariken sleeping soundly in her bed.

It rushed towards her in eagerness, sliding up the side of her bed pillar and across the covers to invade her once more through her mouth. Dr Hariken’s eyes opened, black and lustrous as wet ink. Her body convulsed violently as both chaos and aether warred for hegemony over her soul. In the end, no victor was proclaimed but neither were they ousted. The blight lay dormant in her—waiting for its moment to reconquer.