Sunlight slipped through the grimy panes of the guest house windows, doing little to dispel the chill of the Eridian dawn. Roy blinked awake. The rough texture of the unfamiliar pillow scratched his cheek. For a disorienting moment, he forgot where he was. The scent of damp stone and something like mildew filled his nostrils. Then the memories of the previous day returned. He recalled the blighted farmlands, the unsettlingly polite Archduke, and Val's quiet, desperate plea for help. He was in Eridian, a town that felt like it was slowly drowning in its own secrets.
He dressed quickly. The plain, functional clothes were a stark contrast to the decaying opulence of the Archduke's estate. Stepping out into the narrow corridor, he found Warrex, Eryndra, and Zehrina already assembled in the small common room. They were clustered around a rough-hewn table.
They sat in a quiet, subdued mood, each lost in thought and digesting the unsettling oddities of Eridian. They thought of the patchy, half-dead farmland, the wary glances from the villagers, and the feeling of a town on the brink of collapse. Takara, by Roy's explicit order, had remained on the Nightshatter. He was not thrilled about leaving her behind, knowing her ability to find trouble, but someone had to watch the ship in this unfamiliar territory. Besides, he trusted Serenity and the Presidroids to keep her out of too much mischief. Probably.
"I'd like to see more of the town today," Roy said finally. His spoon clattered against the cheap ceramic of his bowl with a sound that was too loud in the quiet room. "Talk to different folks. Get a feel for the place beyond the Archduke's curated facade. There might be something they're not telling us, something Val himself might not even be aware of."
Warrex flexed his now-taped hand. His eyes were thoughtful as he no doubt recalled the surprising, bone-jarring strength of Val's handshake. "Shouldn't be too difficult to get them talking. The people we met yesterday were polite enough. Just not particularly talkative. Or cheerful. Or alive-looking, for that matter."
Eryndra nodded, rolling her powerful shoulders. "Let's do it before the midday heat sets in. The air here feels thick. Heavy. Like it's pressing down on you."
Zehrina, ever the pragmatist, silently agreed. Her eyes scanned the bleak, grey sky visible beyond the grimy window. She stood as a silent signal, and the group followed suit. They were ready to face another day of attempting to unravel Eridian's deeply unsettling mystery.
They left the relative sanctuary of the estate compound where Val had lodged them. They crossed a small, dusty courtyard paved with cracked and uneven flagstones. The guards in their dull, faded uniforms offered only cursory, half-hearted salutes as they passed. Roy offered a polite, if somewhat forced, wave in return. He received only a few lukewarm, indifferent nods.
Beyond the creaking main gate, Eridian spread out before them in a rustic, depressing patchwork. Small, laboriously tilled plots of earth straddled parched, barren patches of cracked clay. Neat, well-maintained cottages sat incongruously next to tumbledown, rotting shacks that looked as though they might collapse at any moment. Overhead, the sky held that same crisp, unnervingly still morning haze, a pale, washed-out canvas that offered no hint of warmth.
A vendor's cart, its wooden wheels groaning, rattled slowly past. It was loaded with a meager offering of limp, wilting greens. Eryndra, her curiosity piqued, halted it with a raised hand and attempted a friendly greeting. "Good morning! A busy day for the market, is it?"
The cart-puller was a gaunt, grey-bearded man with weary eyes. He looked at them with a mixture of apprehension and resignation. "If trying to sell this pathetic collection of half-rotten spinach before it completely liquefies counts as busy, then yes, I suppose it is. You're those outsiders Val invited, aren't you? The ones who arrived on that iron beast?"
Roy confirmed with a nod. The man simply shrugged, a gesture of profound indifference, and trudged onward. His worn boots kicked up small clouds of dust that hung listlessly in the still air.
Further into the village, they found themselves at a small cluster of rickety market stalls. Some of them were so sparsely stocked they were practically bare. A gentle breeze fluttered the torn, faded tarps that served as makeshift awnings. The overall hush that filled the marketplace felt more like a place on the verge of final collapse than a center of trade. Eryndra exchanged an uneasy glance with Roy. This was not a town merely suffering from a bad harvest. This was a town slowly dying.
They decided to stop at a stall where a middle-aged woman, her face lined with hardship and worry, sold what little produce she had. A few shriveled, undersized carrots and a small scattering of knobby, discolored potatoes lay on the rough wooden display. Roy cleared his throat, forcing a polite smile that felt out of place. "Good morning. We were hoping to purchase a couple of those potatoes. We'd also like to ask you some questions about the town and its agricultural challenges, if that's alright."
The woman frowned, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, but she nodded slowly. She carefully measured a handful of the pitiful spuds into a small cloth bag. "Questions, is it? You looking to buy up farmland on the cheap? Hoping to profit from our misery?"
"We're just investigating the cyclical patterns of decay Val mentioned," Warrex explained. His voice was gentle as he rested his good hand on the weathered edge of the stall. "The periods where it seems the town is healthy, and then everything inexplicably declines. Withers."
