Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was nearing midday as Alfyn and his travelling companions finally reach the main road of a small village surrounded by dense forests and bushland. They had been travelling for a couple of days now, camping out on secluded paths, taking the time to ensure that their maps were up to date.

Camping out under the stars with a campfire and good company was honestly pretty good. It was peaceful. Still, ain't nothing like a soft bed and some cold mead to end the day with.

“We’ll likely stay in this village for a day or two in order to prepare for the next leg of our journey,” Cyrus said as they paused in the surprisingly quiet main street of the village. “Everyone in agreement?”

“Agreed,” Olberic was the first to speak but the others soon followed with their own words of agreement.

Therion snorted lightly, almost inaudibly, and folded his arms under his poncho. “Not like we have much of a choice.”

“That’s the spirit.,” Alfyn said cheerfully as he slipped an arm around Therion’s neck and tugged him toward him. “Can’t have you wandering off without me.”

Therion snorted again but didn't attempt to pull away from him. Good! He was starting to learn. Nah, must kidding. But it was nice that Therion didn't immediately pull away from him like he used to when they first met.

“Oh, excuse me.” A feminine voice Alfyn didn't recognise suddenly spoke up. “You are an apothecary, are you not?”

Alfyn immediately dropped his arm from around Therion's shoulders and turned to look behind him, mildly aware that the others had done the same out of instinct and habit. There stood a woman, most likely in her late thirties, dressed in a long black dress with a white apron. Her hair was a light brown, done in a bun, though wavy strands framed her face.

Alfyn gave her a friendly smile and nodded his head. “That's right.”

The woman returned the smile with a surprisingly excited one of her own. “Goodness, your satchel is so similar to my husbands!” she said cheerfully as she clapped her hands in front of her. “You even stand the same. My, we don't get many apothecaries here, but it is so delightful to see that you may have more than your love of healing in common.”

Oh, so there was another apothecary in the village. Neat! Maybe he can get some more tips and hints for his own research.

“Shucks, I'm sure your husband is a lot more handsome than me!” Alfyn replied.

The woman laughed. “Oh, you are just delightful. My name is Beatrice, by the way. It's a great pleasure to meet such an adorable apothecary.”

Well, he didn't know what to say about that adorable part, so he just smiled and nodded his head. “And the name's Alfyn. Nice to meetcha.”

Beatrice smiled again before the cheerfulness suddenly faded into a mildly curious look. One that also held a sense of pleading. “Could...could I possibly ask something of you?”

Alfyn subconsciously straightened his posture and nodded his head. Rarely anything good would follow such a sentence. Especially one uttered by someone he did not know. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” Beatrice said and seemed to exhale a sigh of relief. “You see, my husband and I run the orphanage here in this lovely little village. However, lately, our beloved children have been besieged with a terrible fever that no medicine seems to cure. And not just the children, but those young and old all over this village.”

As Beatrice motioned to the area around them, Alfyn lifted his gaze to have a gander himself, and realised that there didn't seem to be anyone outside. At all. Just them.

“My poor husband...he's working so hard,” Beatrice continued and Alfyn turned to her in time to see a crushingly concerned look on her face. “I'm afraid he'll…”

“I understand,” Alfyn said softly before he gave her a hopefully reassuring smile. “I'll be more than happy to offer my services.”

Beatrice seemed to clutch her chest in relief. “Oh, you truly are wonderful. You're...like a gift from the heavens.”

“Aw, shucks, you're going to make me blush!” Alfyn said as he scratched the back of his head, his cheeks no doubt taking on a rosy glow.

“Please, come this way!” Beatrice said as she reached out to snare Alfyn by the elbow. But before she could touch him, she glanced behind him and jumped slightly. She then appeared flustered as she toyed with the hem of her apron. “Oh, dear me, how rude of me, you are with companions?”

Alfyn didn't need to look behind him to know that the others had witnessed the entire thing. “Yup, these are my friends.”

“It's a pleasure,” Cyrus was the first to speak, being the eternal chatterbox that he was, before he directed his attention toward Alfyn with an understanding look on his face. “Perhaps we should meet at the inn later?”

Before Alfyn could respond, Beatrice beat him to it. “Nonsense, please come. If I am right in my assessment, you are a scholar as well, yes?”

Cyrus gave a charming smile and nodded his head. “Same as you, it seems my dear.”

Beatrice looked positively thrilled. “Oh my, what luck! So, please, all of you are welcome. Perhaps your presence will cheer the children? They adore making new friends.”

This time Beatrice did manage to snare Alfyn's elbow and proceeded to all but drag him deeper into the village. She took him down several small stone paved roads before finally a structure that was slightly isolated from the rest of the village came into view. It was a tall building, structured much like that of a church. Though reformed into that of an orphanage instead.

Beatrice finally released a hold on his arm only so she could rush forward and practicality throw the doors open with a flourish. “Dear! I found a lovely Apothecary who wishes gift us his aid!”

Well after that introduction, there was no way Alfyn could back out now! Not that he would have anyway, but it was rather nice to have such an intro, right?

Before Alfyn stepped inside though he turned to look over his shoulder to see who else of the group had tagged along. He had a feeling Therion would have, just to supposedly keep an eye on him. That was always his excuse anyway. Cyrus was likely to tag along, since Beatrice seemed to be a scholar as well, and with him Ophilia. The others were likely to want to do their own thing.

So, he was surprised to see that everyone had decided to tag along. Perhaps they were curious about the illness that Beatrice said the children were suffering from?

“Oh? Another apothecary, you say?”

Turning his attention back to the orphanage front doors, a man in his late thirties to early forties appeared. At his side was a bag similar to the one that Alfyn had, just like Beatrice had mention. The other man however was taller than him. Perhaps around Olberic height. Pretty impressive.

“Hey there, the name's Alfyn,” he greeted good naturedly as Beatrice ushered the man in his direction. “Hope I'm not stepping on anyone's toes here.”

The man, however, seemed to hasten his steps and before Alfyn knew it, he had taken one of his hands in his and was practically squeezing the blood out of it in a handshake!

“Not at all, my dear boy! I'm...truly relieved that there is a fresh set of eyes and hands to help me. I'm slowly reaching my wit's end here.”

Alfyn hid a wince from the tight handshake by smiling reassuringly. “Well then, I'll be happy to help in any way I can.”

The relief he saw on the man's face and in his eyes was quite telling. And a little concerning, honestly. He couldn't help but wonder and worry about what kind of illness he was dealing with.

… … … … …

Therion couldn't stop a frown from forming on his lips as the middle-aged apothecary and his wife eagerly usher Alfyn into the orphanage, that apparently held the sick children. The two were cheerful enough, which was why Therion didn't particularly like either of them. He wasn’t the best judge of character, but he was incredibly observant. Something just made him bristle with protectiveness when both that woman and her unnamed husband grabbed at Alfyn and started tugging him around.

It was almost like they couldn’t wait to get their grubby little hands on him.

“They seem truly enchanted with Alfyn, don't they?” Primrose commented with a lightly amused tone.

Next to her, Ophilia smiled. “Yes, it's no surprise.”

“It's suspicious,” Therion muttered before he could stop himself.

Primrose immediately turned to look at him, arching an eyebrow that was annoyingly both sceptical and amused. “Oh?”

Knowing the she wouldn't let him rest until she got her answer, Therion heaved a disgruntled sigh. “The way she approached him out of the blue like that and began fawning over him? And for what? His bag?”

“I'm sure it wasn't meant to seem that way.” Of course, Ophilia would be the one to think otherwise. “She was simply relieved to see an apothecary to help her husband and children.”

Therion stubbornly shook his head. “It was almost as if she had waited for him.”

Primrose’s smile dimmed for a moment, as if considering his words. But she smiled a moment later and even had the audacity to nudge him in the ribs. “Now, it almost sounds as if you're jealous.”

Therion immediately bristled. “Jealous of what?”

Primrose didn't say anything, only smiled that obnoxious knowing smile of hers. Even Ophilia had a giggle at his expense. Typical. He may as well just head inside the place himself. Anything was better than having Primrose smirking at him from the corner of his eye.

Beatrice suddenly hurried from the building and over to Cyrus. “Professor, if you're not too busy, would you like to inspect the library I have accumulated for the children?”

“I would be delighted!” Cyrus responded, all too eagerly, allowing for Beatrice to beam brightly and tug him inside also.

Ugh, just great. With the two of them stuck inside, they were going to be here for hours.

“They seemed enchanted with both Alfyn and Cyrus. I certainly don't need to teach those boys how to be alluring, do I?” Primrose commented, once again with mirth in her voice. And eliciting another amused giggle from Ophilia.

Therion still didn't like it one little bit. Something just felt too...convenient.

“It seems that Alfyn and Cyrus have their undivided attention,” Olberic said, gaining everyone's attention. “Perhaps the rest of us should make ourselves useful by making reservations at the inn and then inspecting our new environment?”

“I agree with that,” Tressa was the first to pipe up, somehow having had stayed quiet until this point. “These poor kids would too sick to play. I'll just get in Alfyn's way if I stick around.”

“And you want to go shopping,” Therion pointed out.

Tressa planted her hands on her hips. “Obviously.”

Ophilia smiled before her eyes drifted over to the doors of the orphanage and her smiled faded slightly. “I wish to stay for a little while longer, if that is alright?”

The amused expression Primrose had worn previously was replaced with sisterly protectiveness. “Hm, I'll stay too.” She then glanced over at Therion, arching that annoying questioning eyebrow of hers.

The answer was pretty bloody obvious. She just wanted to hear him say it.

“...Fine,” Therion said as the others also turned their attention in his direction. “Someone needs to keep those two out of trouble.”

Olberic almost appeared relieved by that; nodding his head with a slight smile. “Very well. H’annit, Tressa, and I will search for an inn and rent us the rooms necessary.”

As they always did when they entered a new town or village. It was just habit to speak of such things now.

With that sorted, they parted ways; three heading back the way they had come while Therion entered the orphanage with Primrose and Ophilia close behind.

What Therion saw inside the orphanage wasn’t what he had expected. And from the soft gasp from Ophilia and the slight noise of discomfort from Primrose, they hadn’t expected it either. There were two rows of cots in the dining room. A child in each bed. There were muffled sounds of coughing and sniffling. They weren’t very old, the children. From the ages of two to six, probably. And there had to be at least ten kids in total.

Unusual to have so many orphaned young children in a village. Although, he couldn’t rule out that they were dropped here by nearby villages. Or maybe even abandoned.

In the middle of the room, between all the beds was a table, covered with books, dried herbs, and even alchemist equipment. Alfyn stood beside the table with that other guy. Still didn’t know his name. They were talking, the man motioning to the table and the children seemingly sporadically, but Alfyn was nodding his head, making the occasion comment. But mostly he appeared to be listening.

And from the look on his face and the tension in his shoulders and back, he wasn’t liking what he was hearing. Telling, too, was the smile he wore. It was tight. Polite in order to mask his concerns.

“These poor kids,” Primrose murmured behind him.

Therion left Primrose and Ophilia to talk to each other and approached Alfyn. To get a better understanding of the situation. As he drew near, he felt himself pause out of sheer habit as Beatrice, along with Cyrus, appeared from a door located at the very end of the room.

It was obvious by the expression on Cyrus’ face that he was perplexed by the situation. Beatrice likely would have prattled to him what she knew and what had been going on as well.

“Henry, Sir, you are exhausted,” Alfyn suddenly said as he reached out to grab the man’s shoulder, seemingly to steady him. “Why don't you rest for a while?”

The guy who was apparently called Henry shook his head stubbornly. “These children...”

“They'll be in my care now,” Alfyn interrupted, his hand tightening lightly around his shoulder. “As a fellow apothecary, I promise that I will take the greatest of care for them. You can't help anyone when you're exhausted.”

Henry glanced at him for a long, silent moment before he sighed. His shoulders sagged so much that it almost appeared as if he would drop to the floor in a dead sleep. “You're right, my boy. My apologies.”

“Not at all!” Alfyn said cheerfully, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, of which were filled to the brim with concern. “It's obvious that you adore these kids. So, leave everything to me.”

Beatrice pressed a hand against Henry’s back while the other reached out to take his hand. “Come, dear.”

“Yes, alright,” Henry murmured tiredly and spared Alfyn a look. Therion wasn’t entirely sure what kind of look it was, but it was something he didn’t quite like. “You have my gratitude.”

“Think nothing of it,” Alfyn immediately replied gently, as he always did with all of his patients.

As Beatrice helped Henry from the room, Therion ventured toward where Alfyn stood. Cyrus also moved to stand by the table. Alfyn continued to watch until Henry and Beatrice could no longer be seen. He then sighed softly, almost inaudibly before he turned his gaze to the beds with children all around them.

His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed before he abruptly turned back to the table and leaned against with his hands. No doubt studying the books and other miscellaneous items found there.

While Therion felt suspicious of both Beatrice and her husband, he kept that to himself. He did feel the urge to remind Alfyn to be careful as he had been burnt helping others so unconditionally before. But the kids were in genuine need for help. So Therion stayed quiet. He wouldn’t burden him with his own thoughts.

He’d just…have to keep a close eye on him.

“What do you think, Alfyn?” Cyrus asked as he stood on the other side of the table.

“A fever that can't be lowered. A strange grey rash. Patient unable to move. It's similar to that plague I was struck with when I was a kid, but it's also different.” He shook his head, almost as if in disbelief. “It's also like...they're turning to stone. Outside in. Unless I know the origin of this illness, I can't properly create a cure for it. But…I can make them more comfortable though.”

Whether or not he had already formulated the salve in his head was irrelevant it seemed. He was determined to help these kids, come what may.

…It was going to be a long day. And night, probably.

“Beatrice showed me a rather unique collection of books in her library,” Cyrus said as he held his chin, his usual stance for when he was thinking way too deep and hard. “One caught my eye as the most unusual. A book on the ancient plagues and diseases. Would it benefit you if I search through those books?”

Alfyn lifted his head and gave Cyrus a grateful smile. “Honestly, anything at this point would be a great help.”

Therion was about to point out that it was likely that Henry and Beatrice had already raided those books for clues, but kept his mouth shut. Cyrus may indeed find something that was overlooked. Besides, it gave him something to do. He was likely feeling a little useless in this situation. And he could also tell how concerned Alfyn appeared to be.

It was definitely going to be a long day.

Movement from the corner of his eye caused Therion to turn his attention away from Alfyn. He tried to hide a twitch, but was likely not all that successful, when Beatrice appeared and headed straight over to Alfyn. He felt his eyebrow twitch on its own accord when Beatrice brazenly leaned over the table to take one of Alfyn’s hands in hers.

Alfyn blinked and found himself being pulled over the table toward her. He didn’t struggle, though. Mixed between being mindful of the woman and simply stunned by how…touchy she was. She was a married woman, for gods’ sake.

“You have such lovely hands,” Beatrice unexpectedly compliment.

“Ah, oh?” Alfyn simply murmured awkwardly.

“Yes, they look like healing hands,” Beatrice continued.

“Shucks, thanks so much," Alfyn immediately replied. Even though it appeared obvious he wasn't entirely sure what that meant.

Ugh, all those over the top compliments were starting to get on his nerves. He was sure Alfyn was starting to become unnerved as well. He was never good at receiving them, he knew that himself. So that was going to be more than just a little awkward for him.

Finally, mercifully before Therion had to interfere, Alfyn tugged his hand back and even took a step back as he clumsily scratched the back of his neck. “Ah, so, how's your husband? He's a tireless worker, he is.”

Seemingly oblivious to Alfyn’s discomfort, Beatrice smiled brightly. “He certainly is,” she said pridefully before her smile faded and her expression turned to intrigued. “I do hope I'm not being overbearing, but have you...learnt anything? Anything at all?”

Gods, woman, it’s been all of ten to fifteen minutes.

“Well...I can't necessary cure them of their ills yet,” Alfyn replied good-naturedly. Of course, he would. He was used to this nonsense.

…Gods, Therion really didn’t like being here. He was more paranoid and short-tempered than usual. Even by his standards.

“But I can make them comfortable,” Alfyn continued before he folded an arm across his chest and held his chin in a similar thinking manner that Cyrus did. “Thing is, I require a certain flower. Pink and white. About the size of my hand. Seen anything like it?”

Beatrice tapped her cheek in thought as her eye rolled up to look at the ceiling. “Let me think...” She was silent for a few drawn out seconds before she perked up and clapped her hands in front of her joyfully. “Ah, I do believe such a flower exists here in this very village! In the garden of an abandoned manor on the outskirts of town.”

An abandoned manor? Here?

“No! Don't go to the Garden of Unease! You won't return!”

Therion jumped, but not as high as Alfyn did let it be noted, when a high-pitched voice all but shrieked from one of the beds closest to them. The three of them spun around to see a young girl sat up in her bed, clutching a ratty looking teddy bear against her chest. Her hair was in pigtails and her face was a rather unhealthy red.

As Beatrice hurried to the bedside of the young girl, Alfyn frowned. “Huh? Garden of Unease?”

“Oh dear.” Beatrice sighed as she tried to coax the child back into lying down. But the little girl refused to budge and Beatrice uttered another sigh as she sat down on the edge of the child’s bed.

“You see, the flower that you seek is believed to grow in the garden of an abandoned manor that is located on the outskirts of the village,” Beatrice explained. “It has been abandoned for as long as anyone can remember. The garden...it's quite unsettling. Many say that any who enters are to be never seen again. Some people even claim that perfectly healthy people are besieged with suicidal thoughts when they pass over the garden's threshold.”

“…Is that so?” Alfyn murmured, more of a comment than an actual question.

A look of determination flickered over Alfyn’s face before he smiled his usual friendly smile. He quickly made his way to the other side of the bed, and crouched down to be eyelevel with the girl.

And Therion was pretty sure he knew what Alfyn was going to say next.

“Don't worry. I promise I'll be back. And with the flower. So, sit tight and wait for me, ok?”

Yup. Nearly word for word.

The girl clutched her stuffed animal tight to her chest. She sniffled and seemingly snorted for a few seconds before she nodded her head. “Ok.”

“Do be careful,” Beatrice cautioned as Alfyn rose to his feet.

“Hey, I'm always careful,” Alfyn returned (with an outright lie, let’s face it) and ruffled the kid’s hair. “Not to worry!”

As Alfyn moved away from the bed and toward the front doors, Therion swiftly followed. And he couldn’t stop himself from commenting. “An abandoned manor, huh? Sounds suspicious.”

Alfyn nodded his head, silent for a few seconds before he turned to look over at Therion. “You going to be tagging along, Therion?”

…That should have been obvious. Tch, guess he wanted to hear him say it, too.

“Naturally,” Therion said quickly, hopefully nonchalantly. “Someone needs to keep you from over doing it.”

“Aw, shucks,” Alfyn said, smiling brightly as he flung an arm around Therion’s neck and shoulders, and tugged him against his side. “Glad to know you have my back!”

He honestly did sound relieved. He must be more worried or unnerved than Therion previously thought.

With his arm still around Therion’s neck, Alfyn paused briefly to speak with the girls, who of which were comforting a small boy, probably about two in age. Primrose had the child on her lap, the kid fascinated with the cold jewellery that she wore on her wrists and around her neck.

“Philly, Prim, Therion and I are stepping out for a bit.”

Primrose glanced up from the child and nodded her head. She flashed a smirk in Therion’s direction, of course, but soon smiled prettily at Alfyn again. “Oh? Have you found a cure?”

“Not necessarily,” Alfyn said with obvious regret. “But I can make them more comfortable. Professor’s hitting the books already.”

The corner of Primrose’s twitched into a smirk. “Ahh. He may not even realise that you're gone.”

Alfyn laughed and nodded his head. “That's fine. We won't be long. Take care of the kids for me!”

Chapter Text

In such a small village it wasn't difficult to find that abandoned manor that Beatrice spoke of. Although, if Alfyn hadn't been looking for such a place, he may have overlooked it overwise.

Like most manors, a tall stone fence, albeit covered in green and brown vines, along with moss and small mushrooms, seemed to surround the entire property. An iron fence was rusted and bent, one side hanging from the hinges, while the other was twisted as if someone or something had forced it to form a makeshift entrance.

A little surprising to find a manor in a village.

Still, the flower that should help those kids and ease them of their symptoms was said to grow inside. Why such a place existed wasn't any of his concern. Even if the place was occupied, he'd still try to find a way in.

