The words hung in the cramped, musty air. "I'm going to die."
August watched the fight drain out of Anna. Her shoulders, which were always squared and prepared for anything, slumped forward. She stared at the dirt floor, her face a blank mask of sorrow.
All the fire, all the fury, was gone.
His mind flashed back to the fifty silver coins he'd given her. The new boots. The frosted milk she was saving for. It wasn't for her. None of it was for her. It was for this.
For a few more days, a few more breaths, for the frail girl standing before him. The weight of their partnership suddenly felt immense, crushing.
The name of the sickness echoed in his head. Mana Sickness. He'd heard it mentioned in tavern tales, a whispered curse about those whose bodies rejected the power of the gods.
"I've heard of it," August said, his voice quiet. He felt like he had to say something, to fill the terrible silence.
"It's when your body can't process the mana in the air, right? You can't use skills." He looked at Elmarie, feeling stupidly out of his depth. "I don't really know much about it."
Elmarie gave a small, understanding nod. Her golden eyes were unnervingly calm. "That's close enough. For most, their bodies are like overflowing cups. Too much mana. But mine…" She held up a hand, so pale it was almost transparent.
"Mine is like a cup with a hole in the bottom. I was born without enough. Our mother learned of a potion, something that could help. She worked tirelessly to afford it. During the day she was a scribe's assistant at the Great Library. At night… she worked in the red-light district."
August flinched. He glanced at Anna, saw her curl into herself even more, her knuckles white where she gripped her own arms. He felt a sharp pang of guilt, as if he were hurting her just by listening.
Elmarie continued, her voice a soft, steady whisper. "She died when we were young. Her heart just… stopped in her sleep. After that, the potions stopped. I got very sick."
That was the breaking point. "I need some fresh air," Anna mumbled, her voice thick. She pushed herself up from the chair and practically fled, stumbling out the door without looking back.
Elmarie's golden eyes remained fixed on August, unwavering. The brief flash of family drama was over. Her stillness was more unnerving than Anna's panic.
It was the calm of a person who had already accepted her fate
"She somehow found a way to buy the potion for me again," she said, a hint of wonder in her tone.
"It's because of her that I'm not in a grave right now. But it isn't a cure. People with Mana Sickness… we don't live long, even with the medicine. It just keeps the flame burning a little longer."
She looked at him, her expression so open and honest it was painful. "I love my sister more than anything in this world. She has sacrificed everything for me. I'm going to die soon, August. Please… look after her when I'm gone."
August's mind went blank. No words could fix this. 'I'm sorry' was an insult. 'I understand' was a lie. There was nothing he could say.
So he acted.
He walked across the small room until he stood over her, his large frame casting a shadow on her frail form.
Then, he dropped to one knee, the sharp cold of the paving stone biting through his trousers. It grounded him. He was at her level now, his face just a foot from hers.
He looked directly into her luminous golden eyes, so much like Anna's but without the storm.
He consciously kept his voice low and steady, a deliberate act of control. "I will protect Anna," he said, the words a low, steady rumble. It wasn't a platitude. It was an oath.
"From anything. And from anyone. I promise."
Elmarie's gaze was fierce, searching his face, his eyes, looking for any hint of a lie. After a long moment, the hardness in her expression softened.
A small, sad smile touched her lips. "I know you will."
Then, she did something that surprised him. She reached out and her cold, dry fingers briefly touched the back of his hand where it rested on his knee.
It was a fleeting touch, light as a falling leaf, but it felt like the sealing of a contract. A transfer of the most precious responsibility in the world.
August stood up, the movement weighing on him. "I should go. I don't want to overstay my welcome. Anna is angry enough as it is."
A light, musical giggle escaped Elmarie's lips, a brief flash of the sister he'd seen teasing Anna just minutes before. "That's probably a good idea," she said.
He nodded once. "Goodbye, Elmarie."
"Goodbye, August."
He turned and ducked through the low doorway, stepping back into the filth and shadow of the alley. The air outside was cooler, carrying the distant sounds of the city.
Anna was right where he expected her to be. She was leaning against the damp brick wall, her back to him, her head tilted up as she stared at the sliver of grey sky visible between the rooftops.
August walked over and stood a few feet away. She didn't turn or give any sign that she knew he was there. She was as still as a statue.
