She kept walking, the ground beneath her feet rough and uneven, strewn with the crumbling remains of wild herbs long withered by drought. With a slow push, she opened the door, revealing a room swallowed by gloom.
Inside, rows of narrow beds stretched across the space, some occupied by pale-faced patients, their bodies curled inward beneath the weight of fever. The air quivered with shallow breaths and muted coughs that echoed from the corners like the murmur of ghosts. The stench of sweat and sickness hung heavy, barely masked by the sharp tang of medicinal herbs that struggled to cleanse the sorrow saturating the walls.
Hilda was hunched over an injured man, studying a dark blotch that had bloomed on his skin. Her features were drawn tight with tension, but her hands moved swiftly, precisely — wiping, probing, never pausing.
Not far from her, Keno, the tall man with skin like polished ebony, ground herbs in a mortar with unshaken calm. At the opposite end of the room, Mama Dalia — her face creased like the pages of a timeworn book — sat beside a trembling young girl. Despite the swell of her knuckles and the deep furrows of age, her hands were gentle as she raised a spoon to the child's lips, feeding her a thin broth. Her voice was a barely audible murmur, a soft ripple against the tide of moans that filled the space.
Azaros stood still, her gaze absorbing every detail. The room was a quiet battlefield, each breath a struggle against something unseen. She stepped toward Hilda, the sound of her boots tapping lightly against the stone floor. The girl looked up, their eyes meeting.
"What's happening here?" said Azaros, her voice low but laced with resolve.
Hilda straightened, trying to appear composed, but the fatigue etched across her face betrayed a deeper weight. Her voice, when it came, was steady but heavy.
"It's the well. The water's tainted. They drank from it, not knowing… and now this."
She gestured toward the beds, toward the bodies cradled in fever and weakness.
"We don't know yet if it's natural or something more… deliberate. But I have my doubts."
Azaros narrowed her eyes, her jaw tightening.
"Who would dare do such a thing?"
Hilda shook her head lightly, as if trying to untangle her thoughts.
"There's no proof yet… but something feels wrong. These workers are the lifeblood of the farm. Without them…"
She faltered, her voice catching before she could finish. Worry clouded her face like a gathering storm.
Before either could speak again, a voice called out from the adjoining room.
"Hilda."
She turned sharply toward the closed door.
"I'm coming, Grandpa."
She glanced back at Azaros.
"Please wait here."
Then she moved quickly, crossing the room and slipping through the door into the chamber beyond.
It was the ward for the worst cases.
Here, the faces were gaunt, hollow-eyed, as if life itself were being quietly siphoned away. Fever gnawed without mercy. Dark splotches marred their skin, blooming like death's signature scrawled across their flesh.
In the corner, beside a cluttered table of bottles and dried herbs, sat old Haniman. Despite his age, he seemed like an ancient tree still bracing against the wind. His white hair stood wild like the mane of a lion that had forgotten its youth, and his thick beard was a testament to years hard-lived. His sun-darkened skin bore the calluses of labor, and though time had dimmed his strength, it had not yet broken him.
"Come here, child," he said, his gravelly voice firm and unwavering.
He gestured toward an empty flask resting on the table beside him.
"The Feverline tonic is gone. We need a fresh bottle from the lab. Immediately."
She frowned, concern creasing her brow.
"Grandpa, you've been working nonstop since dawn. You're exhausted. You need to rest, just for a while."
He offered her a faint smile — not one of comfort, but quiet apology.
"There's no time for rest, not now. These people… they're counting on us. And every moment we lose could mean the difference between their life and death."
He motioned to the beds scattered throughout the room, where the sound of labored breaths seemed to echo his words with tragic harmony.
"But Grandpa…" she began, yet he raised a hand — gentle, but firm.
"I'll be fine. Just bring the bottle."
She hesitated for a moment, then gave a solemn nod.
"I'll get it right away. But promise me… please, at least try to rest when I return."
The old man sighed, brushing sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
"If I stop now, who will care for them?"