After all, he had experience sneaking into manors. As unwilling as that was…

“Looks inviting,” Therion commented drily next to him.

“Yup. So, inviting that we should head on in without knocking, right?” Alfyn as he headed toward the (hopefully) manmade gap in the gate.

As they stepped into the boundaries of the manor and onto the long stone pathway that led to the front entrance, they were confronted by the site of ashen grey statues among the twisting vines and overgrown rose bushes. They were that of people, but...they were in various stages of pain and suffering it seemed. Some kneeling. Some in the foetal position. Others seeming screaming up at the sky. But all wearing an expression of pain.

“So, this Garden of Unease, huh?” Therion muttered, appearing uneasy.

“It's fitting, I gotta admit,” Alfyn said, unable to hide his own unease, especially about those statues. “The thorny vines and statues with pained expressions? Yeah, not very inviting.”

Therion took a moment to inspect their surroundings a little more before he silently reached into the waistband to pull out a knife. “Yeah.”

Alfyn reached for his own weapon, feeling a sense of security when he held it in his hands. “Fortunately, my axe should take care of these vines.”

No time to ponder about those...unbelievably creepy statues. They had a job to do.

“Now then…” Alfyn murmured as they ventured deeper into the overgrown and long abandoned garden.

“You know what you're looking for?” Therion asked as he slashed as a vine that was in their way.

“Sure do,” Alfyn replied as he took his own weapon to a particularly stubborn thorny vine. “A pink and white flower. I'll know what it is the moment I see it.”

“Fine. Then start looking.”

Alfyn chuckled softly under his breath at Therion's impatience. But he was glad that Therion decided to accompany him. He'd rather not have dealt with this place alone.

There was something not right about this place. It wasn't the thorns of the overgrown garden. It wasn't even the crumbling remains of the manor that seemed to loom ominously over them. It was the statues. There were a lot of them. Seemingly in every little nook and cranny. In the form of humans, all wearing unnerving expressions of varying degrees of pain and suffering. He couldn't help but feel that no sculptor would set out to create such a thing. Not on purpose anyway.

He was no expert, but a few of those statues look rather...fresh.

Hold there, Alfyn. He was letting his imagine get the better of him!

After a few minutes (though honestly it felt like hours!) of hacking and slashing at the stubborn vines and wild plants, they stumbled into a clearing. In it was an old and long disused water fountain. The feature was thankfully that of a swan and not some misshapen human in pain.

However, it wasn't the water feature that had Alfyn's attention; it was the white and pink flowers that grew around the base of the fountain.

Great! He found what he was looking for!

As he turned to give Therion the good news, the words paused on his lips when they both heard the sound of a tree branch snapping. Not a twig. A branch. From across the clearing. Though it was possible that someone else had ventured into the garden, experience from numerous monster battles caused the both of them to stop and fall silent.

Alfyn spared a quick glance over at Therion, only to immediately look away when another distinct sound of a twig snapping was heard. They definitely weren’t alone.

His grip on his axe tightened as he brought it out in front of him, defensive but cautious as another crack was heard in the same direction. However, there was another noise to the left of him. In another direction. Two distinct sounds now. No…wait, three…four!

Next to him, Therion growled lowly as he brought his knife out in front of him and pulled himself into an offensive stance. “Who the hell is out there!”

There was no reply. Well, no verbal reply at least. Just the sound of more branches and twigs snapping. Alfyn was beginning to feel that they weren’t dealing with humans.

A flash of white to Alfyn’s left caught his attention and he immediately turned to look. Out of the forest of vines and thorns staggered a pure white skeleton. It seemed to rattle with each stumbling step it took.

About ten yards away staggered out another set of bones. And then another. Great, there appears to be about four of them now.

They were those of the bone type monster. Though he couldn’t tell which they were. Oddly they seemed to be carrying chunks of stone along with their shredded pieces of clothes. A new kind or…?

“Gadzooks, where in the hells did they come from?” Alfyn asked as he took a moment to swing his satchel over his head to secure it against his side for the impeding battle.

“Tch. Adding to the atmosphere,” Therion replied drily as he tossed his scarf over his shoulder, also preparing to fight.

“Is that a bandit bone or a warrior bone. Er, bones I should say-?”

“It's a skeleton. That's enough.”

“I mean, I guess...”

“Look, it's weak to either axe or knife, and ice or fire. We'll work it out.”

Alfyn had to smile. “Well, can't argue with that!”

Therion darted forward with a low growl and Alfyn followed. Therion had always been faster and more agile than him, so he allowed him to take the lead while he would take the back. Taking out the stragglers and healing any wounds. He doubted there would be any. But he was always ready for just in case.

As Therion sidestepped a bones that seemed indifferent of his knife attacks, Alfyn stepped up to take his place. He swung his axe over his head and brought it down promptly. The sounds of metal splitting the skull was a noise Alfyn still winced at. But at least there wasn’t there was squishy, slurping sound immediately after. No brains or anything ‘fleshy’ with these guys.

As the bones fell apart and dropped to the ground, Alfyn turned to look for his next target. Only to see more bones stumble from their surroundings.

A smorgasbord of bones, it seemed. How lucky were they? By lucky, he meant his axe and Therion’s knife would be more than enough to take care of them, and they wouldn’t have to worry about either setting the entire garden on fire or freezing the place.

Oh well, he just had to keep swinging his axe. Eventually they would thin out, right? Hopefully they would stop advancing soon. Therion was probably edging closer to the urge to set the place on fire. Not that Alfyn could blame him. But, you know, the flowers and all were kinda important.

Falling into the mindset of battling, Alfyn worked in cooperation with Therion. And finally, the numbers began to dwindle until there were none left. The battle was tedious, that was for sure, but thankfully not all that difficult.

“Whew,” Alfyn uttered as he rested his axe on his shoulder and wiped his brow. “Wasn't expecting those bony guys. I wonder where they came from?”

Therion shrugged nonchalantly as he holstered his knives within his clothes. “This is the reason why you shouldn't go anywhere alone,” he said as he gave Alfyn a very piercing look.

“You’ve got a point,” Alfyn laughed as he also rather nonchalantly holstered his own weapon. “But I'm not worried. With you watching my back, I can get into all the trouble in the world and still come out the other side!”

Therion unexpectedly tensed and gave Alfyn a look that was both confused and somehow curious. “...You trust me that much, huh?” he asked.

Alfyn blinked at the strange question before he smiled broadly. “Of course. I have no reason not to. If anything happens to me, you'll find me. So, no worries for me.”

Therion continued to simply look at him, though more curious than confused. However, a half smile soon appeared on his lips. “Hn. Do try to keep out of trouble.”

“I'll try my best,” Alfyn said as he flashed him a grin. “But you know me.”

“Oh yes,” Therion murmured as he shook his head. He then frowned and folded his arms across his chest as he glanced around at their surroundings. “Now, hurry up and find that flower before more of those bastards turn up.”

Alfyn quickly remembered why they were in the middle of this untamed garden in the first place and felt his cheeks heat in a flush. “Right.”

Turning away from Therion, Alfyn headed toward the water feature in the centre of this impromptu battleground. Thankfully, in spite of the chaos, the flowers were untouched. There was a small patch of them, but there should be enough to create a salve for the kids at the orphanage.

“Ah, there they are,” Alfyn murmured as he knelt down and carefully began to pick the flowers, taking only the petals as they were the only thing they needed for the salve. No need to uproot the whole thing. “Yup, this is the right one.”

“Got enough?” Therion asked as he kept a watchful eye over him and their surroundings. “Don’t want to be trekking back here again.”

“Well, I can’t be too certain,” Alfyn admitted as he pulled out a few glass bottles from his satchel and carefully placed the gathered petals inside. “I might need more or less, depending on the patient. And how well they take to the medicine. But I’ll gather what I can here and hope it will be enough.”

He was fairly certain that his salve would ease the kids’ symptoms. Specially the fever and the nasal congestion. But that rash was something else entirely. He needed to do a bit more of a thorough inspection on that. Hopefully, once he stabilised the fever, he’d be able to concentrate on that rash.

With his new materials safely stashed away, Alfyn heaved a sigh as he pushed himself to his feet.

“Now, let’s get out of here,” Alfyn said as he secured his satchel to his side. “Getting out will probably be easier because of the path we made. We’ll just need to retrace our steps.”

“Yeah,” Therion murmured as he continued to eye off their surroundings. “The sooner the better.”

Alfyn couldn’t agree more. Those bony monsters were an unwelcome surprise. Amongst the unease of the statues, looming ruins of a manor, and the thriving forest of thorns.

Gripping his axe tightly for just in case, Alfyn followed Therion as he led their way out of the garden. Thankfully getting out was a lot easier than forcing their way in. And they hadn’t encountered any more of those bony guys.

Huh…he could have sworn that he saw more statues going in then there were as they headed out…maybe he just miscounted. Still, he was relieved when they stumbled their way through the opening in the rusted and mangled front gate and back into the paved paths of the village.

Now came the hard part. He needed to help those kids.

The walk back to the orphanage was silent, Alfyn mentally calculating how much salve he needed for each child. They were of different ages, after all. He couldn’t give them all the same dose.

“Hey, we’re back!” Alfyn announced as he and Therion entered the orphanage. He wasn’t sure how long they had been gone, but he assumed an hour or two?

Beatrice was still sat by the bedside of the girl who warned them of the Garden of Unease. As they walked over, the girl perked up and she clutched her teddy bear tightly. Her eyes widen and she looked rather excited upon their return.

“Y-you’re back?” she gasped.

“Yup!” Alfyn grinned as he stepped over to stand by her bedside. He bent forward and ruffled the girl’s hair. “Told ya I would. Now, let me get to work so you can feel better, ok?”

Alfyn headed over to the table with his required goods and noticed that Therion had paused to speak with Primrose and Ophilia, who were thankfully still entering the children and keeping them distracted. Therion was likely telling them of what had occurred.

Nevermind. Time to get to work!

Creating salves were thankfully second nature to him, even when he was whipping up a completely new recipe. The base recipe remained mostly the same. It was the ingredients that changed. Crush a few herbs, combine with the petals, add some spring water, turn into a paste and…done!

The girl that Beatrice sat with looked about four years in age, so about a medium dose for her.

Portioning some of the salve into vial, Alfyn capped it and gave it a hearty shake to ensure that the ingredients were well and truly mixed. As he did that, he made his way over to the little girl and crouched down next to her bed.

“Now, this is going to feel a bit funny, but that’s normal, ok?” Alfyn softly instructed.

The girl appeared hesitant, even scrunching her nose up at him. But she obediently allowed Alfyn to give her the balm. He carefully massaged the salve upon her forehead, the back of her head, and her throat. She giggled a couple of times, but thankfully didn’t try to squirm away.

With the lotion administered, Alfyn sat back on his heels and allowed the girl to lie down upon her bed. A few tenses minutes went by as he and Beatrice waited to see if the salve was successful. Or if it was a waste of time.

“Well?” Beatrice chewed nervously on her bottom lip as she asked.

Alfyn carefully inspected the child and felt a sigh of relief pass his lips. “It appears to be working, thankfully.”

“Oh, that is such good news,” Beatrice breathed, the tension in her shoulders suddenly fading and she gave Alfyn a truly grateful look. “I’m truly relieved. You are a miracle worker.”

“Hey now, just doing my job,” Alfyn claimed with a smile as he pushed himself to his feet. “Don’t mention it. After all, I still gotta work on curing them completely.” His smile faded slightly. “That...won’t be as easy.”

“Still, this is a remarkable improvement!” Beatrice insisted as she pushed herself to her feet, too, suddenly full of energy. “And in such a short time! I must tell my husband immediately.”

With that, she turned and hurried in the direction she had led her husband in before. As she did so, she hurried past Cyrus, who walked in, seemingly oblivious to her as his eyes were focused on the book in his hands.

Alright, time to help the other kids!

Portioning out the rest of the salve, Alfyn returned to his task with a renewed vigour. Now that he was certain that his salve worked, he felt more comfortable about getting straight to work. He was still cautious, especially when it came to the younger ones, but he was confident that would be no side effects.

As he moved from child to child, Alfyn began to become accustomed to their ailments. They were the same with each kid. Very little difference. Something felt…off though.

With the last child safely tucked back in their bed, their fever reduced to a more comfortable level, Alfyn found himself drifting back to the table in the centre of the room and resting against it for a moment.

“Hmm...”

Funnily enough, Cyrus was pulled from his book by Alfyn’s involuntary noise of confusion. “Have you discovered something of note?” he asked as he snapped his book shut and made his way to stand by the table as well.

“I think I have,” Alfyn admitted as he reached up to ease out a knot of tension in his shoulder with his hand. “Now that the symptoms have been reduced, I can better check their vitals. And I think I might have found the true origin.”

“Go on,” Cyrus urged.

Alfyn pressed his lips together tightly as he glanced over his shoulder to ensure that Beatrice wasn’t within hearing range. Even though she was nowhere to be found, he motioned Cyrus to lean toward him so he could speak with him quietly. Intrigued, Cyrus pressed the book atop of the table and leaned toward him.

“There's no doubt about it, Professor,” Alfyn said. “These kids have been poisoned with something.”

A flicker of surprise appeared on Cyrus’ face before he nodded. “So, the origin of their symptoms is an outside influence?”

“Exactly. Don't know what, but it's not a virus or illness.”

“Interesting.”

“Apparently these kids ain't the only ones’ suffering.”

“Yes, I had overheard Beatrice state that others are also suffering from this,” Cyrus explained before the two of them leaned back. After a quick, cautionary glance around them, he turned back to Alfyn with an offer. “Would you like of me to make some inquiries?”

Alfyn smiled and nodded his head. He would have done so himself but he wanted to stay for a while longer to keep an eye on the kids. And on Henry and Beatrice. He wasn’t being all hush-hush because he didn’t trust them. They were overworked and exhausted. So, he just didn’t want to stress them out any more than they were.

“I'd appreciate it, Professor.”

Cyrus simply shook his head and gave Alfyn a small smile. “Not at all. I’ll see what I can find out for you.”

As Cyrus moved to leave the orphanage, Therion unexpectedly called out to him. “Hey.”

“Hm?” Cyrus murmured as he paused in his steps.

“While you're at it, maybe you could ask around about that so-called Garden of Unease and that abandoned manor,” Therion suggested. “Something doesn't feel right with me about that place.”

Now Cyrus appeared really interested in that. “Is that so? Intriguing. Very well, I'll take Olberic with me then.”

With that, he quickly made his way from the building. Alfyn watched until he was no longer out of sight before he turned to look toward Therion. Who, funnily enough, was making his way over to him. Whether he had somehow overheard his brief conversation with Cyrus, it didn’t matter. But he was glad that Therion was around. Something was going on. Something he didn’t like.

And he would feel better if Therion was able to use his skills of his to help him out once more. Probably selfish of him to ask, but… 

“Therion?”

“Yeah?”

“You…should head to the inn. Or maybe the tavern,” Alfyn suggested, which earned him a confused and disgruntled look from Therion. “I'm going to be here a while. No point in your getting bored here while you wait, you know? You might have better things to do, yeah?”

Therion stared at him for a few seconds before realisation appeared in his eyes and he thankfully nodded his head. “...The tavern might be a good idea actually. Primrose and Ophilia are still here if anything should happen.”

“Right,” Alfyn said with a smile that was both purposely cheerful and grateful. “Have a drink for me!”

“Yeah,” Therion murmured, though he didn’t sound or look too happy about leaving him. “See you back at the inn. Before midnight.”

Alfyn nodded his hand and maintained his smile. “I can't make any promises. Just don't send Olberic or H'annit after me. Last time you did, they flung me over their shoulder and carried me like a sack of potatoes. Impressive, I'll give them that. Not too comfortable, though.”

That got him a half-smile from Therion before he turned to walk away. “Heh. Make no promises.”

Chapter Text

The sun had well and truly set as Alfyn made his way from the orphanage and toward the inn, of which seemed to be located on the other side of town. Thankfully his salve appeared to have done the trick in settling the kids, lowering the fever enough for them to find comfort in sleeping. He had actually spent more time speaking with Henry and Beatrice in order to explain to them what he had done and what they needed to do should one of the kids’ fevers suddenly spike in the night.

Henry was actually quite ecstatic with his preparation and they ended up chatting aimlessly about being apothecaries, and just healing in general. Pretty interesting guy. Certainly, a dedicated apothecary. It was good to see. And Beatrice was very encouraging and supportive.

Their constant praise and compliments were a bit embarrassing though! 

Thankfully he had sent Primrose and Ophilia to the inn to rest earlier, so they didn't have to overhear. He was fairly certain that the praise would have them uncomfortable as well.

“Phew, I am beat,” Alfyn unintentionally murmured aloud as he idly wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Despite how nicely a spot of mead would be at the moment, he instead decided to head straight for the inn. He wasn't sure what time it was, but was fairly certain that someone would be hunting for him soon. And he didn't feel like being carried over someone's shoulder tonight.

Alfyn was suddenly pulled from his thoughts by the surprising sound of someone singing.  Not very well, but they were definitely singing. And if he was correct, they were singing a drinking song.

He glanced down a small alley between two houses to witness a man shuffling along, staggering on every second or third step. He appeared to be the one singing.

He was also very obviously drunk. And probably been that were for a few hours.

Alfyn couldn't help but laugh to himself. “Well now, looks like someone started the evening celebrations early. Been celebrating for a few solid hours, huh?”

The drunkard stopped dead in his tracks and seemed to freeze as he tried to pinpoint his location. or maybe figuring out whether he had actually heard something or not. Soon enough, he turned to look in Alfyn's direction, squinted at him, before a drunken smile spread across his face. And he released a loud drunken laugh.

“Hahahaha, youse got that right,” the man uttered through a few drunken hiccups and staggered over to him. “Youse be celebrating too if youse were close to finding the legendary Flower of Life.”

Flower of Life? Alfyn was honestly surprised to hear some drunkard speak of a flower that apothecaries the realm over dream of finding. If it existed at all, mind. “Oh?”

Of course, before Alfyn could politely inquire about the man's drunken ramblings, the man struck his foot on a piece of stone that jutted out from the road. Alfyn instinctively reacted by reacting out to catch him, successfully saving the guy from practically swan diving into the ground face first.

“Easy, now. You've certainly had your fill,” Alfyn chuckled as the guy slumped against him. He decided that he couldn't let the man continue to wander on his own in such a state. So, he grabbed his arm and flung it over his shoulders. “Why don't ol' Alfyn help you back to the inn?”

Mr Drunkard was thankfully a rowdy, jolly drink. He laughed loudly and patted Alfyn on the chest with his hand. “Youse a good kid. Hey, you wanna hear about the Flower of Life? Can tell ya all about it.”

Gripping the guy's wrist tightly so he wouldn't slip, Alfyn decided to entertain the guy by letting him prattle on about whatever. “Alrighty. Here we go. Tell me all about it.”

Apparently, the guy didn't need much encouragement. He immediately launched into a drunken chatter about the legendary Flower of Life. Told him all about it. About what it could supposedly do. And, surprisingly, where it supposedly grew. According to Mr Drunkard, the flower was located in a hidden and mysterious temple just west of the Garden of Unease.

“Ah, so you think it’s around here?” Alfyn questioned, thankful to see the inn as it came into view. “Got the celebrations off a little early though, don’tcha think? Maybe you should find it first.”

“Naw. Yer got…” he paused for a moment to let out a rather impressive belch. “gotta get the celebrating out of the way.”

Again, Alfyn had to laugh as he dragged his new-found friend toward the inn's front steps. “Do you now?”

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Alfyn tightened his grip on the guy's wrist. Ok, here came the either fun part, or difficult one. Time to conquer the stairs.

“Got some stairs coming up, friend, but we can do it. One step. And two. Another one.” The guy's foot caught a step, but Alfyn was able to catch him. “Oops, nearly lost you there.” Finally, they reached to door. Thank the gods it was open!

Nudging the door open with his foot, Alfyn just had to utter a sigh of relief to be inside. Now the guy could crash anywhere and safely sleep off his hangover.

“And we’re here,” Alfyn said as he kicked the door shut behind. “So, you got a room?”

The guy muttered and tried to fish around in his trouser pocket as he mumbled. “Two...something or other. First floor. There was a damn bush shrub thing out the window.”

Interesting description of a room. Ok, just a few more steps before he can drop him and walk away with a good conscious.