She snorted softly, a dry, humorless sound. "Been that way for a long, long while now. Longer than I care to remember. My family, we try to store up what little food we can whenever we get a decent yield, but it never lasts. A month, maybe two, of good harvest, and then, almost overnight, half of it spoils. Rots from the inside out. The next month's harvest might be halfway decent again, if we're lucky. Or it might be nothing but dust. Folk around here call it a curse, a blight, the Archduke's disfavor. But nobody knows the true cause."
"How do you manage to survive?" Zehrina asked, her voice hushed with perplexity. "Wouldn't most people simply leave, if life here is so uncertain?"
The woman's brow crinkled, her gaze distant. "Some did, in the early years. Packed up what little they had. But most of us can't afford the journey. Or they cling to the foolish hope that the next month might finally be better. We cling to hope, I suppose," she added, her voice barely a whisper, "because it's the only thing we have left that doesn't rot."
Roy sighed, a heavy weight settling in his chest as he paid for the potatoes. "I'm sorry. I truly hope we can find a way to help." The vendor gave a slight nod, her eyes reflecting a fragile spark of hope before quickly returning to their usual guarded wariness.
They moved on, turning a dusty corner near a row of modest houses. A distinct, unsettling hush greeted them. People busied themselves with slow, listless chores, or coughed quietly in shadowy doorways. A gaunt-faced father knelt by a shallow, muddy well, hauling up brackish-looking water in small, leaky buckets. A sallow-faced, quiet child, no older than five or six, clung tightly to his leg, its small body trembling with a fever. Roy and the others hesitated, not wanting to intrude. But the man, noticing their presence, caught Roy's eye and waved them closer with a weary sigh.
"Good morning," the man said, his voice hoarse and strained. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of a calloused hand, revealing tired, bloodshot eyes that held no trace of hope. "You're Val's visitors, then? The ones who are supposed to fix all this?"
Warrex nodded, his usual gruffness softened by empathy. "Yeah. That's us. We're investigating these decays. You know anything that might help us understand what's happening here?"
The man hesitated, his eyes flicking nervously towards his frail son. "I'm no scholar. The well water, it's fine some weeks, sweet and clear. Then, the very next week, I swear it smells foul and tastes like poison. It changes so fast. My boy here, he got sick during the last bad cycle, then got better again, just as quick. Now my neighbor's taken ill instead. If you can figure this out," his voice cracked with a father's desperation, "we'd all be in your eternal debt."
Roy gave a sympathetic nod, gently patting the silent child's shoulder. The boy sniffled and buried his face deeper into his father's patched trousers. With a final, grateful wave, the man turned back to the arduous task of hauling water from the tainted well.
They drifted deeper into the heart of the dying town, absorbing small, heartbreaking snapshots of fear and quiet resignation. Though no one was hostile, Roy sensed that the people of Eridian had grown numb to their cyclical misery, perpetually bracing for the next wave of trouble.
Eventually, their wandering led them to a modest building tucked away on a side street. A tiny, hand-painted sign, its lettering faded and chipped, read 'Healer Inside.' The door stood slightly ajar. Inside, they found a sparse, dimly lit interior. Three narrow cots lined one wall, a single worn table occupied the center of the room, and shelves crammed with dusty clay jars of herbs and poultices lined the other. A stooped, white-haired man, his back hunched, was grinding dried leaves with a heavy stone mortar and pestle.
He glanced up as they entered, adjusting the round, wire-rimmed spectacles on his nose. "Ah, you must be the visitors Val spoke of. I am Olan. Master Val said you might come by, seeking answers." His voice was soft and held the quiet weariness of a man who had seen too much suffering.
Roy dipped his head in a respectful greeting. "We've been hearing a lot about this persistent decay that plagues your town. People mention a sickness that appears and disappears erratically. Fields that rot in an instant, then rebound. Do you have any idea what might be behind it all, Master Olan?"
Olan's head lowered, his shoulders slumping further. "I wish I knew. Truly. My patients, they'll be perfectly healthy for a time. Then, like a sudden plague, a wave of debilitating fever or profound weakness will sweep through half the town. Sometimes folks just vanish without a trace. It's all so erratic. One day, I might see a dozen people with the exact same symptoms. The very next day, they're either gone or miraculously recovered."
Eryndra frowned. "Gone, as if they've left the town?"
"Some do, yes," Olan said softly, though his tone suggested doubt. "Others I simply never see again. The Archduke's guards, when I inquire, claim they've moved on, or perhaps died quietly in their homes. It is difficult to verify such claims. We are understaffed here, and our resources are few."
Zehrina tapped her chin thoughtfully, her gaze sweeping the meager clinic. "Could it be a water-borne disease? The well Val mentioned might be periodically contaminated."