Then he lifted a damp cloth to one patient's forehead, refreshing it with care as though each act of compassion could hold death at bay.
At that moment, the door eased open behind them, and Azaros stepped in.
Her eyes swept from grandfather to granddaughter, reading the silence that clung to the room like dust. Then, in a quiet voice laced with quiet power, she said,
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
The old man turned to Azaros slowly, his features twisted into a complex blend of disapproval and restraint. A flush rose to his cheeks—whether from fever or a fluster he would never admit. He cleared his throat with a rough cough, masking his discomfort, and said in a voice coarse with age, "Who is this girl?"
"This is Azaros," said Hilda with a faint smile, one that seemed to challenge the suspicion etched across her grandfather's face.
His eyes, sharp and blue like winter skies, darted between Hilda and Azaros with a caution that held a silent question he dared not speak aloud, Why is she here?
"She's here to help, Grandfather," said Hilda, her voice warm, her smile undeterred. "And we need all the help we can get."
Azaros stepped forward. Her expression remained calm, but there was something deeper glinting in her eyes—something older than pity.
"I've seen much in this life, sir. Things that would bend the mind to imagine. But this suffering... it shouldn't endure. Tell me what you know, and I'll do what I can to end it."
Haniman studied her with a gaze heavy with doubt, as if suspicion warred with the fragile flicker of hope in his eyes. He exhaled sharply and dragged a weathered hand across his face before muttering, "If you can do something—do it. Otherwise, leave it to those who can."
Unshaken, Azaros answered with a voice that carried the weight of an unspoken vow. "I will do what I can," said Azaros.
She turned and left the room, her footsteps vanishing into the quiet corridors of her thoughts.
"Nentu..." she whispered, her voice a hesitant plea, as though calling upon an ally before an uneven battle. "Can we heal them? Do you believe it's possible?"
The answer came swiftly.
"What exactly do you mean, Azaros? How do you intend to help them?" said Nentu.
Azaros glanced around the room, her thoughts pacing toward a perilous choice.
"I was thinking," she began, pausing mid-thought, her voice turning heavier, "about your absorption ability. Could you use it to draw the poison from their blood? Take it away, free them from this torment?"
A dense silence followed, echoing through her mind like the weight of judgment. It felt as though Nentu was measuring possibilities on a scale unseen.
At last, the voice returned, tinged with caution and a quiet sorrow.
"I cannot. My absorption knows no separation. It devours the whole. If I tried to take the poison, I would consume their bodies with it. There is no part without the whole."
Azaros's brow furrowed. A shadow of frustration began to settle over her face. The idea withered—but she was not one to let obstacles stand long unchallenged.
Then, a gentle hand brushed her arm.
She turned to find Hilda watching her, concern soft and unspoken in her gaze, her eyes searching Azaros's face for answers she dared not voice.
"Is something troubling you?" asked Hilda, her voice low and filled with earnestness. "If you need anything... just tell me."
Azaros offered a quiet smile, masking the storm that churned within.
"No, Hilda. I'm just thinking through a few options. Nothing to worry about," said Azaros.
But deep inside, she knew the choice she was weighing might shift everything.
Hilda nodded, though unease lingered in her eyes. She stepped back, giving Azaros the space she needed to think.
"I'll head to the lab and bring the vial," said Hilda as she moved away.
Kino, crouched nearby, was working in silence—grinding herbs with practiced focus. When Azaros approached, he rose to his full height, the fatigue etched deep into his face.
"Will these herbs be enough?" asked Azaros. Her tone was calm, but beneath it lay a question far more urgent—would any of this matter?
Kino shook his head slowly.
"Hard to say," he replied, his voice steady but touched by a muted despair. "They might ease the pain, maybe reduce the fever for a while. But this kind of poison... I've never seen it. This herb is just a hope—it may help, or do nothing at all."
Azaros lowered her voice, as though her words might carry too far. "Do you suspect anyone?"
Kino's shoulders lifted in a tired shrug. His expression turned grim, weighing his reply before he gave it.