Room number two was on the first floor, and rather close to the reception desk, which was surprisingly unmanned at the moment. Oh well, can't be helped. Thankfully the room was also unlocked, so ol’ Mr Drunkard didn't have to fumble for the keys. Alfyn just had to fumble for the door handle instead before he pushed the door open with his foot.

Thankful that the bed was just inside, Alfyn unceremoniously dropped the guy onto it. But he seemed to flop against it thankfully anyway. So, whew, job done. 

“Well, I'll leave ya to get some beauty sleep,” Alfyn said as he turned to leave.

However, he was startled when something suddenly snared his wrist, pulling him to a stop. He looked down to see that it was a hand that grabbed him, and his drunk friend had rolled onto his side to look at him. Blearily, yet somehow seriously all the same.

“Youse a really good guy,” he suddenly said, his face stoic for a long moment before a wide grin suddenly appeared on his face. “I know. Youse can have a copy!”

“Of the map?” Alfyn questioned before he shook his head in amused bemusement when the guy released his wrist and rolled over to his other side where a bag sat. “Why, that's mighty generous of you. You have a few copies then?”

“Lose one, one to replace it,” he replied with a surprising amount of clarity as he dug around in his bag. “Nows where’s I put it…? Hah!”

Alfyn smiled good naturedly when the guy pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment and shoved it happily on his direction. “Would you look at that,” he said as he took his ‘gift’.

“Youse...a good kid,” he said again before he abruptly fell silent and gave him another rather serious look. “Listen, kid...Beware the ones who call themselves Lord and Lady of Divine Authority.”

Alfyn was startled by the man's suddenly clarity once more. He was honestly so taken aback, he wasn't sure on how to respond. “Ahh...?”

The guy continued to stare at him for another few minutes, his eyes surprisingly clear. However, a grin soon slipped across his face and he uttered a laugh as he flopped back onto his bed. “Heh, time for bed for ol’ Drunk. Tomorrow, gotta get a searching.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Alfyn said as he subconsciously tightened his grip on the map and backed out of the room. “I’ll leave ya to get some sleep.”

He quickly stepped out into the hallway and closed the door in front of him. Well...that was rather unexpected.

Ahh never mind. Just some jolly drunk. Nothing to get worked up about. Besides, he had better start worrying about which room he was staying in.

Just as that thought appeared in his mind, Cyrus came down the stairs that led to the second floor. With him was Olberic. They appeared to be heading out, though they could have been on their way to search for him.

Cyrus quickly spotted him and gave him a smile. “Ah, Alfyn, there you are.”

“Yup,” Alfyn greeted in return. “And before midnight so you can’t fling me over your shoulder tonight. Sorry, Boss.”

The corner of Olberic’s mouth twitched into a smile. “I have no doubt that there will be other chances.”

Alfyn had to laugh. “You’re probably more than right about that.”

“Come,” Cyrus suddenly urged as he motioned for Alfyn to follow him back up the stairs. “I must speak with you.”

Curious, Alfyn nodded and immediately moved to follow. “Sure.”

Cyrus led him up the stairs and Olberic followed. Ah so they were heading out to look for him. Good thing he found his way back on his own. He hadn't eaten for a few hours, so he didn't fancy having Olberic's shoulder jabbing into his stomach with each step he took.

“Olberic and I had a brief exploration of the village,” Cyrus explained as they reached the top step and paused outside of a room Alfyn assumed was one of theirs. “I must say, the inhabitants of this village are, what would you say, solemn?”

Alfyn felt a frown tag at his lips. “They weren't all sick, were they?”

“I honestly cannot answer that,” Cyrus unexpectedly said. “Visibly, they appeared normal to me. Just rather...vacant, I suppose the right term would be. They appeared to walk in a right daze. But there are indeed occupants to this village, despite first appearance.”

“They spoke highly of Henry and Beatrice, though, when they did speak,” Olberic added, though the frown on his lips gave the indication that he was unsettled. “Their praise was almost word for word, however.”

That sounded a little strange…

“We did manage to get some information, though,” Cyrus continued. “Apparently, that abandon manor you visited also has its own water supply. Quite unusual, isn't it?”

“Own water source?” Alfyn repeated, baffled. That was virtually unheard of…

“Curious, isn't it?” Olberic said as he folded his arms across his chest. “How is it possible? An underground spring located so closely to another?”

“Those are questions that will have to wait until tomorrow,” Cyrus said before he motioned toward the door right behind Alfyn. “You are no doubt tired. And Therion is no doubt waiting for you. So, let us retire for the night.”

That sounded like a good idea.

“More than reasonable,” Alfyn said with a smile. “Well then, I'll see you gents at breakfast.”

“Yes. Hope you have a well-earned rest.”

Idly adjusting his satchel on his shoulder, Alfyn opened the door to the room and stepped inside. As per usual there were two beds. And the bed closest to the door was already occupied. Therion appeared to have been lounging on it, arms folded behind his head while his left ankle rested on his right knee.

As Alfyn closed and locked the door, Therion lifted his head up to regard him. “Hmm. Five minutes early, aren’t you?”

Alfyn laughed lightly as he stepped toward the unoccupied bed. “I would have been here earlier, actually,” he said as he sat his bag down at the foot of his bed and idly rolled his shoulder to release the tension. “But I helped a jolly drunk to his room. How was the pub, by the way? I can’t imagine it was too full.”

Therion stretched his legs out over his bed. “Pretty empty, actually. Saved for an idiot that kept bellowing about flowers. The same guy?”

“So, you met him?” Alfyn grinned and sat down to take off his boots and ready himself for bed. “Well, as a thanks he gave me a copy of a treasure map.”

Therion lifted his head and gave him a sceptical look. “Really now?”

“I’m a tad dubious, myself,” Alfyn admitted before he shrugged nonchalantly. “But why not? He’s harmless.”

There was a sceptical snort from Therion. “So where is this map supposedly leading to?”

Ah, so he was curious!

Alfyn grinned to himself as he pulled back the blankets of his bed and climbed in. “The legendary Flower of Life. Heard of it?”

“Nope.”

That probably shouldn't be surprising.

“Shucks, where do I start?” Alfyn murmured as he rested his head in the crook of his arm.

Before he could attempt to explain, however, Therion interrupted him. “How about sleeping first? You can tell me all about it in the morning.”

Alfyn Smiled softly, and sleepily. “That actually sounds like a solid plan. Man, I’m beat.”

“I can tell…”

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

Settling down under the blankets, Alfyn quickly fell asleep.

… … … … …

Someone gently, yet persistently shaking Alfyn’s shoulder was what pulled him from his sleep. He tried to ignore it though and go back to sleep. But whoever had his shoulder was rather persistent.

“Alfyn.”

Upon realising that it was Therion that was trying to wake him up, Alfyn uttered a soft mumble and peeled open his eyes. Though his vision was blurry, he was able to easily make out Therion’s form as he stood next to his bed.

“Hgn. Huh?” Alfyn murmured as he sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from his bleary eyes. “Did I sleep in?”

“You did,” Therion answered with a tinge of concern in his voice. “Primrose saved you some breakfast though.”

Therion motioned over to a table the was located under the window. And sure enough, a plate of food was seen. “Shucks, that’s nice of her. I must have been more tired than I thought.”

Therion simply nodded his head and took a step back to allow Alfyn to throw back his bed sheets and swivel around to sit himself on the edge of his bed. They fell into a comfortable silence after that, Alfyn finishing his breakfast before getting himself presentable for the day, while sat on his own bed and took the time to inspect his knives.

Alfyn mused to himself about what he should do for the day. He'd probably need to return to the orphanage to check on the kids. But there wasn't much else he could do for them. What he needed to do was to find a cure for.

Speaking of a cure, Alfyn’s thoughts drifted to the back he was gifted yesterday.

Wouldn't it be nice if that flower was true? It would heal those kids right up!

“So, Therion, still interested in learning about the Flower of Life?” Alfyn questioned with a grin and reached into his bag to poll out that roll of parchment.

“Fine,” Therion replied.

He stood up from his bed before he wandered over to Alfyn's. As Therion plopped himself down onto his bed, Alfyn instinctively lifted the parchment from his lap, which allowed Therion to drape his legs over his lap in their place. Once Therion was settled, Alfyn placed the map atop of Therion's legs to continue to study it.

It was always nice when they could relax, especially like this.

"So, what's this Flower of Life supposed to be, anyway?" Therion asked as he folded his arms behind his head to get himself really comfortable.

“Ahh, depends on who you ask” Alfyn said with a slight chuckle. “Supposedly, it can heal any and all illnesses. So, you can imagine an apothecary would love to get their hands on it.”

“I can imagine a few people would love to get their hands on it,” Therion commented rather dryly.

...Yeah, there were sure to be a few people who would take advantage of the flower for their own gain, huh?

“Still, it'd be real nice if the flower existed,” Alfyn murmured as he leaned back against the wall behind him. “Then I could help cure those kids.”

“If you can't, then neither will some flower.”

Alfyn had to smile. “Shucks, Therry.”

“Don't call me that.”

Alfyn chuckled but said no more. Simply allowed his head to loll back to rest on the wall as well, and closed his eyes. Just a few more moments like this before he returned to his apothecary duties.

He needed to help find a way to cure and help those kids. What if they were really turning to stone? Imagining them ending up like those eerie status at that unnerving garden? Their faces permanently twisted into expressions of pain and suffering.

...wait…

A loud, ear piercing scream suddenly tore through the inn. Alfyn sat up straight, his eyes wide as Therion leapt off the bed, knife in hand. The sound of doors slamming, both open and closed echoed, followed by the sound of rushing footsteps.

“The hells was that?” Alfyn questioned as he pushed himself off the bed.

Therion didn't immediately respond. “Tch,” he finally uttered. “Too early for this shit.”

As Therion headed for the door, Alfyn promptly followed, wondering if he should grab his own weapon. But decided against it as everyone else was likely to have theirs. Instead he reached for his satchel and donned that instead. His companions should be able to handle any battles, he’d be more useful in case someone was injured.

Rushing out of the room and down the stairs, they found the rest of their travelling companions. Cyrus appeared to be speaking seriously with both Olberic and H’annit. The two suddenly nodded, turned on their heels and dashed quickly toward the entrance.

A few yards away from said front entrance were Primrose, Ophilia, and Tressa. And they appeared to be huddled around and ultimately comforting a young woman in the clothing of a maid. No doubt she was the house-keeper, or perhaps even innkeeper. And she was clearly distressed.

“Cyrus?” Alfyn questioned as he and Therion quickly, but cautiously made their way to where the scholar stood in front of the open room, of which appeared to be the epicentre of what was occurring. “What happened?”

Wait, that room…?

Cyrus’ expression was grim as he tilted his head toward the room. “It appears as though the housemaid had stumbled across a rather...unfortunate scene.”

Alfyn glanced into the room and felt his heart drop into his stomach. The man, Mr Jolly Drunkard, was…dead. Obviously so. P-pinned to the wall of his room with a sword to his chest. Blood splattered around him, dripping to the floor, pooling at his feet. His eyes…were wide and vacant. Mouth open as if in surprise…

“No...” Alfyn whispered.

“What?” Therion questioned as he peered into the room as well.

“I was...just talking to him last night!” Alfyn explained as he finally tore his gaze away from the terrible sight, his stomach lurching at the thought of what he had endured before…he died. “I helped him to the inn. Too drunk to walk straight. Who would...?”

Gods, he hoped that it was quick. For his sake…

“It’s clear to see that we have a murder mystery on our hands,” Cyrus said. “On top of that mysterious plague of yours.”

Alfyn swallowed hard at that. “Y-yeah…”

Just what was going on here?

Chapter Text

Alfyn was still in a state of shock of what had seemingly just occurred when Olberic and H'annit returned to the inn. Their expressions were professionally stoic, but it was easy to get the sense they were not the slightest bit happy.

“Thither appeareth to beest no one of note outside,” H'annit explained, Linde at her feet, also looking rather agitated and restless. “Could those who art responsible has't escaped another way?”

Cyrus took a moment to cast a cautionary glance around them before he sighed. “Well, the windows and the back exit are also possible.”

“They’d be long gone now,” Therion piped up from where he stood near Alfyn, back against the wall, arms folded over his chest. “It’s possible they’ve even fled the village.”

After doing something so heinous? Yeah, made a lot of sense really.

“True,” Cyrus conceded. “All that we can do for now is perhaps learn of the motive behind this act.”

“I will assist Cyrus with his investigation,” Olberic immediately offered, no doubt eager to be of help somehow.

H’annit nodded her headed before she patted her thigh, prompting Linde to stand up beside her. “Then I wilt beest sure to keepeth an eye out for anything suspicious.”

“Yes, please do. Let us know of anything that comes up,” Cyrus requested with a tone of gratitude.

“Of course,” H'annit replied simply before she disappeared outside.

With Primrose, Ophilia, and Tressa comforting the housemaid, it was left to the four guys of the group to inspect the murder scene.

Definitely not something Alfyn was looking forward to.

Alfyn stayed outside the room with Therion as Cyrus and Olberic inspected the room for anything of note. And there was a lot to inspect. The room was a mess. Alfyn was certain it didn't look like that last night. So that meant...

“The room appears to have been ransacked,” Olberic commented, virtually taking the words right out of Alfyn's head.

“So, the murderer was looking for something,” Cyrus quickly deduced. “But were they interrupted and killed the victim in a panic? Or was the victim murdered first and then the room searched?”

That was certainly a good question.

After they looked everywhere they could, next came the unfortunate task of...removing the murder weapon and lying the victim on the floor for inspection. Alfyn had to pinch his eyes shut when Olberic reached for the sword, and the squishy, wet sound of steel moving through flesh followed.

Alfyn wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to that sound.

When he opened his eyes again, the poor guy had been finally removed from the wall and carefully placed onto the floor. The guys eyes were frozen open, though completely void of any life. Just the lingering feeling of utter terror.

Cyrus took a moment to look over the body grimly before he turned his head to give Alfyn a sympathetic and apologetic look. “I'm sorry, Alfyn, but could you...?”

Yeah, it would make sense that he be the one to inspect the body. He would know a little a more about the human body than the others.

“I prefer to work with the living, but I guess I could give him the once over,” Alfyn replied with a tight smile before he added. “For you.”

“You have my gratitude,” Cyrus said simply before he took a step back to allow Alfyn room to work.

Ensuring that he wasn't going to be standing in the guy's blood, Alfyn crouched down next to the man he had spoken with just last night. He remembered how much of a happy drunk he was. Easy going. Not troublesome at all. Why would anyone…?

Alfyn shook his head to clear it in order to get into the grim mindset of inspecting the victim of a murder.

Single but large wound to the chest. Entry and exit wound. Consistent to the sword, so that was obviously the murder weapon. It pierced the heart, killing him instantly. So, he hadn't suffered...much. Not for very long at least.

The blood was fresh and the body was just starting to deteriorate, so it had to have occurred only an hour or so ago. No more. The blood from his mouth was likely from the reaction of coughing up blood when the sword brutally sliced through his ribs, heart, and lungs. But he had better check to ensure there wasn't another injury.

Carefully placing his hands on either side of the guy's face, he slowly pried his mouth apart. Filled with blood, dark and clotting. It wasn't remotely pleasant. But there was something missing.

“...Egads.”

Cyrus walked to stand near him. “What is it?”

“His tongue is missing,” Alfyn replied with a wince and pulled his hands back. “Cut clean out of his mouth.”

“Is that so?” Cyrus sounded surprised.

“And I think I've found it.”

Alfyn immediately turned to look over where Therion's voice originated. And he couldn't help but wince again when he pulled the room door away from the wall to reveal a knife embedded into the wood. Where it was used to pin an obviously human tongue there…

“Disturbing,” Cyrus murmured as he held his chin in his famous pondering pose.

Shucks, Cyrus, that was a bit of an understatement!

“Clearly, that is a symbolic gesture,” Cyrus continued.

Yeah that would make sense actually. “To keep your trap shut?” Alfyn asked.

Cyrus nodded his head, still in his pondering pose. “Yes. Clearly, someone took a dislike to whatever he had said. Or knew.”

A shiver suddenly raced down Alfyn's spine and he glanced over at Therion's direction, only to find him also looking back at him. He probably reached the same question as he did. “Therion? You think-?”

“Too much of a coincidence, I guess,” Therion replied tersely.

“What is it, Alfyn?” Cyrus immediately questioned. “You looked disturbed. Far more than previously.”

Alfyn pushed himself to his feet as he wiped the blood from his hands with a cloth. “I...I think I might know why he was murdered.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll show you.”

Without waiting for Cyrus to question him what he meant, Alfyn hurried from the room and up the stairs to his room. Took two steps at a time, silently worried that the map he had just been looking at had somehow disappeared.

Thankfully, though, as he entered his room, the rolled-up piece of parchment was seen on his bed. Exactly where he had placed it in his haste to grab his bag and follow Therion toward the scream.

He uttered a sigh of relief and snatched up the parchment quickly. He turned on his heel and walked out into the hallway again. As he made his way down the stairs, he noted that everyone of their group had re-joined and where talking amongst themselves in front of the fireplace in the inn’s reception. Their interest or concerned must have been piqued when Alfyn made a hasty dash up the stairs.

“Here,” Alfyn called out as he made his way over to them. When he reached the wooden table located in front of the fireplace, he unfurled the parchment and laid it out before everyone.

“A map?” Cyrus questioned as he studied the map closely, the others also leaning against the table to do the same.

“Supposedly leading to something called the Flower of Life,” Alfyn explained.

While the others of the party gave him puzzled looks, Ophilia seemed to recognised the meaning and an expression of surprise spread across her face. “Flower of Life…”

“It's known by several names, if I remember right,” Alfyn continued. “Ambrosia of the Gods. Angel Bloom. Flower of Life is the most common, though.”

Cyrus furrowed his brow slightly, no doubt trying to sort through his memories to find why the phase seemed somewhat familiar to him. “I remember seeing the phrase numerous times in my own studies. Yet, I must admit I know little of the legends.”

“Ain't much to the legends, Professor,” Alfyn replied as he leaned back away from the table to allow the others to get a good look at the map themselves. “They say it's a flower that grows in the harshest of environments and is said to cure any illness. Others say that it's been hidden away in an invisible temple, guarded by a long-forgotten tribe, and only those of virtue can enter the temple. No different from any other legend, really.”

Honestly, there were probably a few more versions of the flower, but that was the gist of it.

“Hmm...Someone clearly believes in the legend enough to murder,” Cyrus pondered aloud before he shifted his gaze to look directly at Alfyn, curiosity in his gaze. “Why do you have it?”

Alfyn scratched the back of his neck. “It’s apparently a copy. You see, I helped out a friendly ol’ drunk to his room last night and he gave me this as thanks,” he explained, his heart paining slightly at the realisation that he was likely the last person to see him alive.

Well, other than the murderer, of course.

As he thought back, though, he remembered something peculiar. That strange moment of clarity from someone so clearly drunk.

“He…also mentioned something about steering clear of someone called Lord and Lady of Divine Authority.”

Ophilia lifted her gaze from the map to give Alfyn a puzzled look. “Divine Authority? I’ve never heard of such a thing. Who was he talking about?”

Alfyn shook his head. “I don’t know. And…well he certainly can’t tell us now.”

They fell into a tense silence after that, all of them lost in their own thoughts trying to understand all that had happened. For Alfyn, he was still stunned with the knowledge that someone he had helped out last night had been brutally murdered that very morning. It almost didn't seem real.

And no one had heard a thing until the maid screamed when she found him. That made the whole thing even scarier.

“Perhaps it would be best for us to search for this flower?” Olberic suddenly suggested. “To perhaps learn for ourselves whether or not it truly exists, and if it would be worth murdering for. And, if for nothing else than sedating our own curiosity.”

That made sense in a way. And if the flower actually existed? That would be amazing.

“I gotta admit, I am curious to see if this flower exists,” Alfyn said. “Imagine the salves I could create with it.”

“I'm curious also,” Cyrus admitted. “Though if someone was desperate enough to murder a man in such cold blood, in an inn full of guests, then we can expect trouble along the way.”

Therion sighed and rested a hand on his hip. “Guess I'm going, too.”

Alfyn was relieved to hear that and shot him a grin. “Curious, too, Therry?”

“Don't call me that,” Therion retorted dismissively. “And no. I'm only going to keep you out of trouble.”

Alfyn tried to appear indignant, but he couldn't wipe the grin from his lips. “Hey now, I'm not that bad.”

