[Yonten]

Yonten’s newfound companions lingered at the village’s gate, exchanging goodbyes with the few that waited for them there.

From his place on a nearby small hill, Yonten watched the scene for a few beats before closing his eyes, humming an aimless tune, enjoying the cool feel of the morning breeze and the fresh scent of the grass he lied on.

It didn’t take long for that pleasant moment to end. Yonten felt a massive shadow looming over him. He opened an eye, saw that it was the Innkeeper, then closed it again. “I thought we had a deal.”

“I’m not here for that,” the Innkeeper defended. He sounded rather awkward. How curious.

Eyes now open, Yonten urged, “What is it then?”

“I cannot owe you enough,” the Innkeeper began, and it amazed Yonten how his features approached the human realm of comprehension when he wasn’t breathing fire from rage. “You’re not a local to the village, so I thought the least I could do is wish you fortune.”

“Is that so?” Well, at least the man had some courtesy.

“… actually, it was my wife who thought so.” Never mind. “She woke me up with a bucket of cold water for it even.”

Seeing that it was only last night that the Innkeeper woke him from a peaceful sleep, holding him above ground by the neck, dropping him and then kicking him in the shin, repeatedly, as he loudly demanded for overdue payment… well, Yonten was rightfully grateful to the Innkeeper’s wife for unknowingly avenging him. “These well wishes of yours, do they include monetary support?”

The Innkeeper’s eyes went wide, as if he encountered an unforeseeable possibility. His voice was noticeably small as he answered, “No.”

“Weaponry support?”

“No…”

“Nutritional?”

“Uh… no?”

Yonten stared at the man. “Let me remind you that I’m risking my life to spare yours.”

“And I’m thankful for that!” The Innkeeper looked close to tears from shame. “Honestly, I am!”

Yonten decided to push the point further. “Your gratitude doesn’t weigh as much as a single loaf of bread.”

The Innkeeper started weeping.

[William]

Behind them, the sign welcoming visitors to Cinder blurred as they walked away, the figure of his wife followed after, then the village itself.

All seen before them was the overwhelming green of the meadows. All heard from them was the faint sound of dewed grass crushed under their footsteps, and even that sound withdrew as they reached the main road, absorbed by soil.

William’s work in the village market, his home life with a spirited wife and two energetic sons, made him uncomfortable with silence. Because of that particular preference, or perhaps to distract himself from the melancholy of goodbyes, he looked at the young man–Yonten, was it?–walking by his side and initiated, “The innkeeper, are you familiar with him?”

“As familiar as a passing guest could be.”

The answer only served to confuse William. “You must be friends at least. He did show up to say goodbye.”

Yonten snorted. “Only because his wife urged him to.”

What? “Why?”

“The village head originally wanted him to take on this quest, and I took his place.”

At that, the other two companions glanced back at Yonten, their looks mystified. William could relate. “… why?”

It was fortunate that Yonten seemed to be an amiable person, because any other would’ve grown impatient by his ceaseless questioning. “I owed him money, so I offered to trade places with him in exchange for dismissing my debt.”

This time, the coroner Stella asked it, “And how much did you owe?”

“Thirty coppers.”

Their youngest—Jehona, right?—choked on her breath at that amazing answer.

“Thirty coppers?” William could get that amount within a few days’ work, and he wasn’t exactly the richest man. Far from it.

Seeing their reactions, Yonten had the gall to question, “What? I didn’t have that amount at the time.”

“And your first solution is to throw your life away?” William started to feel a little distressed for the youth.

“Let’s not be bleak here.”

“Better than being delusional,” Jehona interjected.

Yonten’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit, and a hint of displeasure crept into his expression. He was about to retort when Stella cut him off, “What’s with the crying then?”

That hint vanished immediately before William’s eyes, replaced by immense amusement. “Oh, you heard that?”

“Hard not to.”

Indeed. The innkeeper’s weeping was exquisitely loud.