"All we have now are suspicions. And there are many who stand to gain from our suffering... perhaps Baron Torgal, or Lord Kimari, or even the House of Yakovan. They're always looking for ways to weaken us... to seize control."
He paused, then added in a bitter murmur, "Even if we found who did this—who would dare hold them to account?"
Azaros's face grew hard. A spark of fury lit her eyes. She knew this game all too well—the games of power and shadow where the innocent paid the price.
Moments later, Hilda returned, clutching the vial in both hands. Her steps were quick, driven by purpose. Without a word, she handed it to her grandfather, who was still tending to the patient.
"Thank you," said Haniman quietly. "This will help."
Hilda only nodded. Not a word more. She turned and left the room.
She stepped forward, a few careful paces until she stood before Azaros, who was leaning silently against the wall. Hilda stopped there—her face shifting, not with fear or doubt, but with something new, a flicker of realization, like a thought had finally solidified amid the gloom.
"Azaros, I have a question..." said Hilda, her voice trembling between hope and hesitation. "Didn't you say you made it out of the old forest... even with all its dangers?"
Azaros raised her head slowly. Her features tensed, just slightly.
"Yes, I did. But why are you asking now?"
Something changed in Hilda's expression—a quiet flame of resolve sparked to life, as if Azaros' answer had ignited a thought charged with purpose.
She motioned for Azaros to follow.
Azaros walked behind her, yet within, a quiet storm was stirring—those small questions that don't scream, but whisper like doubt itself.
Perhaps I was wrong to tell her I came from the forest... I should've invented something less suspicious.
And just as the thought settled, Nentu's voice came—low and laced with mocking amusement.
"Truly? A girl returns from a cursed forest and speaks of it as if she'd come back from a picnic."
Azaros exhaled sharply.
"Damn it... I should've been more careful. I shouldn't have said anything about the forest."
Nentu replied, tone dry.
"Let's hope this doesn't spiral... though I wouldn't count on it."
Hilda led her into the small room.
"Grandfather," she began, her voice taut with urgency, "I think I've found the answer."
Haneman's brows drew together, and his sharp gaze scanned his granddaughter's face with the practiced patience of a man who had seen too much. He asked, cautious yet curious.
"What answer, child?"
Hilda drew a breath, as if bracing herself to release something heavy that clung to her tongue.
"We've tried everything—every herb we've catalogued, every tincture we've trusted for years. Even the forgotten ones. Nothing worked. This poison ignores all known cures. But I remembered something." Her voice trembled with restrained hope. "There's a herb... the Mortsevin. It grows deep within the Red Forest. It's said to counter almost any toxin—even the deadliest. I read about it in the old herbals. If we can find it, we can save the sick."
Haneman's face stiffened. A mix of gravity and old caution passed across his features.
"Mortsevin?" he repeated the name slowly, as if summoning it from ancient memory. "That herb is rare and perilous. It grows only in the heart of the Red Forest... that cursed place where few return alive. It teems with unseen threats—strange beasts, things beyond naming. This is madness, Hilda."
But Hilda stood firmer, turning to Azaros with a gaze filled not just with trust—but with the hunger of hope.
"I know, Grandfather. But Azaros..." she paused, then pressed on. "She made it out of the Old Forest. Completely unharmed. I examined her myself—no wounds, no scars, not a scratch."
She took a breath, steady and sure.
"Isn't that incredible? Proof of her strength. If she comes with me, we stand a real chance."
Haneman slowly turned his gaze to Azaros, eyes narrowing in the quiet calculation of a man who'd survived too long to trust quickly. A silence fell—thick, pressing—until finally, he spoke, voice low, but edged with blade-like sharpness.
"Is that true? You crossed through the Old Forest and lived... to tell it?"
Nentu's voice exploded within her, a thrum of warning tinged with fury.
"What I feared has come to pass, Azaros... She told her grandfather. Now, every word you speak could be the beginning of your fall... or your salvation."