Rather unfairly, Therion snorted and shook his head. “Besides, it looks as if we have to venture through that stupid garden again,” he said as he motioned toward the map.

“Oh?” Alfyn said questioningly and turned his gaze to the map also. Sure enough, the red dotted trail led them to and through the Garden of Unease. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I, of course will also accompany you on this endeavour,” Olberic stated. “After all, it was my suggestion.”

“Well, the four of you should be enough,” Primrose commented. “Anymore and it might arouse suspicion.”

Yeah, it was probably best for them to try keep a low profile.

“The rest us shall stay within the village then,” Ophilia added and turned to give Alfyn a reassuring smile. “I will watch over the children in your place, Alfyn.”

“Shucks, that's a weight off of my mind, Philly,” Alfyn immediately returned the smile. “They'll be in good hands with you.”

Ophilia brightened at Alfyn's confidence in her, while H'annit frowned slightly, perhaps not all that pleased that they were separating when there was a cold-blooded murderer still roaming about.

“While thee art on this treasure hunt, as t wast, I wilt explore this village further,” H'annit announced. “I hazard a guess that thither is more than what is seen on the surface.”

Having H'annit keeping an eye on things was also greatly reassuring.

“Can I join ya?” Tressa asked, almost desperately. Likely wishing for some way to help.

H’annit nodded her head. “Very well, if 't be true that is what thee wish to doth.”

Seemed as though everyone had a plan for the day.

“Shall we get ready then?” Cyrus questioned.

Alfyn nodded his head. “No time like the present.”

It didn't take the three of them very long to get ready. All Alfyn needed to do was to grab his axe. He was going to need it, especially when they reached the Garden of Unease. And likely whatever they face beyond that.

With everything they needed for the impromptu treasure hunt gathered, the four guys stood outside the inn with Primrose and Ophilia.

“Be careful,” Primrose warned, an expression of barely restrained concern on her face. “If you’re not back before dawn tomorrow, we will begin our own search.”

“Sounds completely reasonable,” Cyrus was swift to reply. “It eases our minds knowing that you will have our backs should anything go awry.”

“Oh, before I go,” Alfyn muttered as he took a moment to dig around in his satchel and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He then handed it to Ophilia. “Here.”

Ophilia took the paper from him, her curious expression swiftly changing to that of surprise. “Hm? Oh, this is...?”

“Yeah, it's the recipe for that salve I used to help those kids,” Alfyn replied with a smile. “I still don't know the true origin of that poison, so I thought it's be best to write it down. Now, if anyone gets a grey rash, whip this salve up for them.”

Ophilia looked nervous. “A-are you sure I should-?”

“Of course!” Alfyn interrupted. “Ain't no one better. It'll be fine, Philly. Just follow the instructions and you’ll be golden. Take care of everyone for me.”

Ophilia managed to give a shy smile, but she also appeared honoured about his trust in her. “Of course, Alfyn.”

Alfyn nodded his head before he turned his attention to the dancer next to her. “And you take care of Philly, Prim.”

“Needless to say,” Primrose replied simply before she turned her eyes in Therion s direction. “Therion?”

Curiously, Therion nodded his head in understanding. “Yeah, yeah.”

With nothing more that needed to be said, they parted ways. All they could do now was follow the map and hope they were ready for any danger that awaited them.

Chapter Text

The streets were just as empty as they were yesterday. And after what happened that morning, it was a little unnerving. Alfyn couldn’t help but wonder if the others got the feeling that this village should more...bustling than it was. Sure, there was a toxin of some kind plaguing the village, but shouldn't there...be more people trying to help?

Maybe he was just projecting his own beliefs…

Never mind that for now. He had other things to think about. For starters, getting through that Garden of Unease again.

They paused outside the gates of the abandoned manor, taking the time to examine the map and for Cyrus and Olberic to gaze upon the overgrown garden and statues dotted throughout the thorny vines and long-forgotten roses.

“So, this is the Garden of Unease,” Cyrus murmured. “Strange that such a place is here.”

“You encountered bones here, yes?” It was pretty obvious that Olberic wasn’t as entranced with the place as Cyrus was.

“Yep,” Alfyn replied. “About six of them, I think. Or was that eight?”

“Tch, hope we don’t encounter any today. So not in the mood for them,” Therion commented dryly, causing Alfyn to chuckle lightly, sympathising with him completely.

“Well, according to this map we’ll need to find that water feature again. And then it’s west from there,” Alfyn explained as he rolled up the parchment and placed it back into his satchel.

He then grabbed onto his axe while Olberic took hold of his sword. With the two of them, they should be able to hack and slash their way through the vines and thorns much easier.

It still took them a good few minutes to make their way through the dense, overgrown garden, though. And as they stepped out into the clearing that held the disused water feature, Alfyn only breathed a small sigh of relief.

...Huh...There appeared to be less statues that there were yesterday? Of course, he wasn’t keeping count, so he wasn’t completely sure. It just felt less.

Nah, he was just creeping himself out. Still on high alert after what happened that morning.

Anyway, if he remembered correctly, they had to now head west. Where another seemingly impenetrable wall of thorns and vines awaited them. So, he simply readjusted his grip on his axe and lead Olberic toward the natural formation.

After another few minutes of hacking and slashing, dotted with the occasional cuss word as thorns hitched onto their clothing, they came out through to the other side.

Thankfully, as they pushed through the last of the thorny vines and bushes, they stepped onto a long-forgotten path with foliage similar to those that surround the village. Tall trees, thick shrubbery, and the occasional mossy stone or two. The canopy was near impenetrable, allowing only the scantest of light to filter through.

And the best part? No deranged statues!

They once again paused to regain their bearings and Alfyn pulled out the map once more. “Apparently there is a hidden path north of here. Hidden behind a natural formation of green?”

“Probably a large boulder covered in moss that we’ll no doubt have to push aside or climb over,” Therion mumbled as he idly pulled the leaves and twigs from his clothing.

Alfyn chuckled as he rolled up the map and placed it back into his bag once more. “Sounds about right.”

“Well, after a quick cautionary glance, I believe that could be the structure the map is alluding to,” Cyrus suddenly said.

Alfyn immediately turned to look in Cyrus’ direction and found the scholar carefully pushing his way through the low-line shrubs. He quickly moved to follow, stumbling over the foliage slightly. A few steps in, he soon realised what it was that caught Cyrus’ attention.

And it was rather unusual.

It was a large chunk of stone, standing upright and flat like it had been carved from somewhere else and placed here for a particular purpose. It both blended in with the natural surroundings, and yet looked out of place. It was covered in moss, the deep green kind that indicated that it had been standing like this for some years.

And yet it appeared as if some of the moss had been recently disturbed.

“Well, it’s not a boulder, but it’s roughly the same size of one,” Cyrus commented as he inspected the structure, his lips pressed into a tight frown.

“There’s nothing else of note around here, so this must be what the map is leading us to,” Olberic added.

Therion looked rather suspicious, though still nodded his head in agreement. “Whatever it is, we need to get around it.”

Alfyn moved to stand near Cyrus and inspected the structure himself. “It looks like a door almost. Maybe we can just push it open?”

Carefully, Alfyn raised his hand and pressed it against the moss-covered stone. It felt cool to the touch, the moss quite soft. Fresh. Harmless, which was good. He pressed his palm firmly against the structure and gave a very light, very cautionary push.

It...seemed to move a little.

So, he lifted his other hand and pressed it against the stone as well. He hesitated for a moment before he pressed his lips together and pushed as hard as he could.

And he almost fell flat on his face when the structure, made of stone, just pivoted back like a regular ol’ door on hinges. Its movements were easy. It just glided open. And as it swung open, it barely disturbed the nature around it.

It...didn’t appeared to be attached to anything. It just looked like a huge chunk of stone. How was it able to function like a door?

“...Well, that was easier than expected,” Alfyn murmured.

“Very much so,” Cyrus commented softly as he walked through the opening, careful in his steps, and critical in his visual inspection.

“You mean suspiciously so,” Therion added.

“That as well.”

“Whatever it may appear to be, it is what the map is pointing us to,” Olberic stated as he strode through the opening, his gaze carefully inspecting their new surroundings. “And so far, it’s been right. Let us continue. I’ll take the lead.”

Ah, ol’ Olberic was feeling especially protective it seemed. That was fine. It was reassuring, even.

With Olberic taking the lead, his shoulders and back tense, his blade within reach for the slightest threat, they walked together in silence. They would have to ponder about the strangeness of the structure-turned-door later.

The path gave the impression that it hadn’t been touched in years, yet it was obvious that someone, or something, had been here recently. The grass had been disturbed and pushed down by someone walking across it. Some low-hanging branches had also been disturbed, broken, and with twigs littering the ground.

Could...that guy from the inn had been here after all? No, he couldn’t have. The thorns in the garden had been undisturbed. They had to literally hack and slash their way through!

Alfyn couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. The thought that maybe the person who had killed that poor guy at the inn had been on this very path. Perhaps even with them currently.

And it appeared that he wasn’t the only one unnerved. It didn't take him long to realise that Therion was sticking close to him. It wasn't overly obvious of course, but he was purposely ensuring that they were no more than a couple of feet apart at all times.

Comforting and yet a little unnerving. Especially when Therion kept looking behind them, a subtly agitated look on his face.

“Therion?” Alfyn questioned softly. “You keep looking back. You hear something?”

Therion didn’t answer at first, too busy gazing over his shoulder. He soon made a low noise of annoyance and turned his gaze to face him. “...I’m not sure.”

Alfyn simply nodded his head and chose not to say or ask anything more. Instead he turned his gaze forward, only to walk straight into Olberic’s back when he came to an abrupt stop before him. And, ouch, walking into Olberic’s tense back felt like walking into a wall.

Surprised, Alfyn rubbed his nose with his hand as he took a step back. “Eh, Boss?”

“The path seems to have reached an end,” Olberic replied simply.

Alfyn tilted to the side to look around him, and sure enough nothing but a sheer cliffside stood before him. Going straight up. Huh? Better check the map. “Well, the map leads directly to here. So, there must be something hidden around here.”

“Let’s split up and search, then,” Olberic instructed. “But don’t wander too far.”

Honestly, with the thick shrubbery that surrounded them, anything or anyone could be hidden out here. And it would be easy for any one of them to get lost. Better stay within sight of each other just in case.

They fell into silence again as they inspected their surroundings. It wasn’t exactly easy, though. They hadn’t a clue what they were looking for. Where they looking for a single flower? Or were they looking for another structure. If they were going by one of the legends, then the flower was located inside a sealed vault. But if they went by another, then the flower was located in an area of harsh terrain.

Not to mention that there were plenty of other forest flowers around them. Sure, Alfyn knew what they were, but honestly the map could be indicating to them for all they knew.

“Hmm…”

Alfyn snapped himself out of his thoughts when he heard Therion murmur something not far from where he was. “Anything Therion?” he called out.

Keeping his gaze forward, Therion nodded his head. “I see a structure up ahead.”

“What kind of structure” Alfyn asked as he made his way over to him.

“It...looks almost like another door,” Therion answered as he indicated to the area in front of him.

As Alfyn turned to look himself, he noted that not too far off in the distance was indeed something quite out of place in the natural foliage. Even under the low light of the forest, it seemed to glow ever so slightly.

Whether this map was leading to the legendary flower or not, it was definitely leading them to something.

Bringing his hand to his mouth, Alfyn let out a sharp whistle to catch both Cyrus and Olberic’s attention. It too only a matter of moments for the two to reunite with them, and the four of them, carefully once more, headed toward the new and mysterious structure.

As they pushed through the foliage, it opened up into a clearing. One that was littered with smooth stones that jutted up from the ground. They, too, were covered in moss. But it was the strange carving in the sheer cliff face that had their full attention. It was around the same size as that moss-covered door they had encountered previously, yet it was the colour of sandstone, and was set in an obvious archway.

And upon the door was a round carving, section off into four different parts. Enclaves indicating that something needed to be placed inside of each. Maybe?

“Hmm,” Cyrus murmured as he immediately made a beeline toward the door, though he was still rather careful in his steps. “The door must lead deeper into the hillside.” 

“Or it’s one tiny temple,” Therion couldn’t help but comment sarcastically.

However, it seemed to go right over Cyrus’ head as he simply nodded. “Indeed. Now, our next task is to find a way to open this door. I presume there’s a trick. Let’s us search the area, but for the sake of caution, don’t touch anything. There might be traps.”

Right, better get to searching then.

Once more, they parted ways, but kept within sight of each other just in case anything should arise. They needed to move cautiously, though. Cyrus might be right. There might be something hidden here. The last thing they needed was to stumble into a trap of some kind. Especially being so close.

A sharp stone jutting out of the ground caught Alfyn’s attention. It had a light layer of moss upon it, but it only covered half of it. And from what was visible, he could see something written there. At least an engraving of some kind.

“Professor? I found some kind of writing.”

Cyrus was by his side in an instant. He crouched down in front of the stone and ever so carefully brushed aside some of the moss. “Let me see. "Enter the Chamber of Healing". They also refer to something called Aeracura Blossom. Perhaps another name for the Flower of Life?”

Alfyn scratched the back of his neck for a moment. “That's a new one to me.”

“Something is definitely inside,” Cyrus murmured, more to himself than directly to Alfyn.

“Hey, I found something else,” Therion called out.

Not more than a few feet away, Therion stood before a tall stone monument of some kind. It appeared to have been hidden behind thick vines and branches. But Therion had cut them away, revealing markings and engravings similar to the ones on the stone that Alfyn found.

“A rune stone?” Cyrus questioned as they gathered before Therion’s findings.

And, lucky for them, Cyrus was able to read this rune stone as well. “Hmm, I think it states how one can enter the chamber. Four items are needed to be gathered and placed on the door.”

“Great, another treasure hunt. Why am I not surprised?” Therion muttered under his breath.

“Not necessarily so,” Cyrus replied, however. “Four elements are needed. And the one of virtue must place them upon the door in order for it to open.”

“So, we need to gather something from nature around us?” Alfyn questioned as he idly glanced at their surroundings.

Cyrus nodded his head. “Yes. Yes, I believe so. Something that depicts ice, fire, air, and strangely enough, steel.”

Alfyn was glad and honestly relieved to have the professor with them. There was no way they’d know what to do without him.

“Ice, fire, and steel will be easy enough, but what represents air?” Therion asked. “I don’t think just breathing on the door will work.”

“...Indeed.”

“Let us search for the three that we can,” Olberic suggested. “Perhaps the door itself will lead to a clue or two.”

That sounded reasonable.

“Ice should be rather easy to create,” Cyrus offered.

“Setting something on fire is easy work, too,” Therion added.

“Maybe we could sacrifice an old piece of blade or a knife?” Olberic questioned. “Otherwise we’ll need to find a piece of ore of some kind.”

Well, that was three out of four. But what about the air part?

A small white butterfly suddenly drifted past Alfyn’s face and an idea occurred to him. “Hmm...Hey. What about a butterfly for air?”

Cyrus turned to give him a curious look before his eyes also followed the butterfly. “Hmm...no harm in trying.”

It was surprisingly easy for Alfyn to catch said butterfly. He simply held out his hand and curiously, it landed on his finger. So, he carefully cupped his hands around it to ensure it didn’t fly away.

A little odd, but hey, he wasn’t going to complain.

“Well, all we need to do now is to place these things on the door, right?”

“From what the rune stone depicts, yes,” Cyrus answered. “But let’s be cautious nevertheless.”

They’ve been pretty cautious already, but he had a point.

“Alfyn should be the one,” Therion suddenly stated. Not suggested, stated.

And Cyrus immediately nodded his head. “Agreed.”

Alfyn blinked at them, startled. “Huh? Oh, ok.”

He wasn’t sure why he had to be the one, but he was sure Therion and Cyrus had their reasons. Perhaps there was something more written on the rune stone? Well, he supposed it didn’t really matter in the end. They had to at least try. Maybe one of them at a time. Yeah, that sounded right.

He waited for Cyrus to use his skills to create a reasonable chunk of ice, and for Therion to set a piece of stick on fire, while Olberic inspected their surroundings for anything that could be used to represent steel. And with the butterfly in Alfyn’s hands, they were all set to have a go at that door.

He really hoped that it would work. To think that it might actually lead him to the Flower of Life.

What if it was actually real? Shucks, he wouldn’t know how he would feel! It was honestly quite exciting!

He was still rather nervous, though. And his heart fluttered slightly when Alfyn stood before the large stone door that supposedly lead to a place called the Chamber of Healing. In the very centre of the door was a circle engraved into the stone, and the circle was partitioned off into four sections. And now that he stood before it, he could see symbols within those sections.

Those symbols were immediately recognisable. They stood for ice, fire, wind, and a knife, oddly enough.

The butterfly fluttered in his hand, so Alfyn turned his attention to the wind symbol. With his nervousness increasing, he raised his hands and carefully placed the white butterfly within the enclave.

The butterfly fluttered from his hands and seemed to happily perch upon the stone. As it did so, the wind symbol engraved behind it flickered a light green colour. It flashed a few more times before the light glowed brightly and strong. And stayed that way.

“Ah, something happened,” Alfyn said as he glanced over his shoulder.

“Yes, it seems to be working,” Cyrus encouraged as he pushed the ball of ice he created toward him. “Try the other materials.”

Alfyn nodded his head and took the ice from him. He turned back to the door and immediately, and with a bit more confidence before, placed the ice within its appointed slot. And like with the wind one, the ice symbol flashed a light blue.

Next came the flame. Olberic was the one to give him the piece of wood that had been set alight. And like the two previous times, as soon as Alfyn placed it within the door, the fire symbol flared, shimmer similarly to the fire he had just placed there.

Now...it was the knife’s turn.

“Here,” Therion suddenly presented Alfyn with a knife. One of his knives. “Used this.”

Alfyn immediately realised the significance of the gesture and he gave Therion a grateful look. “Thanks, Therion.”

Therion shrugged and took a step back while Alfyn turned back to the door. He drew in a deep breath and then placed the knife within the final slot. For a split second, nothing seemed to happen. But then the slot holding the knife seemed to shimmer with a strange silver light.

One by one each of the enclaves glowed brightly.

The stone door suddenly shook. Not violently by any means, but enough for small pieces of stone to tumble down from the archway. There was then the loud sound of stone grinding against stone as the door pushed in. It was then somehow pulled to the side, revealing a set of stone stairs that lead deep into a seemingly impenetrable darkness.

“It opened?” Alfyn murmured in surprise.

“Amazing,” Cyrus said as he peered inside. No doubt as eager as Alfyn was to explore inside.

“Careful,” Therion warned them though. “It’s pitched black inside. Let’s get a lantern going first.”

Also being cautious, Olberic moved to stand in front of Alfyn and Cyrus. “More than reasonable. But allow me to go first. In case anything should happen.”

Throwing themselves into the complete unknown probably wasn't a good idea. But hey, they had been alright so far. Besides, there was no turning back now.

It only took them a few moments to get the lantern ready. And with Olberic at the front, as per usual, they slowly descended the stairs.

Inside of the chamber was quiet. No rushing water, no howling wind. Just the sound of their footsteps against stone. There was a decidedly fresh smell to the air, though, mixing with the stagnant air. The chamber hadn't been opened in a very long time.

As Olberic lifted the lantern high, it revealed a set of stairs that spiralled downwards toward an open and flat area. Though the light didn't reveal everything, it did offer a tantalizing glimpse of something located in the centre of that open chamber.

Though Alfyn was oh-so eager to get his butt down there and check out whatever was been kept there, he knew that they couldn't afraid to rush or be complacent. It felt like ages when they finally reached the bottom step.

And as they walked into the middle of the room, Alfyn felt a gasp past his lips. In the very centre, where a circle was carved into the floor, grew a plant. Tall, large, a deep green with a bud that had yet to unfurl. It actually stood about four feet tall. It was so, so different to any plant of flower Alfyn had ever known or seen. He couldn't even recall seeing anything like it in his books!

“This is...?” Alfyn breathed as he immediately moved to approach the plant.

“My word, I wasn't expecting this,” Cyrus murmured. “Is that...?”

“I ain't seen anything like it before,” Alfyn stated as he walked around the plant, carefully studying it, even in the dim lighting. The deep green of the stem and leaves was quite stunning. The stem was also unusual large. Perhaps the thickness of his arm.

“Wait, is it safe?” Therion asked.