Olan shrugged wearily. "I've tested the wells myself, many times. Some days, the water is clean and sweet-tasting. Other days, it is foul and undrinkable. But it never stays consistently one way or the other. It is as if the entire environment shifts in unpredictable waves. A curse, I suspect. Or some unnatural phenomenon. That is my best guess." He caught Roy's intense stare. "Val, young Master Val, he tries his best to find answers. But I suspect even he has no true understanding of what afflicts us. As for Archduke Vol," he trailed off, his lips tightening.
Roy's curiosity sharpened. "Archduke Vol? What about him, Master Olan?"
Olan nervously cleared his throat. "He is gracious enough with supplies, when we petition him. But he never shows any particular alarm about these cycles. Perhaps he believes it is simply beyond his control. Or perhaps," he hesitated again, then seemed to think better of whatever he was about to say.
Warrex looked uneasy, but he remained silent, remembering Roy's earlier warning. Instead, Roy offered Olan a polite nod of thanks and let the matter drop for now.
They thanked the old healer for his time and headed back into the dusty streets. The midday sun was beginning to beat down with an oppressive intensity. People drifted by with the same resigned, ghostly expressions they had encountered all morning.
"This place is living in a permanent state of half-crisis, and the well seems to be a common theme," Roy murmured once they were out of Olan's earshot. "No wonder they all look so numb."
"It's exactly that," Eryndra said softly. "They've cycled through hope and despair so often that they've learned not to get too excited about the good times or too distraught by the bad. It's a terrible way to live."
Zehrina's focus lingered on a small group of unnervingly thin children gathering scraps of dry, yellowed hay to feed a handful of equally emaciated goats. "This can't be normal," she muttered, her voice tight with anger and pity. "Not even for a place with poor farmland."
Warrex exhaled, a low, frustrated growl in his chest. "Well, let's keep digging. There has to be a logical explanation."
They wandered for another hour, kicking up dust from the dry, cracked earth. They gleaned variations of the same grim story from everyone they spoke to. Good times followed relentlessly by a crash into sickness and decay. The people seemed genuinely grateful that Val had brought in outsiders. Disturbingly, no one voiced any suspicion about who might be behind their suffering. If anything, the Archduke's name was spoken with a carefully guarded respect. No one claimed that he caused or could prevent the cycles. Roy felt like every question led them to the same dead end, an inexplicable disaster with no clear cause and no obvious villain.
Finally, the sun stood high and merciless. Roy wiped sweat from his brow, his throat parched. "Alright," he said, his voice rough. "Let's regroup at the guest house. We need to talk to Val again, see if we can get our hands on more official records tomorrow. Something more concrete than rumors."
Eryndra and Zehrina nodded in weary agreement. Warrex grunted, flexing his sore hand. They turned down a narrow alleyway that led to the estate's back gate, passing rows of shuttered, silent windows. The oppressive hush of the town seemed to thicken around them.
At last, they reached the cool of the guest quarters. Inside, they found another plain lunch on the common room table. More stale bread, more boiled eggs, more thin, grey soup. Roy slumped heavily into a chair, rubbing his throbbing temples. Eryndra and Zehrina joined him, exchanging weary glances. Warrex sat with a thud, staring at the food before gathering it all and beginning to eat.
Roy let out a long breath. "We certainly got plenty of sad stories today, but not much in the way of actual evidence."
Warrex shrugged, his massive shoulders rising and falling. "We'll keep at it. Maybe tomorrow, Val can get us into the official archives. Ledgers, crop records, population counts. Something might stand out. A pattern we haven't seen yet."
Eryndra tore off a piece of her meal bar, nibbling on it thoughtfully. "And if that fails? If the records tell us nothing new?"
Roy's eyes flicked towards the grimy window. "Then we keep asking questions. That's the job. We don't give up."
Zehrina leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "At least we're not alone in this. Val seems genuinely committed to helping. Let's just hope he can deliver on that promise."
They lapsed into a contemplative silence. In the distance, through the shimmering heat, Roy could just make out the high roofline of the Archduke's main estate where Vol presumably resided, quiet and elusive. Right now, all that mattered was finding some tangible clue that might lead them to a cure for Eridian's relentless decay.
He pushed aside his half-eaten meal bar, rising from the table with forced resolve. "We'll rest, then I'll try to radio Takara on the Nightshatter. She's bound to be itching for news and about to mutiny from boredom." A faint spark of determination lit his tired eyes as he took in his crew's equally weary faces. "Tomorrow, we'll see if Val can open up that library, those archives, for us. We'll figure this out. One way or another."
A flicker of shared exhaustion crossed Eryndra's stoic expression. Eridian's mysteries wouldn't yield easily, he knew that. But they had taken their first steps, collecting fragmented accounts from a dying town. It was a place of half-answered questions and unsettling coincidences with no clear suspect. Roy silently vowed to keep pressing, to keep digging, until they finally uncovered the hidden secret behind the town's unnatural decay.