Azaros held his gaze. Inside, her thoughts raced. She didn't want to reveal her truth; her power was not something to be shared lightly. But outright denial would only feed suspicion, perhaps worse.
She swallowed her tension and answered, voice calm, measured.
"The forest is treacherous and cruel. What happened there is not easily spoken of. But right now, what matters is saving the poisoned."
Haneman said nothing. He continued to stare, his gaze cutting through her like a scalpel, as though trying to extract the truth buried beneath her poise. He was a man who had seen too much, who had learned to read between words, not within them.
He turned, slowly, to Hilda—who stood firm beside him, though her face pulsed with nerves. He knew her stubbornness—had admired it more than once—but now it weighed heavy on his chest with dread. The Red Forest was not a place for stubborn hearts, but for blood and sorrow.
He inhaled deeply, then returned his gaze to Azaros. His steps were slow, deliberate, heavy with the gravity of a man who knew his presence held weight in this place.
When he finally stood before her, he lifted his hand—not with aggression, but with command—and said in a quiet but unwavering voice,
"Give me your hands."
Azaros hesitated for the briefest breath, then extended her arms, fully aware this was no ordinary inspection.
Haneman took her right hand first, turning it gently in his calloused grip. His seasoned fingers moved slowly, tracing skin and tendon with careful precision.
"Strength in the grip. Toughness in the skin..." he murmured. Then he looked up—directly into her eyes, now deep in thought.
"This is not the hand of an ordinary woman. These hands know the weight of a blade. They've tasted combat."
Then, his fingers stopped.
His eyes narrowed—as though something foreign had just brushed against his senses.
Something he had not expected.
But could not ignore.
He moved to her other hand, repeating the same precise motion. This time, something subtle shifted in his expression—not surprise, but recognition, as if a silent truth had finally clicked into place. He released her hand at last, yet his gaze lingered on her for a long moment.
"You are different," he said at last, his voice carrying more than mere observation. "But I won't ask why... not yet."
She returned a faint smile, tinged with quiet mystery. She didn't speak. There were things neither of them needed to say aloud.
He remained there for a while, studying Azaros with thoughtful intensity, as though his mind were still processing all he had seen and heard. Admiration for her strength was evident, yet so too was the weight of concern. He drew a slow breath, shoulders slightly sinking under the burden of choice, and turned his eyes toward the sick. They were no mere workers to him—they were family.
His gaze shifted to Hilda, who stood with quiet resolve, eyes full of equal parts hope and determination. Then he looked again to Azaros. Silence fell, heavy and expectant, while the decision took shape in his mind, like a blade being drawn from its sheath.
At last, after a pause that stretched like eternity, he gave a slow nod. His voice was low, but iron-bound with conviction.
"Seeing them like this leaves me no choice," he said, eyes fixed on their suffering. "They are my family. I will not let death claim them."
He paused, then added with firm resolve, "I will go myself to fetch the herb."
"No, Grandfather, you can't," said Hilda quickly, her voice a mix of alarm and protest. "You're too old for such a journey. You won't survive the strain—or the dangers of the forest."
Haneman raised his eyes to her, and her words seemed to strike a nerve. His gaze sharpened.
"And you? You're far too young. You have no idea what's waiting out there. I won't let you throw your life away so easily."
"But Grandfather," Hilda began, her voice balancing caution and resolve, "I know the Red Forest is dangerous, and I don't pretend the journey will be easy... but no one here knows what the Mortsvin herb even looks like—how to recognize it, how to find it. No one but me. If I don't go, we lose any chance of saving them. And Azaros will be with me. I won't be alone."
Her words were resolute—so much so that Kino, who had remained silent in the corner until now, stepped forward, his movements deliberate.
"If Hilda is going into that forest, then I'm going with her," he said, voice unwavering. "She'll need protection, and I won't let her face that place alone."
Azaros turned to him, speaking gently. "Your offer is generous, but unnecessary. I can protect her. Your presence is needed here—to care for the patients."