Good question. Only one way to find out. “Let's see…”

With one hand gripping the strap of his satchel, Alfyn slowly reached out toward the flower with his other. He simultaneously thought of the ingredients that would be needed for a possible poisoning, and carefully inspecting the plant for any signs of it being dangerous.

Flower and plant monsters were a thing, unfortunately.

But as his fingertips brushed against the oversized bod, the plant suddenly twitched, prompting Alfyn to take a large step back in surprise. And for the others to tense, and ready themselves for a possible battle.

Instead, though, the bud began to shake before suddenly, and surprisingly, unfurled before them. Large, luscious petals of a beautiful mixture of purple and blue unfurled before him. Opening up to him, almost.

...It was beautiful. He had never, ever seen a flower like it.

“It...opened up. Could this really be-?”

Was the Flower of Life actually real?

“Of course!”

Alfyn about jumped a foot in the air at the sound of a new and loud voice. “Wha-?” he uttered out in surprise and whipped around in the direction he believed the voice came from.

There, at the top of the stairs and in the doorway, someone appeared. Despite the way the light flooded in around them, Alfyn knew who it was instinctively. It was Henry, the apothecary from the orphanage. And with him were a couple of silent and hooded figures.

“Thank you so very much for leading us here, my boy!” Henry suddenly said loudly and cheerfully. Almost congratulatory in a way. “We’ve been searching for this flower for years! I knew you could do it. The moment I met you I knew you were special.”

Alfyn gaped at him while the others grew tense with suspicion and agitation. “How-?” 

“Ah, that will come later,” Henry grinned as he reached both hands into the pockets of his coat. He pulled a large glass bottle out of his left pocket, while a thick cloth was pulled from the other.

“The rest of you, however, have outlived your purpose,” Henry said as he lifted the cloth to his face while he seemed to idly toss the glass jar into the air. “Now, let us go, Alfyn.”

As the glass shattered onto the ground directly in front of the, the smell of sleepweed was the last thing that Alfyn registered before it all went dark.

Chapter Text

Primrose couldn't help but feel uneasy as she and Ophilia entered the orphanage. The event that had occurred just an hour or so ago was likely the reason why. Yet, she felt a slight sense of trepidation form in her chest when the large wooden doors shut loudly behind them.

“Welcome!” Beatrice promptly greeted them. She had been expecting them, obviously.

And she appeared completely unaware of what had occurred at the inn.

“I am grateful for your return,” Beatrice said warmly as she took Ophilia's hands in hers. “The children have taken quite the liken to you!” She turned to give Primrose a welcoming smile also, however her enthusiasm dimmed ever so slightly as she glanced over Primrose's shoulder. “Oh, where’s sweet Alfyn?”

“Alfyn sends his apologies, but he was needed elsewhere,” Ophilia explained as she delicately pulled her hands back. “We had...an unfortunate event at the inn this morning.”

A flicker of concern appeared in Beatrice’s eyes. “My, what happened?”

Primrose decided it would be best to be as straightforward as possible. “Someone was killed in their room this morning.”

Beatrice released a startled gasp. She covered her mouth with her hand for a moment before dropping it to her chest to clutch at the top button of her blouse. “What? Oh, by the gods, that’s terrible! Do...do you happen to know who it was? Who committed such a terrible thing?”

“No, I’m afraid we don’t,” Primrose replied and gave her a reassuring look. “But we are looking into it.”

Beatrice didn't look fully reassured, as to be expected. “So, they’re...still out there then. My word…”

She fell silent after that. She continued to clutch at her blouse as her eyes suddenly flickered toward the roof. Clearly contemplating something. She chewed on her lip before uttering a sigh.

“Please excuse me, I must speak with my husband.”

“Of course,” Primrose immediately returned and earned a small smile in return.

Hitching up her skirt slightly, Beatrice turned away from them and hurried to the door at the back of the orphanage. Primrose waited until Beatrice was completely out of sight before she allowed a frown to appear on her lips.

That short conversation sounded completely normal, and her reaction to the news also appeared sincere. But she couldn't help but be hung up on the word ‘appeared’. She looked the part a little too well. She couldn't quite explain it, but something felt so...wrong about that woman.

She tried to push it to the back of her mind, however, as she and Ophilia set to the task of looking after and entertaining the children.

And yet, that brought a fresh wave of unease.

The children were acting far differently than they were yesterday. Before Alfyn gave them the salve to cure their fevers, they were fussy and restless. After the salve, they were still rather fussy, but not as restless. Energetic, perhaps.

But now...they were lifeless.

Beatrice didn’t say anything about their conditions deteriorating overnight. She didn’t appear concerned at all. Their previous conversation was brief, true. But surely, she would have said something?

Primrose did not like their situation one little bit.

Taking Ophilia by the elbow, Primrose pulled her aside, away from the children. “Do these children feel...strange to you?” she asked her softly.

“Strange?” Ophilia gave her a puzzled look. She glanced over at the children before turning back. “You mean...besides the illness they all share?”

“They…” Primrose paused for a moment to try to find the right words. “They don't act like independent children.”

Ophilia blinked. “I'm not sure I understand.”

“Their words. Their actions. They say they love their matron, but…” Primrose trailed off to glance over at the children once more. Only to feel a chill race up her spine upon realising that the children stood together, turned toward them. Their expressions blanked. Their eyes unblinking as they stared.

Ophilia must have turned to look also as she released a soft gasp. “P-Prim? Prim, what's going on?”

Primrose shook her head. “I don't know. Children shouldn't have eyes like that.”

Unease formed in the pit of her stomach as a young girl, dragging a teddy bear, wandered almost...menacingly toward them.

Primrose hid her nervousness with a smile and crouched down before the child. “Sweetie? Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

Primrose’s smile immediately fell at the cold, empty tone that came from the child. She knew this young girl. She had spoken with her just yesterday. She had a high pitched, almost giggly voice. Absolutely nothing like it was now. “...Oh, that's good,” was literally all she could manage to utter in response.

The girl kept her unnerving, unwavering gave on Primrose as she stood straight and unconsciously stood in front of Ophilia.

“We love our mother and father, Lady and Lord of Divine Authority,” the young girl suddenly and coldly uttered.

“D-divine authority?” Ophilia stuttered with a gasp.

Primrose felt her stomach clench. Lord and Lady of Divine Authority was the very thing that the murder victim had warned Alfyn about hours before he died. Hours before he was brutally murdered. “...I see.”

“Prim?” Ophilia whispered as she huddled against her back.

“Yes, I know,” Primrose murmured in response. “There’s something terribly wrong. We best leave.”

But as they turned toward the front doors, they quickly realised that the other children had gathered there. Essentially blocking the exit.

“You can't leave,” another young girl spoke, her voice also as empty and could. “Mother won't like that.”

“Mother wants you to stay.”

“She says you can be our big sisters.”

“You'll stay and play with us, won't you?”

...Beatrice obviously planned this. She, and her husband more likely than not, was involved in that murder. They have had to be. It was all too much of a coincidence to be anything else.

“Primrose?” Ophilia whispered to her. “What should we do?”

They may only be just children, but that was the problem. There was no way neither she nor Ophilia could ever harm a child. And the children themselves weren't acting like ordinary children.

...There might be something they could do.

“You still have the recipe Alfyn gave you?” Primrose asked, not daring to take her eyes off the children.

Ophilia was silent as she shuffled around in her bag for a moment. “Yes, I do.”

“Good. Let's...treat these kids while we can. Maybe we can learn something when they're coherent again.”

“O-ok.”

Placing a well-practiced smile on her lips, Primrose carefully moved toward the children. “Now, little ones, who wants to play?”

… … … … …

Tressa followed H’annit through the streets of the village, Linde by her side. She subconsciously grasped at the straps of her bag as she peered around cautiously at her surroundings. The village itself was something she had seen before. Buildings sparsely laid out, distant from each other but still well within sight. The buildings kept and presentable, the paths maintained and besides a few weeds here or there, they were also presentable.

It was the lack of people outside, walking the paths, enjoying the sunlight, that was very unusual.

No street vendors. No villagers conducting errands. The weaponry and armoury shop itself was boarded up. It was just far too unusual for her to ignore.

And Tressa was certain that H’annit herself had also noticed. Of course, she would have. Who couldn’t? She knew that there was a strange illness ravishing the village. Supposedly at least. But surely someone needed to head out to do something. Gather food? Gather medicine? Heck, head outside for some fresh air!

Something else was definitely going on around here. Maybe that map Alfyn mentioned that morning had something to do with it?

Tressa shook her head slightly to ward off that uneasy feeling and quickened her steps to catch up to H’annit. “So, where are we going now?”

H'annit’s strides barely faltered as she kept her gaze forward, her brow furrowed ever so slightly. “I would to inspect the garden with mine own eyes. Something doth not feeleth hospitable.”

Garden? Oh, right. The Garden of Unease Aflyn and Therion mentioned. Honestly, though, the entire village gave off a sense of unease. So, the garden must be really “special”. She was a little hesitant to see the infamous garden for herself, but she was also insatiably curious.

Well, never ventured, nothing gained.

H’annit seemed to know where they were going, so Tressa fell back a step and fell silent. She soon noticed, however, that they were venturing toward the outskirts of town. The paths were becoming less worn, the buildings less presentable. The atmosphere also somehow grew thicker; the air smelt of damp grass and of dirt.

All too soon a tall building, at least three stories, loomed in from the distance. The building, decaying and covered in layers of moss and vines, was surrounded by a gate and wall of brick and iron. In the same state as the building.

There were thorny vines everywhere. That was no exaggeration. They blanketed the walls of both the building and the tall, stone security fence.

Tressa looked at the sight with dismay, and maybe even a little bit of disgust. “This is obviously the place, huh?”

The crease in H’annit’s furrowed brow deepened a tad further as she stood silently and inspected their surroundings also. “This looks bothersome,” she finally murmured as she pulled a knife from her belt and turned her attention toward Tressa. “Mayhaps thee would prefer to wait hither for me?”

Tressa immediately planted her hands on her hips and gave H’annit a disgruntled look. “You’re not going anywhere without me!”

“Very well,” H’annit replied as the corner of her mouth twitched into a small, half smile. “Thee may join me on this office. But stayeth close as I feeleth a presence near.”

H'annit then pulled out a second knife from somewhere and gave it to Tressa. She took it without a word, and though she said she would go anywhere with H'annit, that didn't mean she was looking forward to pushing her way through all those thorns. Firstly, because they were just going to snag on her back bag for sure, ruining it with jagged tears.

Secondly; um, ouch? Those thorns did not look remotely safe.

Even so, she couldn't back out now. She'd just have to get Alfyn to clean up the cuts and scrapes later.

Tressa gripped the handle of her knife tightly and promptly followed H'annit through an opening in the broken and warped iron gate. Thankfully, H'annit did most of the work, carving a path through the thorns. All Tressa needed to do was to hack at any of the vines that ensnared her bag and clothes, and keep an eye on H'annit so she didn't lose track of her.

It would be a total nightmare to get lost in a maze of vines. Thorny vines at that. Thorny vines in a place that felt dark and oppressive.

It wasn't called the Garden of Unease for nothing.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the near impenetrable walls of vines gave way to a small clearing. The clearing was still overgrown of course, but manageable. It was probably a beautiful garden once. There was evidence of that. The stone benches, a rope swing hanging from a tree, the stone stepping stones.

It must have been grand back in the day. She couldn't help but wonder why such a large and beautiful place was abandoned. Maybe it was haunted?

Nah.

H'annit uttered a sigh as she sheathed her knife, though ensured it remained within reach. While H'annit carefully eyed of their new surroundings, Tressa took that time to pick out the thorns and dead leaves from her clothes and bag. Linde seemed to have gotten away unscathed, though. Good.

“This lodging is the Garden of Unease? Strange,” H'annit murmured to herself. “Such a lodging in a small village? Whoever could has't hath lived hither?”

Tressa had thought it really strange, too. But maybe the village was a town at one stage? Maybe that illness that had infected those kids was responsible?

As she settled her hat upon her head, Tressa glanced around at the area around them. She noted to herself that it felt unusually quiet. It didn't sound quiet, it just felt it. If that made any sense. Linde was likely to understand, if the low half whine, half growl from the cuddly feline companion was anything to go by.

A flash of white from the corner of her eye made Tressa stop and she turned to look fully in that direction. Amongst the vines and overgrown plants, and on the far side of the clearing, was a rectangular shaped object.

“Hey, what’s that?” Tressa questioned aloud and immediately moved towards it.

As she drew closer, she noted that there were a small flight of stairs leading to the large object. But what caught her attention the most was the fact that the object wasn't covered in vines or moss. Everything around was wild and untamed.

H'annit immediately followed her and as they reached the peculiar object, it soon became clear to the both of them.

“It appeareth to beest a coffin of sorts,” H'annit said in a confused tone. “In such a lodging?”

That would explain why it was relatively spotless. It was cared for. Some was caring for it. But how? Tressa and H'annit had to hack and slash their way through the forest of thorns to get here. Could there be another way in? Or was someone that dedicated in keeping this person's name alive that they fought through the thorns every day to attend to a coffin?

...Sheesh, she was starting to act like Cyrus!

Shaking her head, Tressa instead turned her focus to the grave. “Hmmm...it doesn’t look that old. A few years maybe. They were also really important to someone. Ya know, it doesn’t really match in with its surroundings, huh?”

H’annit nodded her head. “No, it doest not.”

Tressa idly trailed her fingertips across the stone structure. Hmm, the stone was quite sturdy. Definitely well taken care off. There were even signs of someone recently washing and removing the moss from the structure. It was extra sparkly around the nameplate.

“Sueanna,” Tressa read. “Someone’s daughter, you think?”

Again, H’annit nodded her head. It was obvious that she was listening, but her gaze was continuously searching their surroundings. “Aye, I believeth so.”

Tressa stepped away from the coffin and tilted her head back to look up at the building that seemed to tower over them threateningly. “I wonder why she’s all the way out here?”

H'annit didn't answer.

As Tressa gazed up at the mansion, she couldn't help but feel something just wasn't right. It was abandoned. That was what Cyrus said the villagers, those they were able to talk to at least, all said it was. Abandoned.

But she could swear that there was light coming from one of the windows.

“Um, hey, H’annit?”

“Hm?”

Tressa turned away from the building to look at H'annit. On the fear of sounding like Cyrus, she just had to tell her of a feeling she got. “This is just a theory, but...do you think whoever lies in this coffin is tied to the couple running the orphanage?”

H'annit tilted her head slightly as a wholly curios look appeared on her face. “Oh? And what hath brought thee to this conclusion?”

Tressa shrugged. “Well, it's just a hunch, ya know? Gotta trust your gut instinct, right?”

H'annit was silent for a moment as she considered her assumptions carefully. “Interesting,” she finally said as her gaze flickered over to the towering mansion. “Perhaps thither is merit to it.”

“They just rub me the wrong way, you know?” Tressa continued. “They’re not, ah, authentic I guess?”

“Aye,” H'annit immediately replied. “Both Henry and Beatrice appeareth rather... unusual. I didst not receiveth a valorous feeling from them at all. I cannot help but feeleth that those gents art somehow attached to this Flower of Life Alfyn is searching for.”

For a moment, Tressa got really excited that someone felt the way she did about those two caretakers. But that excitement immediately waned when an unsettling feeling appeared in the pit of her stomach.

She really didn't like the fact that they were separated into three groups like. Especially with four of them following a map that had been in the possessions of a now dead guy.

“...Do you think the guys are ok?” she asked softly.

H’annit sighed, indicating that she, too, felt a sense of unease. “I doth not knoweth,” she answered honestly. “But I wilt continueth mine search with the troth that those gents art.”

As soon as those words left H'annit's lips, a loud rustling noise from a particular thick forest of vines caused Tressa to jump in surprise, H'annit to immediately reach for her bow, and Linde to take a protective position in front of them. The rustling soon turned into that of crashing. Like someone just stomping through the vines without a care.

The noise continued for what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes at the most. Then, staggering from the vines, a white and grey skeleton appeared. And it wasn't alone. It brought its friends with it. Several more appeared, all skeletons of white bones and torn pieces of fabric, all making that eerie clacking and creaking noises as they moved.

“Now, wherefore would monsters inhabit such a lodging?” H'annit sounded annoyingly calm as she positions a quiver into her bow.

“Eww, bones?” Tressa whined. Of all the monsters in the realm, why bones. That clicking, grating sounds that they made, made her shudder. Just eww.

H’annit surprisingly let out a chuckle, though it was likely due to the fact that Tressa hated these bone monsters the most. “Those creatures art not of concern. I wilt dispose of them quickly.”

Good! Quicker the better!

But as H’annit raised her bow to take aim, she unexpectedly hesitated. “These creatures…”

“What’s wrong?” Tressa immediately asked.

“They doth not appeareth like those we've encountered previously,” H'annit replied as her eyes narrowed.

Tressa didn't see anything different about them personally, but she had complete and utter trust in H'annit. If something wasn't right about them, if they were different to other bones they've encountered, then she had better take extra precaution.

Seriously, though; just what was up with this place?

… … … … …

The feeling of someone shaking him urgently pulled Therion from what felt like a deep but not remotely rejuvenating sleep. He first wanted to slap the hand away and roll onto his side. But as the fog of post-sleep began to dissipate, two things occur to him. One, he appeared to be lying on his stomach. And two, he was lying on something hard.

The hell?

“Therion,” Cyrus voice was heard. “Wake up.”

It was almost alarming how difficult it was for Therion to open his eyes. But after a few failed attempts, he managed to keep them open. Though blurry, he was able to recognise Cyrus. Kneeling on the ground next to him, his hand on his shoulder, Cyrus was obviously the one who had been shaking him earlier.

“Hng. The hell?” Therion murmured again as he planted his hands on the ground and pushed himself up. As bits and pieces of his memory returned, an unsettling knot of confusion and worry appeared in his stomach.

“Dammit,” Therion said as he turned his head to look at Cyrus. “Were we hit with some sleeping pollen or something?”

The expression on Cyrus’ face was grim. “I don't think that's the case, Therion. The doors to the chamber have been locked, there's fresh broken class on the ground that is covered in a light white powder, and the flower along with Alfyn is missing.”

It took a second for what Cyrus said to sink. And when it did, Therion sprung to his feet and immediately scanned his surroundings. “What? Alfyn's gone?”

He recognised the ruins they were in to be that Chamber of Healing that was protecting the supposed Flower of Life. It was dark, though. The only source of light from a lantern they brought with them. Near the spiralling stairs stood Olberic, his sword unsheathed as he used it as a crutch to keep himself steady on his feet. Cyrus stood next to the small, dirt filled opening in the ground,

There was absolutely no sign of Alfyn. Even his bag was gone.

The flower was gone, too, but he didn't give a shit about that right now. 

“I remember now. It was Henry, wasn’t it?” Olberic said, an underlying sense of bitterness in his voice. “He must have been the one following us.”

“Yes, I remember now as well,” Cyrus replied as he rubbed his forehead harshly. “This was quite obviously planned. But how much…?”

“Worry about that later,” Therion hissed as he quickly climbed the stairs to the chamber's entrance. “First we need to get out of this shit hole.”

As Cyrus and Olberic followed him up the stairs, Therion attempted to push open the door. He felt give way slightly. He could hear the sound of rock and stone grinding against each other. Yet, the door wasn't budging. 

“Gods damn it,” Therion spat in frustration. “The door has been barricaded.”

Cyrus pressed his hands against the stone and gave an experimental push of his own. A frown immediately appeared on his lips and he turned to look, almost frantically, at their surroundings. “There...must surely be another way out.”

“Perhaps,” Olberic said before he unexpected snared Cyrus by the elbow and pulled him back. He nodded for Therion to do the same as he gripped the handle of his sword tightly. “But perhaps I could just remove this door entirely…”

Therion shared a look with Cyrus. Cyrus nodded at him before he turned and made his way back down the stairs. 

“Go for it,” Therion said simply before he, too, descended the stairs to give Olberic all the room he needed.

Just as Therion’s foot touched the bottom step, there was a loud growl of exertion and frustration, followed quickly by an even louder rumbling. Stones and debris rained down around as fresh sunlight suddenly invaded their visions.

Heh. Sounded like Olberic did more than remove the door.

Still, that was nothing compared to what Therion was going to do when he got his hands on the bastards behind all of this.