Yonten went on to detail the process he took to shame the innkeeper for his insincere display. The more he listened, the more William’s impression of the innkeeper diminished. If someone were to spare his son, he would’ve given that individual whatever thing of worth he had.

It was upon reaching a portion of the road curving around a pond that William noticed Yonten trailing off in his speech, clearly distracted. At that, William perceived a detail and became distracted himself.

“Something is off,” he heard Stella musing.

“The silence?” William shared.

It wasn’t noticeable at first, but once he caught the end of it, it didn’t take much to reach the start. This eerie, persistent silence accompanied them from the outermost borders of Cinder to where they stood now.

This curve of the road separated the vibrant green of grass on one side and the still surface of the pond on the other, making a beautiful contrast to bewitch the eyes, but the jarring absence of the small animals known to reside such an area ruined it.

“What about the stench?” Yonten added.

“And the blood?”

All of them looked at Jehona. “Look at the pond,” was her explanation.

From their current position, the pond’s water appeared clear to them. It wasn’t until they walked closer that they saw what Jehona meant.

The clarity of the water was disturbed by diluted red, intensifying as their sights moved across the pond, landing on a humanoid shape.

Jehona was the first to half-circle the rim of the pond, while William was a much later second.

He took a second to catch his breath before inspecting the scene, and it was as expected: a dead man, face down in water and blood pooled underneath.

William reached out a hand to turn the man, but a sharp, “Don’t,” from behind stopped him in his tracks.

“What’s the matter?”

Stella didn’t answer him as she approached the body, her eyes narrowed.

Yonten was the last to catch up to them, if only because of his leisurely pace. “So what did you… oh.”

Stella extended a hand to him. “Lend me your staff.”

Yonten looked between the dead body, Stella’s hand, and his staff. “I’m not sure I’d like to.”

Stella took it from him anyway, wrapping the end of it tightly with an oily cloth and then using it to turn the man’s body on his back, inducing a soft stream of clinks from the stones dangling from the circular top of the staff.

William noted the awkward shift of the dead man’s limbs in the process, one he could attribute to broken bones and torn joints, in such a severe way that it couldn’t be caused by a human’s doing. The sight revealed was grotesque.

The dead man had blood seeping from his mouth, his abdomen startlingly bloated, and his body’s yellowed pallor marred by blotches of deep indigo and bloody blisters.

“Another one…” Stella muttered to herself, absently returning Yonten his staff after removing the soiled cloth.

Yonten seemed reluctant to accept it anyway, holding it away from his body.

“What do you mean by another one?” Jehona asked.

“Did you hear about the missing writer from our village?”

“Wasn’t it a few weeks ago?” William first heard about it in the market.

The writer liked to travel outside the village every once in a while to draw inspiration from its surroundings. Only this time, he didn’t return. Many days passed, and his family grew anxious. After a short search, he was found close to the village gates, already dead.

Due to the mysterious events surrounding the incident, the village head recommended for the villagers to remain within Cinder’s bounds.

“The writer’s corpse was the first among dozen that the village scouts found in the following days,” Stella said. “They weren’t from our village, but along with the writer, they shared this common pictur—what are you doing?”

Jehona didn’t look up from her crouch, continuing on lifting the skirt of the dead man’s tunic with the head of an arrow, revealing a thin, thorny vine circled around his left thigh, in its center a rose in bloom, its color in varied shades of indigo.

“A Moon Dancer?” Stella murmured, whatever scolding she clearly had in mind for Jehona forgotten.

“When you were turning the body, I noticed something sticking out below the tunic,” Jehona finally explained.

Stella crouched alongside her, and as she did with Yonten, she wordlessly snatched the arrow from Jehona’s hand, using its head to pull the vine away from the dead man’s thigh, a task that was apparently more difficult than it seemed.

“The vine’s thorns, they’re stabbed into his skin?” William wondered.