Kino crossed his arms over his chest, his stance firm, his features etched with quiet defiance.
"I respect your confidence," he said, "but I've heard too much of what hides in the Red Forest. I know its dangers. I can't stand by while she risks her life... I will go."
Azaros replied in a tone calm, yet measured. "There's no need. I am fully capable of keeping Hilda safe. Your duty here, to tend to the sick and support the elder, is no less important than anything we'll do out there."
Haneman had been watching them closely. Before the exchange could escalate, he spoke.
"Kino, your loyalty is valued. But we need you here—especially tonight. Azaros will guard Hilda. You must trust that."
Kino raised a brow. "And what good will I be to them, knowing Hilda might be dying out there? My place here means nothing if something happens to her."
His voice faltered, gaze shifting between Hilda and Haneman . His shoulders slumped slightly—not in surrender, but in silent torment.
"If something happens to her..."
"Nothing will," said Haneman , cutting him off. His tone softened, fatherly warmth creeping into it. "She's strong. And she's clever. I know she'll return to us."
Azaros dipped her head, her eyes steady with calm assurance.
"I swear to you," she said, "I will bring her back safely."
Kino nodded slowly, still reluctant, and stepped back. But his eyes clung to Hilda, filled with unspoken worry and quiet devotion.
Haneman spoke again, slowly, as if weighing each word.
"Hilda... if you're truly set on going, you'll need a guide. Someone who knows the way."
He turned toward Azaros.
"Have you ever entered the Red Forest before?"
Azaros gave a half-smile, one that blended certainty with a flicker of indifference, and shook her head.
"No."
His brow arched, concern and suspicion flickering through his features.
"The Red Forest is no ordinary place. It's vast—a true labyrinth. Even seasoned explorers have vanished inside."
Azaros, unfazed by doubt, answered with the kind of confidence that left no room for hesitation.
"This may be my first time in the Red Forest, but it's far from my first time navigating the unknown. I know how to carve paths through the wild. I've escaped places no one else has. The land that traps me... hasn't been born yet."
He studied her, as though searching for any crack in her boldness. At last, he exhaled slowly.
"If you're that sure of yourself—so be it."
She offered him a light smile.
"Thank you for your trust."
Another silence fell—this one steeped in tension, yet tinged with hope.
Haneman didn't answer at once. He exhaled slowly, then lifted his eyes toward them, and when he finally spoke, his voice was heavier, as though each word had been forged in fire.
"Even if I agreed, there's still another obstacle—one that may stop you before you take a single step toward the forest."
Hilda stepped forward, heart pounding beneath a new layer of dread.
"What obstacle, Grandpa?" she asked, her voice brimming with anticipation.
Haneman sighed deeply and ran a weary hand over his face, as though trying to wipe away the weight that clung to him.
"The city's Duke—Lord Eivanor—permits no one to enter that forest without his explicit consent. And that consent..." He paused, his voice thick with frustration.
"Does not come cheap. You'll need to hire at least four mercenaries just to gain his approval. It's a rule he never bends."
Hilda's expression faltered, her shoulders slumping under the sudden weight of the moment.
"We don't have that kind of money, Grandpa," she whispered, her voice edged with restrained despair.
Haneman nodded slowly, his gaze echoing the depth of her concern.
"Exactly. We barely have enough to keep the farm running as it is, with our crops constantly being sabotaged. How could we possibly afford mercenaries?"
"But Duke Eivanor is your friend, Grandpa," said Hilda, lifting her head. "Maybe you could convince him to give us the permit without all that?"
For a brief moment, Haneman 's features softened at the suggestion, a faint smile brushing his lips—only to fade, replaced by a weary resignation.
"Yes, the Duke and I have known each other a long time. That much is true. But he is not a man easily swayed—especially not when it concerns that forest. He's cautious, perhaps even fearful of what lurks there. He won't grant permission without a guarantee. And my word alone will not suffice."
At that moment, Azaros pushed herself away from the wall, her voice playfully defiant.
"And who said we need the Duke's permission?"