If they harm one hair on Alfyn's head…

Chapter Text

Alfyn’s head ached as he squeezed his eyes shut. Dazed and disoriented, he briefly wondered how and when he fell asleep. But with the way his head throbbed with pain and discomfort, all he could focus on was the necessity to open his eyes.

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open.

His head was leaned forward, his chin resting against his chest. Though it pained him to do so, he lifted his head and blearily looked around. He barely registered the smell of dust and fresh herbs. His vision was still on the blurry side so he tried to gather the strength needed to raise a hand and rub his eyes.

Only...his hands were already raised.

His brow furrowing, he tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling. But his gaze collided with the sight of his wrists. They were pinned together and above his head. His left wrist crossed over his right. Slowly, he began to realise that he was sat on the ground, his legs haphazardly splayed out in front of him, and his back resting against a tall support column made of marble. A thick, coarse rope was wound tightly around the column, and to that were his wrists tied together.

“Hnn...What…?” he murmured, dumbfounded.

Any tiredness Alfyn felt immediately disappeared. His eyes widened and he began to tug frantically at his wrists. He continued to twist and tug against the bindings as he turned his attention to studying his surroundings.

He was inside a medium sized room. A couple of support columns amongst piles of books and old furniture. A large wooden table sat in the centre of the room. On it were beakers and glass containers. Candles, along with numerous pestle and mortars. An apothecary’s dream.

But what really caught his attention was the large, beautiful flower in a ceramic vase located near the window. A large flower that was of purple and blue. The Aeracura Blossom. The flower of life.

W-what was going on?

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Alfyn immediately snapped toward the direction of the familiar voice. A breath hitched in his throat as he watched Henry nonchalantly stroll into the room. He was completely unconcerned by the fact that Alfyn had his arms pinned above his head.

Visions of what had occurred flashed through Alfyn’s mind. The Chamber of Healing. The Flower of Life. The excitement at the possibility that the legendary flower was true. But a voice interrupting that thought. A careless laugh and the sound of breaking glass. The smell of sleepweed, followed by…

Egads...

“You...?” Alfyn murmured in disbelief as Henry casually strolled toward him. “It was you. You...attacked us?”

With his hands folded behind his back, Henry shrugged carelessly. “If you wish to see it that way.”

Alfyn stared at him, dumbfounded. What other way could he possibly see it?

“Where are the others?” Alfyn instead demanded, idly tugging at his bound wrists. “What have you done with them?”

Once more, Henry shrugged infuriatingly nonchalantly. “Probably still searching for a way out of that ancient chamber. And the other half? Who knows.” He waved a hand dismissively as he turned his back to Alfyn and walked over to his work table. “Somewhere in the village. My darling wife is able to pacify them. She’s such a people’s person, after all.”

So, Beatrice was also involved in all of this?

Gods, he hoped that Therion, Cyrus, and Olberic were ok…

At least Primrose, Ophilia, Tressa, and H’annit were safe. At least, for now. That he was aware of…

He was still finding it difficult to believe that Henry had caught them off guard so easily. The use of sleepweed as sleeping gas was ingenious, the brew potent to knock them all out instantaneously. But he was an apothecary, after all. He knew when to strike, also. Waiting for them to be distracted by the Flower of Life before announcing his presence. And then hurling a potent mixture of the sleepweed.

If Therion and Olberic hadn’t been busy ensuring that the flower wasn’t dangerous, they would have noticed Henry, surely.

It felt as though Henry had the whole thing planned. But how much was it his cunning plan, and how much was just coincidence? Alfyn had only been in the village two days. Barely that. Was he simply in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Alfyn attempted to make himself comfortable, sitting up a little straighter to allow his back to fully rest against the support column. But the way his arms were lifted over his head, his wrists pinned together with tight, coarse rope; comfort wasn’t going to be easy.

“What’s going on? Why am I here?” Alfyn demanded. “I mean this isn’t exactly normal.”

“Had to take precautions,” Henry answered simply as he turned to face him once more. He then waved a hand to his left, indicating to something. “I know for a matter of fact that you know how to use that axe of yours.”

Alfyn immediately turned his head in the direction and felt a wave of relief to find his axe and Zeph’s knapsack. Sure, they were on a table together in the far corner of the room and he had no chance of getting to either of them in his current state, but they were there. And in one piece.

“I had to go to certain...lengths, you see,” Henry continued and Alfyn turned his attention back to him. “You’re far from a typical damsel in distress, so I had to make you one. You’re much taller than other apothecaries I’ve encountered, too. Quite an interesting specimen.”

Well, shucks. It was nice to know that Henry thought him capable.

Alfyn felt his eyes narrow as he stared at the man. “That wasn’t the question I asked. Why are you doing this?” he reiterated as he tilted his head toward the direction of the blue and purple flower.

Henry was silent as he turned his gaze toward the supposedly Flower of Life. He folded his arms behind his back as he paced toward it, openly marvelling at its presence and beauty. “I’ve known that chamber for a few years now,” he admitted.

Alfyn blinked, not exactly expecting that admission. “Known?”

“However, I could never open the thing. No one could,” Henry continued before he glanced over his shoulder at Alfyn, a strange and rather unnerving smile on his lips. “Until you came.”

With a rather dramatic flourish, Henry turned away from the flower and slowly paced his way toward Alfyn once more. Alfyn couldn’t help but wince. He was fairly certain he wasn’t going to like nor understand what Henry was about to reveal to him.

“You see, that door would not open for anyone,” Henry explained, prattled even. “No matter what we did. We found the purest of materials to offer the door. I brought in apothecaries from far and wide. And none succeeded. I soon realised that the Flower of Life would only open the doors and bloom before an extraordinary apothecary. One that came here on the winds of fate by his own accord. The Chamber of Healing would not open to just anyone.”

Henry appeared to pause for dramatic effect, his gaze rather steely. Unnervingly so.

“Oh no, it would only open for someone like you, Alfyn.”

An uneasy feeling appeared in Alfyn’s stomach and he swallowed hard. “How...what made you think I would open it? I didn’t even know about its existence until…”

That uneasy feeling turned into full-on dread when a thought suddenly occurred to him.

“Wait, so that drunkard...?” Alfyn whispered, his eyes widening.

The corner of Henry’s mouth twitched into a half smile. No, not a smile. A smirk. “Yes, he was simply an obedient servant.”

By the gods...

“You...killed him. It was you, wasn’t it?”

Henry unexpectedly snorted in disgruntlement. “Of course not!” he replied sharply. “It was the housemaid. Thanks to my serum. Very obedient.”

Serum?

Alfyn shook his head. “But why kill him? Was it to push me to find the Flower of Life?”

“Indeed,” Henry replied with another dismissive shrug.

A bubble of anger appeared in Alfyn’s chest. “You didn’t need to go that far!” he shouted as he leaned forward, pulling at his bindings in anger.

Henry actually tutted him. “I most certainly did.”

Alfyn glared at him as he slumped back against the support column he was tied too. He could barely believe it. To go to such lengths. For what purpose? Wait...

“W-what’s this about a serum?” Alfyn questioned, though he was fairly certain once again that he wasn’t going to like the answer. But he had to find out. He had to know for when he...dunno, escaped or something.

Henry noticeably perked up at the question. “So glad you asked! My beloved and I are crafting a serum to which will allow for us to mould the inhabitants of this village into placid and studious children to be proud of.”

“Mould...?” Alfyn repeated, confused, before his eyes widen in realisation. “Wait, wait, are you saying you’re trying to craft a mind altering or mind controlling serum?”

Henry’s chest puffed out slightly in pride. “Precisely.”

Alfyn’s breath hitched in his throat when his mind wandered back to the orphanage. To the sheer lack of people in the streets. “Those kids...the people of this village, they’re-?”

“You catch on quick, my boy,” Henry replied, unnervingly sounding proud of him. “Are patients.”

“Test subjects more like it,” Alfyn snapped. “Of which you’re turning into stone!”

Henry sighed and nodded his head in disappointment. “Yes, an unfortunate side-effect from an imperfect serum.”

Th-they really were turning to stone…

Wait, those statues in the Garden of Unease. They couldn’t have been…?

“But with your help, I can make it perfect,” Henry suddenly announced.

Alfyn openly gaped at him in disbelief. “What makes you think I’m going to help you with that?”

“Ah, a stubborn one, I see,” Henry chuckled as he stepped closer toward Alfyn. He paused to his left and unexpectedly crouch down so that he was eye level with Alfyn.“How about this as an offer - help me with my research, and I’ll grant you access to my laboratory so you can create an antidote.”

Alfyn felt that sense of dread return and he subconsciously pressed his back against the support column in an attempt to put some distance between them. “What? What’s the catch?”

Henry stared unflinchingly into his eyes. “My beloved wife and I are also susceptible to the serum,” he answered surprisingly truthfully. “Clearly, I wish for an antidote should one of us be infected.”

Alfyn slunk back slightly and tugged at his bound wrists. “Is that...why I’m still alive?”

“Initially,” Henry answered quickly, causing Alfyn to draw in a sharp intake of air. “But in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve become quite fond of you. You have quite the talent. Perhaps I could talk you into becoming my protege?”

“W-what?” Alfyn spluttered, caught complete off guard by that. It was actually insulting. “Forget it!”

“Shame,” Henry said, not remotely perturbed by his refusal. Instead he patted Alfyn on the cheek, causing him to wince, before he pushed himself to his feet. “But I’ll have plenty of time to convince you to agree.”

“You’re an apothecary!” Alfyn shouted, outraged that a man of healing could be so nonchalant about turning people, turning children, into mindless slaves. “Where’s your morals?”

The frown that appeared on Henry’s lips was honestly rather frightening and Alfyn unconsciously sunk back at the pillar behind him.

“I must admit that I am disappointed by your anger,” he said, his tone hostile. But he seemed to draw in a slow breath and the hostility faded into curiosity. “Though, I do also appreciate your dedication to the art of healing. My dear boy, all I wish to do is to help these people.”

Alfyn arched a questioning eyebrow. “By turning them into mindless slaves?”

Another dismissive shrug from Henry. “If that is what it takes to keep them safe and healthy.”

The slight undertone of pain in Henry’s voice caught Alfyn by surprised and he furrowed his brow slightly. “...What do you mean?” he questioned cautiously.

“I am sure that you’ve met a few defiant and disruptive patients, have you not?” Henry folded his arms behind his back as he began pacing the room, back and forth in front of Alfyn as he rambled. “I certainly have. Some people...they are their own worst enemy. Their pride, their naivety; they cannot be trusted to take care of themselves. They continuously sabotage their own health. If only they would listen to the advice that we apothecaries give them. Smoking the pipe is bad for you. Drinking too much mead. Not sleeping enough. Not exercising. They simply cannot be trusted with their own health.”

W-well, some patients were certainly like that.

Henry suddenly spun around to face him, his arms out from his sides, and a crazed look in his eyes. “Alfyn, do you not see? In order for the people of this village to stay fit and healthy, I must take away their freedom of thought and movement!”

“That’s...that’s crazy,” Alfyn murmured as he stared at him. “You can’t…”

A strange grinding noise suddenly echoed through the room. The sound made Alfyn jump and stiffen, but Henry simply straightened his posture and turned toward the sound. Following his line of sight, Alfyn watched as a section of the wall suddenly fell into itself before sliding to the side. And in the opening stood Beatrice.

Beatrice’s heels clacked loudly against the floor as she walked into the room. “I’m back, dear,” she announced cheerfully as the section of wall slide back into place behind her.

“Welcome back,” Henry greeted in return, equally cheerful.

“Oh? Dear Alfyn is awake, I see,” Beatrice commented, her smile unnervingly bright as she walked to stand near her husband. “How do you fare, child?”

Alfyn idly tugged at his wrists. “I’ve been better…”

Beatrice made a soft cooing sound, as if she was trying to settle a restless child. It was actually quite unnerving. But Henry put an end to it by taking his wife by the elbow to tug her toward him. He then led her over to the Aeracura Blossom, presenting it to her as if he was the one to have found it.

“Beloved, look! The Flower of Life is truly magnificent, isn’t it?”

Beatrice gasped loudly. “Darling, it’s beautiful!”

Henry suddenly swept Beatrice into his arms and pulled her into a waltz-like dance, Beatrice merrily moving with him. “Soon, we’ll have everyone of this village under our control. And then they’ll finally be safe and healthy, sheltered from the world and themselves.”

“What a beautiful future to imagine!” Beatrice giggled.

Alfyn had no idea what to make of what he was seeing. They were...crazy.

“You’re going to unleash another plague, that’s what you’re going to do!”

Beatrice continued to dance with her husband, their steps not faltering for a second, even as she leaned her head back to regard him. “It’s a beautiful plague, child. It’s for everyone’s benefit. Don’t you understand our love for them?”

No, he didn’t understand.

“You’re...going to poison the water supply, aren’t you?” Alfyn questioned. It was all he could do for the time being. Ask questions. Get some information. Learn something. “This place has its own water supply, apparently.”

“Poison is such a harsh word,” Beatrice chided him.

Yes, that was why he was using it.

“What’s your motive behind this?” Alfyn found himself asking before he could stop himself.

In spite of the sheer absurdity of it all, Beatrice kept waltzing with Henry. “My husband has no doubt explained our glorious plan, yes? I, too, wish for nothing more than to protect these precious children. Protect them from the pains and madness of the world. How can I, as a scholar, truly feel justified in telling these sweet children of the pain and suffering that there is in the world? The bloodshed of war? They’re young and precious. They must be protected. To have their heads filled with sweet promises and gentle words.”

That was…ludicrous.

“Even if those words are nothing but lies?” Alfyn retorted.

“Come now, I am not lying to them,” Beatrice chided once more as her husband lifted her hands above their heads, she doing a majestic twirl. “I’m just...withhold the terrible truth. Is that so wrong?”

Yes, it was wrong. It was so wrong...he didn’t even know where to start explaining why it was so wrong!

A low sound suddenly reverberated through the room, causing Henry and Beatrice to pause in their waltz. A light flutter in the pit of Alfyn’s stomach. That noise sounded somewhat familiar.

A deep frown appeared on Beatrice’s lips and she removed herself from her husband’s hold to march over to the only window in the room. She glanced out of it and made a noise of surprise. “What’s this? Dear, we seem to have visitors.”

With an equally deep frown, Henry also made his way to the window. “What? Could they have escaped the chamber? Infuriating but fascinating at the same time.”

“It seems this apothecary means quite a lot to them.”

“Indeed.”

Alfyn felt his heart skip a beat in hope and relief.

They made it out? Thank goodness for that! He hoped they were all right and they hadn’t been hurt in anyway. He’d never be able to forgive himself if something happened to them because of him.

He’d...have to worry about that later. First, he needed to find a way to get their attention. No maybe he should try to distract Henry? Or maybe he needed to find some more information? No maybe he…

Drat it all, he hadn’t a clue what to do!

With his bindings keeping him in place, the best thing he could possibly do was try to study Henry’s movements and maybe try to think up an antidote for the serum he was working on. His work bench was a mess, but he could see a few notes pinned to the walls around the room. Failed recipes.

Sitting tight and waiting it out, that really was all he could do for now.

If only there was a way to let Therion and the others know that he wasn’t in the immediate threat of losing his life. That way they wouldn’t do anything reckless in their attempts to find him.

Therion...don’t do anything reckless, please.

Chapter Text

It was lucky that Therion took a good mental note of their surroundings as they had trekked their way through the hidden path toward the Chamber of Healing. He had always made a habit of ensuring that he knew the paths he took. To either look for a new path, or to retrace his steps in case of emergency. Like a quick escape.

He had never been more thankful for that force of habit as he ran through the dense foliage with Cyrus and Olberic in tow.

Alfyn was gone. He had been taken.

That was all that was running through his head. That, and the curses he aimed toward himself for not being more cautious. More suspicious. More fucking protective.

He should have known. He didn’t trust that Henry character as far as he could kick him. He should have realised something was not right with the entire thing. Chamber of Healing. Flower of Life. It was like...they had been waiting for Alfyn or something.

God damn it…

Therion had to push aside his inner ramblings to focus on the task at hand when the scenery quickly changed from lush woodland to thorny vines.

“And we’re back at that stupid garden,” Therion muttered through gritted teeth as they paused to catch their breaths near the waterless water feature he had seen far too many times to care.

“I would hazard a guess that Henry and Beatrice actually dwell here, in the remains of that building,” Cyrus murmured through his panting as he turned his attention toward the seeming hollow remains of the crumbling manor house.

That sounded more likely than not. Too much had happened in one place for it all to be a coincidence. This Garden of Unease was as suspicious as Henry and Beatrice were.

Speaking of suspicions, he was fairly certain that those statues hadn’t been there when they passed through this morning.

“What is up with this place?” Therion found himself questioning aloud. “Why so many statues?”

Cyrus tore his gaze away from the building to regard the statues around them as well. His brow suddenly furrowed and his postured stiffened. Seemed like he had also noted that there appeared to be more statues than before.

“They almost appear as gargoyles,” he commented as he held his chin in thought, in his usual ‘pondering’ pose. “Could they have been seeking protection from something?”

A movement from the corner of his eye caused Therion to turned, and he watched as Olberic approached one of the statues. Though he did so cautiously, with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He paused to stand directly in front one of them, a frown on his lips.

“There’s...something a little too human about some of them,” Olberic said, immediately gaining Therion’s and Cyrus’ attention. “I...unfortunately know these expressions.”

He placed his hand upon the face of the statue he stood in front of. He then pushed it back, letting it fall backwards. It hit the ground, unexpectedly shattering upon impact. Bits and pieces of plaster and stone scattered in all directions. Almost as if it had exploded.

And in the very centre of the small debris field laid a skeleton. A human skeleton.

Therion felt chilled in realisation. “Bones?”

“People encased in stone?” Cyrus questioned in obvious surprise before he made his usual sound of interest. “Could it be...?”

Therion bent down and picked up a piece of the plaster that had cocooned the bones. As he stood up, he bounced the plaster in his hand and he studied it carefully with his eyes. A thought occurred to him and he barely suppressed a wince.

“Not wanting to go there, but now that I think of it, the colour of these statues are remarkably similar to the grey rashes those kids had,” he murmured.

Cyrus immediately dropped his hand from his chin in startled realisation and turned to look directly at Therion. “Indeed, you are right. Alfyn did say that the patients appear as though they were turning to stone from the outside in. I hadn’t counted on him meaning that literally.”

Wait, so did that mean that whatever illness or virus, or whatever the hell it was called, that was infecting those kids was eventually going to...turn them to stone? These statues, all these statues were once humans? Shit. But weren’t those kids under Henry and Beatrice’s care? Or were they nothing more than a ploy to get to Alfyn?

Just what the hell was going on?

“What do you surmise the motive behind all of these events could be?” Olberic questioned, politely reforming the question that was running through Therion’s own head.

“That, I am uncertain,” Cyrus replied. “What I do know is that I fear for Alfyn’s safety.”

Therion gritted his teeth and tightened his hand around the chunk of plaster, crushing it into dust. His hand shook, his nails biting into his palms as he tried to push back the anger, and the fear, that began to pool in the bit of his stomach.

If anything happened to Alfyn...

“Hey!” a voice suddenly called out, startling the lot of them.

The was familiar, however, and they all turned in time to watch Tressa, with H’annit and Linde close behind her, rush over to them. Why they were in the garden, Therion didn’t care. He just wanted to know whether or not they had encountered Henry, and ultimately if they had seen Alfyn.

“So, thou hath returned,” H’annit greeted. She appeared as though she wanted to say something else, but was interrupted by Tressa.

“Hey, where’s Alfyn?” she asked, confused and a bit concerned.

Well, that saved him asking if they saw anything useful.

“Good question,” Therion muttered as his gaze flickered over to the remains of the manor.

He ignored Tressa’s confused “Huh?” as he focused his attention upon the uppermost part of the remains. He couldn’t see anything, and yet he could feel them. Eyes. Something, or rather someone, was watching them.

“Something untoward hadst hath happened, I see.”

“Indeed,” Cyrus answered H’annit. “We found the mysterious flower from the map, but we were ambushed by Henry and Alfyn was taken.”

“What? Alfyn’s gone?!”

“Why, we do not know. But we will find out.”

Therion continued to pay only minor attention to the conversation happening around him. He was too busy scrutinising the building before them. He had seen his fair share of ruins and crumbling remains of once luxurious mansions. Now that he was looking at it more critically, with a tonne more suspicion, something about the remains felt...wrong.

“What do you think?” Olberic asked as he stepped to stand next to him.