The thorns appeared like any other accompanying roses, short and blunt. How could they stab through clothes and into skin?

“They’re retractable.” A stronger tug, and Stella finally managed to pull the vine away. Before their eyes, they witnessed the vine’s bloody thorns shortening in length, proving Stella’s point.

Now on the ground, the vine wiggled in place for a moment, before propelling itself to move a step. Swiftly, Stella trapped it in a glass container. The vine twisted to free itself to no avail.

William asked as he watched the vine move, “Could this thing be the reason for the deaths?”

“Perhaps…” With gloved hands, Stella inspected the body, her expression growing in severity.

The stench of blood and rot was foul, the sweet floral scent mixed into it made it even more repulsive. Still, the three of them watched Stella work in varying degrees of queasiness.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Stella said when she finished, removing the gloves.

“What?”

“Nothing makes sense.” Knocking on the glass container holding the vine with a finger, Stella explained, “Moon Dancer petals are used to enhance blood flow. Moon Dancer vines, however, are lethal in large amounts. In ancient times, they were typically used in slow acts of poisoning. The victim would first experience a fever followed by skin discolorations that would gradually turn into bloody blisters. In the following weeks, the discolorations would disappear along with the blisters, and symptoms of liver poisoning would manifest: a yellow pallor, an internal bleeding, and a distended abdomen. In the last stage, an indigo discoloration unique to Moon Dancer vines emerges.”

William wasn’t an educated man, but the more Stella spoke, the more he could grasp some of the discrepancy. “This man has everything you mentioned… all at once? Does that usually happen?”

“It doesn’t. No matter how large the amount of dose taken was, the effect would still be gradual. This man had died only a few days ago, it’s not even enough time for the initial symptoms to begin appearing.” Frustration was evident in her expression and voice, along with hints of guilt. “It’s the reason why I dismissed Moon Dancer vines being the cause of death in my reports. However, with this vine piece, the probability is again in favor of that conclusion.”

“Then the roses did it?”

“But then there’s the fact that Moon Dancers are almost extinct and aren’t even native to this region,” Stella continued on her rant, seemingly as if she never heard Jehona. She got up from her kneel and started pacing. William and Jehona followed her movement, hoping to catch up to her trail of thoughts. He wondered if people of science behaved in such manner toward events that puzzled them. “They’re creatures of the night, and never once was it ever recorded that they bloomed in day. Their vines are fragile and of little mobility aside from climbing on nearby surfaces.”

Jehona cast William a glance, looking as confused as he was, questioning the same thing: whether they could accuse a rose of malicious murder in clear conscious or not.

“With that, the injuries can’t be explained.” Finally, Stella stopped pacing. “A significant force was responsible for the fractures the victim suffered before dying, one that Moon Dancer vines aren’t able to exert.”

“This one looks pretty lively to me,” William had to say. Rather admirably, the vine didn’t stop its attempts to free itself from its glassy confines.

“What if it’s not a normal Moon Dancer?” came Yonten’s muffled voice, managing at last to get a hold of the nausea he was clearly experiencing due to the… fragrant nature of the scene. William was a little concerned about how far the young man tightened his scarf around his face, though.

Perhaps his question was interesting enough that Stella deigned to acknowledge his presence. “What do you mean?”

“Have any of you heard about Integration Malady?” Meeting three puzzled looks, Yonten didn’t mock their ignorance. “It’s a recent phenomenon, mainly seen in the central and northern areas of the Kingdom. If I were to explain it in a sentence, it’s the result of failing to produce a Bestowed Beast.”

Stella was the first to connect the dots. “Aldric’s doing?”

William was still stuck at the point of anyone attempting to produce a Bestowed Beast. “How could one even…?”

“He’s the world’s best Elemental Smith,” Yonten said, the cold edge to his tone muted by fabric. “It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’d attempt something like this.”

Yonten was right, of course. The Elemental Smith Aldric could be described with many words, but the most prominent would be an innovator. Even the King cherished his talents greatly before Aldric decided to reveal his hand.