He spoke to her quiet, unmoving back anyway. "I don't regret following you," he said, the words coming out rougher than he intended.
"But I'm sorry for barging in. That was your private life. I shouldn't have."
She finally moved. Her head turned slowly, and she looked at him. Her green eyes were glassy, brimming with tears she refused to let fall. Her face was a strange mix of raw hurt and stubborn anger.
It was the look of someone trying to hold the pieces of their broken heart together with sheer force of will. She said nothing.
He pushed on, falling back on the one thing that had always worked between them. Business. "We should meet tomorrow morning. At the refuse pile. We have a lot of work to do."
He took a breath.
"My offer for a bed and a meal still stands. I'm not ashamed to offer it." He paused, then added, "It's for your sister, too. Both of you."
Her expression didn't change. The silence stretched, on. August felt like he was talking to a wall. A sad, beautiful wall that was about to collapse. He gave up. With a heavy sigh, he turned away.
"Goodbye, Anna."
He started walking, his boots echoing in the narrow alley. He was heading for the Salty Siren, the inn he'd mentioned earlier. He was almost at the end of the alley, about to turn the corner and leave her behind in her misery.
"Wait."
Her voice was small, barely a whisper. He stopped, his back still to her.
"I'll guide you," she said. "You'll get lost."
He turned. She hadn't moved from her spot, but she was looking at him, not through him. It was a start. He nodded, and she pushed herself off the wall, walking past him to lead the way without another word.
The walk back to the main streets was silent. It was a different silence than before. Not angry or awkward. It was heavy, filled with everything that had just been revealed.
August watched the back of her head, her fiery red hair a defiant splash of color in the grim city. He saw the proud set of her shoulders, the slight wear on the heels of her boots.
He thought about the smiling, laughing girl who snorted at his terrible jokes and the fierce, terrified sister who would kill to protect her family. He was starting to realize they were the same person.
They arrived at the Salty Siren, a noisy, cheerful-looking place that seemed a world away from the alley they'd just left. The smell of roasted meat and spilled ale washed over them.
Anna stopped at the entrance. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said, her voice flat. Before he could say anything, before he could even thank her, she turned and disappeared into the evening crowd.
August watched her go, then pushed the inn's heavy door open. He rented a room from a fat, sweaty man, paid his coin, and took the key.
The room was small and clean enough. It had a lumpy-looking bed, a single chair, and a window that overlooked a busy street. He didn't bother to light the candle.
He tossed the key onto the chair and fell onto the bed, his arms spread wide. He stared at the cracked ceiling, his mind a whirlwind.
Her sister was dying.
Anna was fighting a war he never even knew existed. Every silver coin, every risky scam, every dirty alley, it was all for her sister.
His promise echoed in his head.
I will protect Anna.
It felt less like a choice and more like a fact, a new law of his world he had just discovered. He felt a surge of anger, a hot, useless rage at the unfairness of it all. At the gods who would give a girl a death sentence for a birthday gift.
Then came the guilt.
He thought of her in the garbage pile. Her small smile when he'd squeezed her ass. Her playful bite on his nose. He had seen it all as a game, a fun, thrilling escalation between them.
He felt like scum.
Her moan when he'd touched her hadn't been just pleasure. It had been an escape. A moment of release from a world of pain he didn't even know she lived in. And he, in his selfish ignorance, had taken it for himself.
He was an idiot. A blind, clumsy idiot. For an entire year, he had worked beside the strongest person he had ever met and had been completely oblivious to how deep her struggles were.
He prided himself on being able to read people, to find their weaknesses and desires. But he had looked at Anna and seen only a sharp, witty partner. He had missed the steel underneath.
The iron will that got up every morning in a rotting shack, cared for a dying sister, and then walked out into the city to hustle and fight for every last coin, all with a brilliant, defiant smile.
He clenched his fists, the cheap bedsheets twisting in his grip. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to scream at the silent, uncaring gods. He wanted a solution. An answer.
Anything.
As if summoned by his desperation, a familiar feeling flared in his mind. It was the goddess, her presence an unwelcome intrusion in his thoughts. A notification appeared, sharp and clear against the back of his eyes.
[Mimic: F]
[A basic illusion spell that alters the perception of an object. Sight manipulation unlocked. Spell formula enhanced. Mana Sickness huh? Boring. Taste Anna's juices and I'll reward you with information on it.]