Therion didn’t take his gaze away from the building. “He has to be inside.” He had to be.

“Indeed,” Olberic murmured in agreement. “There is no other place he could be hidden.”

Right. The orphanage was far too public. Too many people could see.

The telling sound of rustling bushes and the creaking of bones cut through the thick, tension filled air around them. Reacting instinctively, they spun around and reached for their weapons. And just like the scene Therion had witnessed just yesterday, greyish white bone figures stumbled from the thick, thorn bared foliage. They creaked and chittered as they stumbled into the clearing. Surrounding them.

God damn it, again?

“What? Even more bones?” Tressa exclaimed, exasperated. “Is this garden full of them?”

“Tis just as I hadst feared,” H’annit murmured as she coolly reached for her bow.

“Yes, it seems these bones monsters were once statues, and those statues were once humans,” Cyrus explained, his expression sterned but also somehow uneasy.

“Aye. And this garden is not as fusty as t appeareth. The remains of the statues art acting as fertilizer, t appeareth.”

“Ah, yes, that’s why this garden is so overgrown. How brutal.”

Therion honestly did not give one tiny little shit where these bones monsters came from or how they came to be. They were surrounding them. They were going to slow them down. So, they needed to get rid of them.

Now.

“Cyrus, Therion; you make your way inside,” Olberic suddenly commanded as he unsheathed his blade and pushed himself to the forefront of their group. “We’ll be more than enough to handle this distraction.”

H’annit turned to regard him, but paused. Her face creased into a very subtle look of concern. “Olberic, thee…” she murmured, her voice falling away as if she was afraid of what she was to say next.

And it seemed that Olberic knew what it was she failed to say. “Yes, I know.”

Therion hadn’t a clue what the two were insinuating. And he didn’t have the chance to ask before Cyrus grabbed him by the elbow and tugged him toward the abandoned manor house.

“Indeed, they are weak to blade attacks,” Cyrus said, surprisingly hastily. “You should get through them quickly.”

“I wilt stayeth with thee,” H’annit said as she moved closer to Olberic, seemingly watching him with worry. “Tressa, thee stayeth with me. The two of thee shalt continueth with the rescue of Alfyn.”

Therion didn’t have time to wonder what it was that H’annit was worried about. He’d have to wonder about it later. Olberic was more than capable of taking down a few bones anyway. And the sooner they found Alfyn, the better everyone would feel.

...The better Therion would feel.

Therion took the lead as he and Cyrus headed toward the barred doors of the ruins. He figured that they may have to take to one of the many windows, but as he drew closer to the doors he realised that the boards that were seemingly placed their to bar entrance was placed their hastily. A swift kick should get the doors open no problem.

He didn’t see the point in trying to be silent about it. Not with the battle raging behind them.

As they paused to study their new and dark surroundings of the interior of the building, Cyrus unexpectedly stumbled against Therion, causing him to jump slightly. He immediately turned around to face the other man when he heard him utter a low noise of pain.

“Hng…”

“What-? You’re-?”

Cyrus pulled back the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a strange, light-grey rash on his arm. Even in the darkness around them, Therion could see the colour of the rash well. It went from his wrist to his elbow.

“I do suppose there was more in that broken glass than sleepweed,” Cyrus murmured.

Therion’s throat tightened. “You’re infected?”

“Yes,” Cyrus replied grimly as he pulled the sleeve back in place. “It’s...making it difficult to move.”

Shit.

“Wait, was Olberic also infected?” Therion questioned. “Was that why he sent us ahead?”

“More likely than not…”

Gods damn it. That meant he was likely infected, too.

Cyrus placed his hand against his chest as he drew in a deep and slow breath. He then pushed himself to stand upright, his shoulders back and head held high. “We...must find Alfyn. If anyone can reverse the effects, it will be him. We must hurry.”

Therion wasn’t going to bother checking to see if he was supporting a grey rash of his own. He’d be better off not knowing at this point.

Suddenly uttering a startled noise, Cyrus placed his hand flat against the centre of Therion’s chest and pushed him back. “Therion, get back! Let ice rain upon you!”

Therion thankfully managed to stay on his feet as a chilling air surrounded him. Cyrus had called forth one of his elemental attacks. Using it to create a wall of ice around the both of them. It soon became apparent why when flames appeared on the other side of the wall of ice.

The explosion of fire and ice caused Therion to wince and instinctively reach for his knife. He gripped the handle of the blade tightly as chunks of ice rained down around both him and Cyrus. The flames had melted the wall of ice around them. However, the ice was also strong enough to cancel out the heat and flames.

A elemental attack meant only one thing.

“Beatrice,” Cyrus greeted politely, but also rather tersely which was actually quite a surprise from him.

There was the sound of shoes tapping against the marble floor before Beatrice appeared from the mist and smoke. Looking disturbing prim and proper, she smiled at the two of them. The smile, however, was cold. “Professor. I cannot say I’m surprised you made it back. You’re as fascinating as dear Alfyn is.”

Cyrus straightened his posture as he idly flipped his cape over his shoulders. “So, he is here.”

“Indeed,” Beatrice replied simply, her supposedly polite expression never wavering. “But I’m afraid I cannot let you see him. He has far more important things to do.”

Therion snorted as he toyed with his knife. “Let me guess, you have some ridiculous reasoning behind all of this, and us peasants couldn’t possibly understand?”

Beatrice’s expression darkened for a moment, a shimmer of hatred in her eyes before she plastered that fake smile on her lips once more and nodded her head. “Indeed.”

“I would love to hear it, anyway,” Cyrus unexpectedly urged.

Therion spun around to face him. “Why?” he hissed lowly, softly enough that he hoped Beatrice didn’t hear him. “We’re wasting time.”

Cyrus glanced at him from the corner of his eye and replied just as lowly, “So we know what to expect when you begin your search.”

And maybe ready himself for whatever condition Alfyn might be in.

...Hng, fine. Know-it-all scholar.

Therion simply tisked and turned his attention back to Beatrice. Whom of which looked mildly annoyed. Hopefully she didn’t over hear them.

“I’ll be more than happy to explain everything to dear Cyrus, here,” Beatrice stated as she gave Therion what he could only describe as the evil eye before she placed that deceitfully polite smile on her lips and turned her full attention to Cyrus.

Tch. Seemed like she disliked him as much as Therion disliked her.

Therion listened with pure scepticism as Beatrice began to prattle on about how she and her husband were really trying to help the inhabitants of their village. How they supposedly loved them all so much that they had no other choice but to take away their freedom of thought and movement by literally poisoning them.

But, oh no, they serum isn’t perfect and has been slowly turning the victims to stone. Of which they promptly dump in the Garden of Unease.

“The legendary Flower of Life will put the end to all suffering. It is what we need to master the serum to make everyone of this village ours to command,” Beatrice exclaimed, fluttering her eyes at them like she was some kind of martyr.

By the gods, it was nauseating listening to her talk.

Ok, he got the part about the Flower of Life, and how it was so legendary that it was able to enhance any tonic of salve to the level of gods. Or something. But there was still one thing that was bugging him.

“Wait,” Therion interrupted tersely as he ran a frustrated hand down his face. “What does Alfyn have to do with any of this?”

Beatrice all but sneered at him. “It’s so simple. He’s the only one who could open the chamber of healing.”

“And the only one who could possible create an antidote to your serum,” Cyrus added.

“Precisely.”

Well then, how the hell did they know that Alfyn was their prophesied one?!

“I see...yes,” Cyrus suddenly murmured as he held his chin in thought yet again. “I think I’m beginning to understand now.”

How…?

“I knew you would, Professor,” Beatrice beamed with absolutely delight. “The truth will always prevail.”

Surprisingly, Cyrus made a tisking sound of his own as he dropped his hand from his chin and rested it on his hip. “Now, I said I understand. I did not say that I agree nor do I think you are right. I am simply acknowledging your side of the argument.”

Beatrice gaped at him. Literally gaped. Mouth open, eyes wide in bewilderment. It would have been amusing if Therion wasn’t ready to kill something.

“Therion, you continue forth,” Cyrus urged, even going to the length of nudging him forcibly to the side with his hand. “Beatrice and I need to have a rather terse debate.”

“There is nothing to debate when I am right!” Beatrice unexpectedly shrilled.

“Fine. She’s all yours,” Therion said simply before he suddenly bolted for the door located a few feet behind Beatrice.

He managed to skid through it seconds before two voices called forth elemental attacks and the room thrilled with ice and electricity. He slammed the door shut, watching in mild concerned as it bulged out slightly and the air around him trembled.

Cyrus...wasn’t in any condition to fight. Not with the serum infecting him. But…

They didn’t have a choice right now.

So Therion turned and raced up the once grand staircase. Alfyn had to be upstairs somewhere. It made sense to him. He didn’t know why, just...his gut was telling him that Alfyn was somewhere on the third floor. He just needed to find the right room.

Therion’s foot suddenly caught a step and he stumbled, his shoulder hitting the wall. He cursed under his breath. His chest felt tight. His head throbbing with a headache. Even his vision was starting to blur. But it was the stiffness in his arms and legs that was the most concerning.

Despite not wanting to know, Therion pulled back his poncho to reveal his arms. They were grey, too.

“Damn it…” he muttered as his hands shook uncontrollably. “I am infected too.”

He needed to find Alfyn.

Alfyn would fix this. All of this.

He just...had to get to him before anything bad happened. He couldn’t let...anything bad happen to their only hope.

“Alfyn!”

Chapter Text

Alfyn couldn’t stop himself from fidgeting as Beatrice marched passed him and toward the strange door like opening she used to enter. The rope was tight around his wrists, and equally tight to the pillar he was confined to, making movement of any kind near impossible. Thankfully it wasn’t cutting off the blood supply. He’d really be in trouble then!

But his back was starting to lowly ache from the weird position he was in. Not to mention his butt was going numb.

Gods, how long has it been? A few hours now?

Alfyn watched with some interest as Beatrice disappeared from sight, that strange grinding sound following her departure. It sounded like some kind of door mechanic. Something moving roughly against the floor. Could...he be in hidden room of some kind?

“I take it you have something stopping others from accidentally stumbling across this place?” Alfyn decided to ask as Henry had been surprisingly forthcoming in all their previous and recent conversations. “Besides the rumours of course.”

Henry actually nodded his head and motioned to their surroundings with a flourish. “Oh yes. This lovely laboratory is hidden behind an old bookcase. Previous owners were quite paranoid indeed. Quite convenient for us.”

Alfyn’s frown deepened as his gaze drifted toward the ‘door’ that Beatrice had marched through only moments ago.

Behind a bookcase, huh? And a pre-existing laboratory? So, it was likely that the walls were flame retardant, so probably thicker than normal. That meant that it was going to be difficult for Therion to find him. So, he needed to think of a way to get his attention somehow. Yelling wasn’t going to do much good unless Therion was already close by.

Come on, think of something!

It was getting difficult to concentrate, though.

Egads, his arms were starting to go numb. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to stand it. If only there was a way to loosen the ropes, even just a little. Honestly, he wanted to be rid of them entirety.

No, ok, concentrate. Forget about the pain. He had more important things to think about.

Like a cure, for example. Yeah. Study Henry as he worked. He could do that. Concentrate and take mental notes. The second he got his hands free, he needed to get straight to work.

Even though Henry worked with his back to Alfyn, most likely attempting to prevent him from getting a glimpse of his current project, he was still able to get a hint or two on what it was that he was working on. The notes he scribbled down, the written musings on paper that littered the walls and floors. They all gave small pieces of a puzzle.

One that Alfyn was slowly etching together.

It seemed that the serum was unstable. Not imperfect, just unstable. And Henry was searching for the one variable, that one ingredient that would enhance all other components, combining them. The catch was, the materials that he used had many different potential uses depending on how they were prepared. Roots, seeds, pollens, oils. Some enhanced, while others caused greater instability.

So, theoretically, since the serum was so unstable, it was also possible that a single ingredient mixed with it would in turn nullify the most toxic of components.

But the Flower of Life was a complete mystery. An anomaly in the serum. Did it enhance or destabilize? Perhaps both, depending on what part of the flower was used. And how it was extracted.

When it came to crafting a totally new serum, it was guess work at best in the beginning stages. Even in regards to creating an antidote for said serum. But going by the list of ingredients used, it should be possible to create an antidote...

Damn, there was too many possibilities. Theorizing was useful to a point. He needed to get his hands free and see for himself.

Alfyn was startled from his observations when Henry suddenly turned around and looked directly at him. And in spite of himself, Alfyn sunk back against the marble pillar restraining him. He felt as though he had been caught doing something wrong.

“You’ve been watching me rather intently as I work,” Henry commented rather calmly as he dropped what he was working on to turn and face him. “How fascinating is my work to you? Or...are you attempting to study the materials that I work with in order to concoct an antidote?”

Alfyn couldn’t stop himself from wincing.

And his stomach clenched in nausea when Henry beamed at him. Seemingly thrilled to bits about him virtually spying on him.

“Oh, you are just absolutely fascinating!”

Alfyn stared openly at Henry for a few moments. That reaction, his whole behaviour about these absurd circumstances; they weren’t right. They were wrong. He was acting so, so wrong. A normal person wouldn’t act this way.

“W-why are you doing this?” Alfyn questioned, his voice surprisingly shaky and above a whisper.

Henry arched an eyebrow at him, curious. “I’ve already answered that, yes?”

Alfyn licked his lips nervously as he idly twisted his wrists against his restraints. “Partly. I want to know...what it was that pushed you to this? Did...something happen?”

For once, and for the briefest of moments, Henry looked genuinely surprised. As he stared at him, a flicker of pain appeared in his eyes and he abruptly looked away. He remained silent as he stared at the Flower of Life. Tense silent stretched out between them, causing Alfyn to wonder if he was going to answer his question and whether or not he should ask something else of him.

But then Henry spoke.“...I once had a beautiful daughter. Her name was Sueanna. Beautiful, lively, optimistic. Always striving for higher and higher goals.”

That gained Alfyn’s interest. “Something happen to her?”

“She strove to be a scholar like her mother,” Henry continued, and his voice was oddly...pained yet empty. His gaze remained on the flower and for the first time since Alfyn had met him, he felt true sincerity in his worlds.

“But one day she found a tome. Inside was dark knowledge. Painful knowledge. It should have frightened her. But it fascinated her instead. She wanted to know more and more. To the point that she neglected her physical health. To the point she became obsessed with gaining more dark knowledge. She tried a ritual from that book, wanting to have all the knowledge given to her. She would not listen to reason. She continued to defy us, harming her health, harming us.”

“I’m sorry,” Alfyn replied with genuine empathy. “She’s gone now, isn’t she?”

Henry swallowed thickly, his jaw clenching tightly. “Yes. Her defiance and lust for dark knowledge is what killed her.”

So, he was mad, not from ego and superiority, but from grief. That made...things a little more difficult. It was hard to see Henry as the Bad Guy when he had real, human emotions.

“Do you understand now?” Henry asked him. “Why my beloved wife and I are doing this?”

He...kinda did. He kinda did understand.

But that didn’t he liked it or agreed.

After a few uncomfortable, drawn out minutes Henry finally tore his gaze away from the Flower of Life to look back at Alfyn. Gone was the pain and clarity in his eyes. Instead, he looked curious. He even tilted his head to the side in interest.

“Hmm...Interesting,” he muttered as he walked toward Alfyn, his gaze unblinking and unnerving.

“What now?” Alfyn asked as he subconsciously tugged at his wrists once more.

Henry crouched down next to him and his hand, covered in heavy duty leather, suddenly shot out to grab Alfyn by his chin, startling him. His grip was harsh as he turned Alfyn’s face this way and that, seeming looking for something.

“You are showing no signs of being infected with the serum,” Henry murmured. “Could you...possibly be immune to it?”

Immune to a mind-altering serum created by man? Unlikely. Maybe he was just fortunate? Or maybe his immune system was stronger than most due to the fact that he was an apothecary?

Wait, when was he supposed to have been infected? Was the serum contagious?

Henry made another low hum of interest as he continued to stare creepily at him. “Hmm...Maybe a little experiment won’t hurt.”

With one hand still gripping Alfyn’s chin tightly, Henry reached up with his other hand and pulled at Alfyn’s hair tie, letting his hair fall loose around his neck and shoulders. He then pulled harshly at his hair, seemingly ripping some of the strands right out of his head.

Alfyn yelped from the pain and surprise of it. “H-hey!”

“A couple strands of your hair should be enough,” Henry muttered as he abruptly released his hold on Alfyn’s chin, stood up, and hurried back to his work table.

A couple strands nothing. It felt as though he took a right handful!

A loud rumble was heard and the room rumbled around them. So sudden and violent was the trembling, bits of debris fell from the ceiling. Glass beakers and containers fell from Henry’s workbench. He lunged forward to catch a few of them, letting the empty ones to fall to the floor and shattered.

“That noise?” Alfyn murmured. That feeling...

That sounded and felt like the Professor when he used his elemental attacks!

They were inside. They did manage to get free of the chamber. And now they were storming the building? They had to be. Professor didn’t sound happy.

“My darling wife seems to be engaging in those pesky intruders,” Henry said, insistent and yet somehow dismissive as he set down the glasses he caught. He soon hunched over the table again, uncaring as yet more rumbling and trembling was heard and felt.

Right, she was a scholar, too. And yet, that noise definitely sounded like the professor. He had battled alongside Cyrus many times already. He was used to that sound. So that meant…

Alfyn felt a rush of relief.

They were definitely inside the building now. They were looking for him. Good, ok. So Alfyn needed to focus on finding a way to gain their attention. Maybe he should try to get at least one of his hands free. To at least let out a loud whistle, if nothing else.

“That’s it!” Henry suddenly exclaimed loudly, causing Alfyn to jump. “I have discovered the last ingredient!”

Panic and fear rose in Alfyn’s chest when Henry abruptly spun around to face him. And looked him directly in the eyes. The smile he had on his face was one of near hysteria. It was ungodly unnerving.

“...Why are you looking at me?”

“Because it’s you,” Henry replied as he reached toward his workbench and picked up a small, but seemingly sharp knife. The way he did that without turning to look, instead keeping his full and unblinking attention on Alfyn was exceptionally unnerving.

It felt...as though he was falling deeper into madness.

“Or more specifically, it’s your blood that I need,” Henry continued as he suddenly took slow, but dilberate steps toward him.

“Wait, what?” Alfyn spluttered.

“I understand it all now,” Henry began to ramble, his eyes not blinking once since turning around to face him. “How you were able to detect the serum in those children. How you were able to craft a remedy is such a short amount of time. How it was you who could open the chamber of the Flower of Life. It’s because you are the last remnant of an ancient order of miraculous healers. Your blood alone holds healing properties.”

Ancient order of miraculous healers? What? He had never heard of such a thing!

“...Egads, where did you get that idea from?” Alfyn murmured as he shook his head in disbelief.

Henry suddenly chuckled as he loomed menacingly over him. “Yes. Yes, it makes so much sense. Now, if I take some of your blood and feed it to the flower...yes...that’s it. It’ll become Ambrosia of the Gods. The remedy to cure all ills.”

Alfyn tried to scoot away, even though it was impossible. “You’ve lost your mind!” he shouted.

“Life blood of a miraculous healer. Yes. Life blood for the Flower of Life,” Henry rambled, well and truly falling beyond the realm of madness. He began to crouch down, holding the knife out toward Alfyn’s throat. “Now, hold still…”

Alfyn squeezed his eyes shut and...

“Alfyn!”

Alfyn paused, his breath in his throat. Therion?

Turning his head to the side, toward the door, Alfyn shouted as loud as he could. “Therion! Behind the bookcase!”

Henry quickly placed a hand over Alfyn’s mouth, attempting to quiet him. Alfyn thrashed his head to the side as he tried to dislodge his hand.

He hoped Therion heard him.

There was suddenly a loud crush from just outside the room, and the smell of smoke filled the air. Then, that grinding sound was heard. This time, however, it was louder than before. As if someone had grabbed the door, or rather the bookcase hiding the entrance, and was impatiently forcing it to open.

A creak and loud crash later, light filled the room from the opening. And Therion could be seen on the threshold. Head down, hidden in his scarf, one hand pushing aside the bookcase, the other grasping a silver dagger that glinted in light.

Alfyn almost wanted to cry. He was so happy to see him.