“A simple Moon Dancer infused with Elemental Earth energy. It gains powers beyond its limits but it grows out of control for failing to integrate that energy into its system. The result is inferior to a Bestowed Beast, but…” Yonten looked at the dead body, the meaning clear.

It was not something that could be easily handled.

“The vine keeps moving to a single direction, probably the main body,” Stella said, reaching for her pouch and searching through it. “I’ll stay here and work on clearing the toxin contaminating the pond. What will you do?”

For William, the answer was obvious. “Perhaps we can use the vine to find the source and remove its threat.”

“Or we can use it to know where to avoid and continue on our way,” Yonten suggested.

It was a reasonable suggestion, but William couldn’t find the heart to follow through it. “There will be other victims if this matter isn’t resolved.”

“We will likely join the ranks of those victims if we confront a being under the Malady’s effect.”

“Better stay behind then,” was Jehona’s impatient response. She took the glass container and proceeded forth, leaving William to start the struggle of catching up to her once again.

Before he did, though, Stella stopped him. “Take this.”

It was a small bottle filled with a pale, yellow powder. “What is it?”

“A compound I developed.”

“Do morticians usually develop compounds?” Yonten wondered aloud.

Stella ignored him. “Any of you has an acidic solution? This thing is useless in its current form. You’d need to mix a small amount in an acidic medium over heat to see its full effect.”

William stumbled upon the first hurdle. “What’s an acidic solution?”

“Something sour?” Yonten offered.

Oh. “I have that.”

Stella perked up. “You do? What?”

“A vinegar sauce my wife made for me.”

Yonten looked visibly confused. “Why would you even bring that with you?”

Ah, a man ignorant of the wonders of good sauce. William pitied him, so he only shot a “Why not?” back.

“It can work,” was Stella’s verdict. “Though honestly, if you reach the point of needing to use it, it’s better for you to run instead.”

“Why?”

“The reaction time is short, so you’ll need to be close to your target. Also, it has the tendency to explode.”

“Lovely,” William said, expression alarmed.

Yonten’s voice held a clear, worrying fascination. “If made right, what will be the full effect you spoke of?”

“A few drops of the resulting solution would cause entire crops to die.”

For a long, long moment, William stared at Stella. “Why would you even develop such thing?”

“Spite,” she answered, nonchalant. “They told me I wouldn’t be able to make it, so I proved them otherwise.”

“I see,” William replied, even if he really couldn’t.

Jehona was a faded silhouette in front of him, one his calls couldn’t reach.

A call reached him, though. William looked back and saw that it was Yonten, whose pace slowed when Willaim stopped to wait for him. He stayed behind with Stella when William took off after Jehona. What changed his mind?

It took a few moments for Yonten to catch his breath, hands on knees. He straightened up to answer his questioning look, “The smell was unbearable. When I complained about it, the Coroner had me choose between leaving and burying the body.” With a shrug, he continued with a now even breath, “Better be the dead than be with the dead, yes?”

Willaim couldn’t comprehend his logic.

“Also if the need arose, I can provide the heat to your vinegar sauce.” Leaning to the side to look past him, Yonten grimaced. “Is she a shooting star or something? How come she’s all the way there?”

Said shooting star stilled then, long enough that they caught up to her at the top of a hill.

William sensed an ominous pattern.

The sight revealed at the foot of the hill cemented it.

In these meadows, encountering lone cottages among a sea of green was common. They made excellent stops for weary travelers, their stays enriched by the peerless hospitality of the Southerners. This cottage in front of them was a perfect portrait of such structure–an isolated location, a tranquil feel, a gorgeous scenery to feast the eyes on. It even had a well built next to it.

Perhaps William would’ve knocked on its door and asked for a day’s stay for him and his companions… if it weren’t for the gigantic Moon Dancer on its roof, and the twisting, pulsating vines engulfing its entirety.