Haneman 's face tightened at once, his voice rising with incredulous anger.
"Are you suggesting we sneak into the forest?"
He stood tall, his gaze sharp as he stared at her, then added,
"The place is heavily guarded—not to protect the trees, but to protect the people from them."
Azaros shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance, speaking as though the matter were no more pressing than a morning stroll.
"I've slipped past tighter security than that. Getting in won't be a problem for me."
Haneman 's eyes narrowed further, his voice cutting and firm.
"I won't let you bring down trouble that could cost us dearly."
But Azaros didn't flinch. A calm smile played across her lips as she raised her hand, as if to ease the tension in the room.
"If that worries you," she said, her tone now edged with resolve, "then why not let me speak with the Duke myself? Perhaps I can convince him to see things from our side."
Haneman 's voice was laced with doubt as he asked,
"And how exactly do you plan to convince him?"
Azaros winked, a sly smile curving her mouth.
"The same way I convinced you, of course."
Despite himself, Haneman let out a short, tired laugh.
"Let's hope he's as easy to persuade as I am."
But then his expression darkened.
"Duke Eivanor is not a man to be taken lightly. Don't set your hopes too high."
Azaros replied with casual confidence, though beneath her words lay unwavering determination.
"We've nothing to lose by trying."
Haneman studied her face, then slowly shook his head in reluctant acceptance. His voice was heavier than he intended as he said,
"Very well. Try your luck with the Duke. But be careful. He is not a man who gives freely… and still, he may be our only hope."
He sighed deeply, as though the weight of responsibility threatened to crush him, and added,
"While you're gone, I'll do what I can to keep the sick alive with what little medicine we have left. But the truth is… we'll need a miracle."
The door creaked open gently, and Mama Dalia stepped in with a look that blended confidence and tenderness.
"I heard your talk through the door," she said. "I'll prepare some food for your journey. You'll need your strength if you're to face the creatures of the forest."
"Thank you, Mama," said Hilda, her voice overflowing with gratitude.
Mama Dalia nodded warmly.
"Just make sure you both come back safely," she said, then disappeared.
Hilda turned to Azaros, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the gravity of the moment.
"Let's go to my room. We need to prepare for the road ahead."
Azaros followed with steady steps. As the door closed behind them, Kino turned to Haneman , a deep worry etched across his face that he made no effort to hide.
"Are you certain about this?" he asked quietly, eyes fixed on the spot where Azaros had stood just moments ago.
Haneman 's voice rang with calm certainty, chasing away the shadows that had gathered in the corners of the room.
"Yes. My instincts have never failed me."
He paused, then added,
"That girl… she is the miracle we've been waiting for."
Kino's frown deepened, his features tightening into a blend of doubt and hope he struggled to suppress. He ran a hand over his head, as if trying to smooth out the tangle of thoughts within.
"She's bold, I'll give her that," he murmured. "But boldness can be either a blessing or a curse—depending on who holds the blade."
Haneman nodded, his voice laced with quiet reflection.
"Yes, courage is a double-edged sword. But it's also what keeps us alive when the world turns against us. And if there's ever a time to gamble on the impossible—it's now."
Kino sighed slowly, some of the tension loosening from his frame, though his eyes remained wary and sharp.
"I just hope she knows what she's doing. Duke Eivanor isn't someone who's easily deceived."
"Sometimes, Kino," said Haneman , "it's not swords or shields that win battles—but the unexpected."
He paused, then added in a hushed tone, as though whispering to the shadows themselves,
"And I have a feeling there's more to her than any of us can yet understand."
Kino stared at him in silence for a moment, then folded his arms and said in a low, unreadable voice,
"Let's just hope this miracle is the kind that leaves us breathing."
Haneman smiled.
"We'll need more than hope, Kino. But with Azaros on our side... I no longer believe our fate is as dark as it once seemed."
His gaze returned to the sickly workers. Kino moved to assist him, and for a fleeting instant, their eyes met—sharing a silent understanding that needed no words.