Therion didn’t utter a word, a sound as he stalked into the room. His hair shadowed his eyes and face. Alfyn couldn’t see what expression he wore, but he knew. Therion was furious. Silently furious.

Henry jumped to his feet and spun around to face him, knife in hand, position threatening in front of him. Toward Therion.

Alfyn didn’t need to warn Therion of the weapon. Therion had already revealed his own, and slashed at Henry’s hand, simultaneously knocking the weapon from his hand while wounding him.

Whipping around, still not uttering a single sound, Therion delivered a swift and powerful kick to Henry’s chest. The force sent him stumbling backwards a few steps, his hands flying up to clutch at his chest. The small of his back hit the sill of the only window in the room. The window, however, was open and…he kept leaning backwards.

He then fell completely out of the window. Backwards. Head first, his legs kicking up as they followed him out.

He screamed all the way down before…

A sound that Alfyn couldn’t describe. A loud, wet...pop. It was...ungodly.

“Therion!” Alfyn called out as Therion jerkily spun around and stalked over to him. With his knife, he slashed at the ropes keeping Alfyn’s arms pinned over his head.

It felt amazing to have use of his arms again.

“Therion, are you ok?” Alfyn asked as he ripped off the remnants of his bindings. Therion hadn’t uttered a single word. Something was wrong.

Therion didn’t answer him. Instead he fell to his knees suddenly, his arms falling limp at his sides, the knife he had gripped so tightly tumbling from his listless hands.

Alfyn’s eyes widened as Therion began to tilt forward. He reached out and caught him in his arms and instinctively pulled him to rest against his chest. Panic began to constrict his chest when he realised that Therion was completely and utterly listless against him. Limp. Unmoving.

“Oh gods,” Alfyn muttered as he turned Therion around in his arms so that he was lying face up on his lap. He brushed aside his hair to see a telling grey colouring creeping up along his neck and covering a good half of his face.

“No…you’re infected?” Alfyn whispered. “Therion…”

Alfyn felt like he wanted to cry. But he blinked them back. Instead he held Therion close as he lifted his head toward Henry’s workbench.

He...Therion pushed himself to find him. He would have known that he was infected. He would have known how sick he was. But he still came for him. He found him.

Now...it was his turn to help Therion. His turn to save him.

“By the Gods, I’ll find the cure,” Alfyn murmured as he looked back down at Therion and gently brushed aside his hair. “I promise, so hold on…”

He then carefully placed Therion on the ground before he stood up and walked over to the workbench. No matter what he had to do. He would find a cure. Make one. And he was going to save everyone.

He was an apothecary.

He was their apothecary.

Chapter Text

It was well after midnight as Cyrus made his way out of his room at the quaint little inn they were staying in for the night, and into the common area where the fire was burning brightly within the heath. There he found a man hunched over the table, his arms folded atop of it and his chin resting upon his forearms. And before him was an open book. But the pages appeared to be empty.

“Alfyn,” Cyrus called out in both greeting and to alert the other of his presence. “What are you still doing up? It’s late.”

Alfyn lifted his chin from his arms and sent him a smile in return. “And yet you’re awake as well.”

Cyrus stood by the table and rested his hand upon it. “I heard muttering.”

“Eh?” Alfyn murmured before his smile turn apologetic, his gaze sheepish. “Shucks, was I that loud? Sorry about that Professor.”

With the fireplace the only source of light in the room, Cyrus spent a moment to study Alfyn carefully. And couldn’t help but note that he appeared, rather felt, a tad frustrated about something. “You haven’t answered my question. Is something the matter?”

For a fraction of a moment, Alfyn looked surprised. But he soon turned sheepish again as he leaned back in his chair and reached up to scratch the back of his neck. Something that he did when he was unsure and slightly anxious.

“Eh, well, not really,” Alfyn replied. “It’s just that salve I made today.”

Cyrus tilted his head to the side in question. “The one you created to help ease the suffering of those young lads that fell into that thorn bush?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you pondering about, Alfyn?” Cyrus asked, truly curious. “That worked amazingly well. And you crafted it so quickly.”

Alfyn wrinkled his nose in mild annoyance. “That’s just it Professor. I made it so quickly and wanted to help those kids so badly that I forgot to take notes!”

The admission caught Cyrus by surprise, but he felt genuine amusement soon after. And before he could stop himself, he laughed lightly.

Alfyn’s wrinkled nose creased further and a pout actually appeared on his lips. “Hey now, don’t go laughing at me. I’m trying to wreck this brain of mine for that recipe.”

“Do pardon me, my friend,” Cyrus managed to utter around a chuckle. He soon cleared his throat though and sent Alfyn a pacifying smile. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I am somewhat amused, though. You acted on impulse to create a tonic for those boys?”

Alfyn nodded his head. “Right.”

“Then don’t trouble yourself with writing it down,” Cyrus said as he reached out toward the book Alfyn was staring at and closed it. “Should you need to create another tonic, I have faith that you’ll make it as quickly as this one.”

“Well, I guess that’s true,” Alfyn murmured as he scratched at the back of his neck again. “I just wanted to figure out how I did it, I suppose.”

Cyrus couldn’t help but tutt him lightly. “Alfyn, you don’t have to figure out how you did it, for you’ve always been doing it.”

Alfyn looked down at the closed book before he chuckled. “Guess a man can’t argue with that,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet. “Thanks Professor.”

“Anytime, my friend.”

The scent of musty air and smoke prompted Cyrus to open his eyes. His surroundings were unfamiliar. The light was dark, dim. Large pillars of ice surrounded him. The tallest ice pillar in the centre of a ruined room held...a person?

Ah, yes. He remembered now. He...managed to win that battle. The battle on the battlefield, that was. In the battle of wits and belief...Beatrice would not be swayed to even listen, let alone take his words into consideration.

She had threatened to go after Therion. Cyrus couldn’t allow that.

Cyrus closed his eyes to gather his thoughts before he opened them again. He must have passed out directly after the final blow. And he had...a dream?

No, a memory. How odd. But they do say that one’s life would pass before one’s very eyes when they were near death. So, that meant…

It took more effort than it should be possible, but Cyrus managed to lift a single hand and he stared down at it. It had specks of white and grey. The infection, or whatever it was, was spreading. Did that really mean he…?

No, surely not. It was just...a near death experience. Nothing more.

He just needed to wait. For a little while longer. Therion was stubborn and determined. Very protective of Alfyn. If anyone was to find him and bring him to safety, it was him. He was an interesting lad.

Ah, and that Alfyn was an interesting man, too. Cyrus had much left to learn from him.

Alfyn had always been a bit of an enigma. Helping people without thinking too much about it. Acting on impulse and good faith.

There was one think that Beatrice was right about. And it was that Alfyn would find a cure for whatever virus or poison Beatrice and her husband had unleashed.

So, Alfyn was sure to return to them with the antidote. Cyrus had faith in him. So, he would wait.

… … … … …

As Olberic brought his sword down in one fluid movement, he felt a pained tightness in his back. Right between the shoulder blades. But he ignored it. Ignored the way he twitched from the tightness of his muscles, and ignored the discomfort of it all. He was used to it, after all. He could handle such inconveniences.

After all, he wasn’t the only one who sustained injuries that day. Cyrus had his share. Olberic failed to protect him like he should have.

Training was adequate punishment for failure.

“And just what you think you’re doing, Olberic?”

The somewhat disappointed chiding from their band’s apothecary caught Olberic by surprise. He lowered his sword and turned around in the direction Alfyn’s voice originated from. He was inwardly surprised that Alfyn managed to sneak up on him. He was more surprised to find him frowning at him.

His expression was somewhat familiar to him, though. It was...the frowning disapproval of a healer. He had received his fair share during his time.

“Hm? Oh, I’m merely doing a spot of training,” Olberic answered.

“Training, huh?” Alfyn repeated as he crossly folded his arms across his chest. “After I told ya to rest your back for a while?”

“Ahhh, yes. Well, old habits die hard, as they say,” Olberic said dismissively as he turned his attention back to his training. “Old knights like me...fighting and training is what we do best, yes? Don’t you concern yourself over me, Alfyn.”

From behind him, he heard Alfyn utter a sigh. And he believed that the apothecary was about to leave him to tend to his training. The sound of footsteps followed, but they were...drawing closer to him. Stopping just behind him.

“...Olberic?”

“Hm?”

“I’m not concerned about your yesterday. I’m not concerned about where you have come from or where it is that we are going. I’m concerned about now. About today.” A hand was gently placed in the middle of his back, exactly where he had experienced the most discomfort. “Olberic, letting yourself rest and be still is what you need right now. More than you know.”

“Is that so?” was all that Olberic could muster.

“In fear of sounding cheesy,” Alfyn continued, undaunted. “Life is your body; it is a manifestation of you. So you need to take better care of it.”

...The lad always had an interesting way with words.

“No more training for now,” Alfyn urged. No, pleaded. “Put your sword away.”

Olberic knew when he was beaten. So he sheathed his sword. “Ahh, I do suppose it’s pointless to argue with an apothecary.”

Alfyn smile brightly, though the relief was evident in his gaze. “Pointless in arguing with ol’ Alfyn, too.”

Olberic released a low “Yes,” he said before he turned to give Alfyn a grateful nod. “Thank you, my friend.”

And Alfyn the same he did with every expression of gratitude. “Don’t mention it. Just doing my job.”

A sense of urgency prompted Olberic to open his eyes slowly. Tressa knelt before him, murmuring something to him with tears in her eyes. H’annit knelt beside him, worry evident in her eyes also.

A memory, it seemed. Rest and be still. Hah. He supposed if he had done just that, the poison or whatever it was that was limiting his movements, would not have spread so quickly. Still, it could not have been helped. Sitting idle had no place in these circumstances.

The monsters of bones had been dealt with. Tressa and H’annit were safe, and seeming unaffected by the same illness that was preventing movement from him. Cyrus and Therion were sure to be suffering the same. But...they would find Alfyn.

And Alfyn would cure all of this.

So it was time for him to be still.

“Hold on, Olberic,” Tressa pleaded with him, her voice soft with emotion. “Therion will find Alfyn. He’ll fix all of this. J-just hold on, ok?”

Hah, a stutter. How unusual from Tressa. She must be very concerned for him. He wished he didn’t have to worry the young girl like that.

But...he would wait. Tressa was right. Alfyn was surely to fix all of this. Find a cure. Bring an end to this madness.

… … … … …

Alfyn slammed his hands onto the workbench and leaned over it to rest against it heavily. “Damn it all, what am I missing?!”

One ingredient. He just needed one more ingredient to change the structure of the serum. But what ingredient would work?

A stack of paper fell from the table, causing Alfyn to utter a sigh of frustration. He turned to look simply out of habit. But paused when he saw something he hadn’t noticed before.

A book?

He picked it up to examine it. It was similar in appearance to the books and tomes that Cyrus read. There was nothing written on the cover. The leather felt old, yet flawless. There was also a lock on the side, keeping the pages together.

However, that lock had been forcibly removed.

Wait, was this book the tome that Henry mentioned? The one that his daughter was obsessed over? Or was it his workbook, the one he had been working out of?

He noticed a small slip of paper between the pages. A bookmark. So he carefully, and cautiously, opened the book to that page. It was a reference page. About the Aeracura Blossom. Notes, statistics. Even a sketch of the plant.

A sketch that looked exactly like the flower he found in that Chamber of Healing.

Under the sketch of the flower was a small paragraph.

Only once. Only when hope is gone. Only when determination meets sacrifice. Only the blood of the chosen.

...What did any of that mean?

Alfyn’s gaze unwittingly drifted down to his arm. He found himself staring at it for some reason. But as he did so, he noticed something glinting from the corner of his eye. A piece of steel. No, a knife. Likely the one Henry had threatened him with.

Could...his blood be the true ingredient after all? Why?

...No, it didn’t matter why. Just as it was the ingredient needed. The only one he hadn’t tried. Henry was crazy, no doubt about that. But he knew what he was doing.

And he would do whatever it took to cure Therion and everyone of that stupid serum.

Placing the open book onto the workbench he reached down and picked up the discarded knife. He held it in his right hand and looked at his left arm. The thought of using a knife against himself was unsettling and he wasn’t entirely sure where to cut. But...he needed to try.

He pressed the blade against his inner arm and grimaced as he dragged the knife across the skin. It stung, but it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. He didn’t cut very deep, just enough to draw blood.

As soon as blood began to bead from the wound, Alfyn dropped the knife and picked up a glass bottle to gather the blood in. When he thought he’d have enough to work with, he placed the glass bottle back upon the table and tied his wound in a hasty bandage.

Ok, now what?

Wait, what did that book say? Only the blood of the chosen? Did he have to mix his blood with an ingredient from the Flower of Life. Or…?

The only thing left to try was to...inject some of his blood into the Flower of Life. He didn’t have any other option right now. He had to try. Time for true caution and experimentation was limited.

Therion...Cyrus and Olberic…

Alfyn grabbed a syringe and used it to gather a portion of his blood. He then headed over to the Flower of Life. With a silent prayer on his lips, he slid the needle within the plant and poured his blood into it.

His heart leapt into his throat when the flower unexpectedly began to wither away. However, as the petals wrinkle and fell away, the small white anthers remained, the filaments holding them high and firmly. Even as the rest of the flower began to brown and wither.

Moving quickly, Alfyn snatched a pair of tweezers from the table and plucked the six anthers and placed them into a glass jar. As soon as he plucked the last anther, the flower suddenly furled into itself and just...withered into a dry husk.

That...he hadn’t expected anything like that.

And he didn’t really have time to dwell on it. He needed to get straight back to work.

Heading straight back to the work table, Alfyn chose one of the white anthers and carefully took a small piece of it. He then added it into solution he made. As soon as the anther touched the liquid, it turned it into a bright purple. An almost luminous purple.

This was it...it was now or never.

Alfyn dropped to sit haphazardly on the floor and he scooped Therion unmoving body into his lap. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders to sit him upright and leaned him against his chest. Carefully, he placed the small glass bottle that contained the antidote to his Therion’s lips and poured in small amounts at a time.

Soon, the bottle’s contents were gone. Now, he had to wait.

Alfyn hadn’t realised he had been holding his breath until he exhaled loudly with relief. The fever was starting to subside. The grey rash to Therion’s skin was also fading. His breathing, his pulse...they were returning to normal.

He couldn’t help himself; he hugged Therion tightly.

Thank the gods. He was going to be ok.

But the others?

Right. He didn’t have time to celebrate or feel relief. He needed to check on the others. Especially Cyrus and Olberic. They had to be infected too.

Alfyn carefully let go of Therion and rested him against the wall. Though unconscious, Therion thankfully remained upright. He simply slumped against the wall, his head forward, his chin against his chest.

Taking to his feet, Alfyn turned back to the work table to gather the ingredients for the antidote. He quickly whisked up a large batch of the medicine and placed the finish product into his bag. He took a moment to ensure that it was safe and secure before he slung it over his head and laid the strap across his chest.

He paused when he caught sight of the book once more. Without a second thought, he snatched it up and dropped it into his bag also.

He then crouched down by Therion’s side once more. And though it was difficult, he managed to manoeuvre Therion onto his back so that he could carry him out of this forsaken place.

“Hold on guys,” Alfyn murmured. “I’m coming.”

Chapter Text

The ruins of the decaying manor were dark and in numerous places, obviously unsafe. Alfyn wasn’t entirely sure where he should put his feet, let alone where to go. But he felt a waft of cool air suddenly. He decided to follow his instinct and follow the trail of cool air.

The air turned colder as he descended a set of stairs. He soon realised why when he came face to face with a door that had ice framing the edges.

Alfyn tightened his grip on Therion as he lifted a leg and kicked in the ice-encrusted door. The sound it made as he hit the wall was almost deafening. But Alfyn paid no mind to it. His attention was drawn to the tall pillar of ice in the middle of the room. Or more specifically, at the person encased in said ice.

Beatrice…

That meant Cyrus had won.

Hah, of course he did!

Unconsciously tightening his hold on Therion further, Alfyn stepped into the room and immediately began to look around. He couldn’t see Cyrus anywhere at the beginning and he felt a new wave of panic just beneath the surface.

But then he spotted him.

He was rested against a tall marble pillar, seemingly have fallen against it haphazardly and slid to the floor. He had his head back resting against the pillar, his legs sprawled out in front of him and his arms limp by his sides.

Even from this distance, Alfyn could see the grey rash creeping along his neck to his cheek.

“Professor!” Alfyn shouted in both alarm and relief, and hastily made his way over to him.

Slowly, Cyrus opened his eyes and tilted his head to the side to peer up at him. And though it appeared to have taken a lot of effort, he managed to a small smile. “Aah, Alfyn. Therion managed to find you, I see.”

Gods, his voice was hoarse and tight. He...was having difficulties breathing.

Alfyn carefully crouched down to lower the still unconscious Therion to the ground. He then carefully lowered Therion to the floor, his head resting against Cyrus’ legs. A frown appeared on Cyrus’ lips as his hand shakily reached out to gently touch Therion’s hair.

With Therion in a somewhat comfortable state, Alfyn whipped his bag over his head and immediately dug into it for the next bottle of antidote.

“Don’t move,” Alfyn instructed. “I have the antidote.”

With the bottle tightly gripped in his hand, Alfyn popped off the lid before he pushed himself to his knees. He leaned forward to wrap a secure and comforting arm around Cyrus’ shoulders and pulled him toward him.

“Therion?” Cyrus questioned, his voice that of a murmurer now.

“He was infected, too. But he’ll be ok,” Alfyn explained as he brought the bottle to Cyrus’ lips. “And so will you. Now, drink this.”

Thankfully, Cyrus dutifully did as he was told. Wasn’t a surprise, really. He always happily took whatever medicine Alfyn insisted he have. He...trusted him and his medical knowledge.

He...knew Alfyn would come for him with antidote in hand. Hah. Just like Alfyn knew Cyrus and the others would find him.

Cyrus winced slightly as he swallowed down the medicine, but thankfully didn’t react negatively to the antidote.

“Sorry, a tad bitter?” Alfyn asked as he took the empty bottle back.

“A little,” Cyrus replied, his voice still hoarse.

His breathing, however, was starting to improve. Cyrus noticed as well, as a flicker of relief spread across his face when he drew in a deep breath.

Alfyn dropped the bottle into his bag. He kept an arm around Cyrus’ shoulders as he cupped his face with his other hand in order to get a better look at him. The rash that had begun to spread across his face was already subsiding.

It was amazing how quickly the antidote appeared to be.

“How do you feel?” Alfyn asked as he checked Cyrus’ pulse.

“Just…a little tired now,” Cyrus answered, his voice stronger now.

Alfyn uttered a sigh of pure relief. He carefully rested Cyrus against the pillar once more, keeping a close eye on him the entire time. “The antidote will work quickly. The rash is already starting to fade.”

“Ah. I’m not surprised,” Cyrus commented as he idly ran a hand through Therion’s hair, seemingly attempt to ground himself. “It’s always been remarkable how quickly you’re able to whip up a salve.”

Alfyn had never been more thankful for his own ability then he was today. But he’d have to ponder about it later. He still had more work to do.

As Alfyn turned to grab his bag, his gaze fell upon the tall ice pillar in the centre of the room. And he winced when he realised that he could see Beatrice rather clearly. More specifically, her frozen expression of surprise. Ah, no pun intended.

“Beatrice? She’s…”

“Suffocated, most likely,” Cyrus answered with a bitterness to his voice. But there was also a hint of acceptance. “I didn’t...have much choice in the matter. She promised to cure me if I joined her. Quite silly. I knew...Therion would find you and you would discover a cure.”

Alfyn felt the need to apologise for something. For taking too long. For allowing himself to be captured in the first place. But he swallowed back the urge and nodded his head.

“Where’s Henry?” Cyrus asked him.

“Therion kicked him out of a window,” Alfyn replied with a wry half grin. “He’s likely dead, too.”

Cyrus nodded his head. “For the best, perhaps.”

“Yeah.”

They could both be with their daughter in the afterlife now.

Cyrus suddenly nudged him with his hand. “Go. Olberic needs you more.”

Alfyn turned to him and frowned when he realised he wouldn’t be able to carry them both. And Cyrus shouldn’t be walking yet. Lying still and waiting for the antidote to take its full effect was what he needed.

“How am I-?”

“H’annit is outside, too,” Cyrus interrupted him. “Leave the two of us here. Hurry.”

Alfyn chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. He eventually nodded his head and reached for his bag. He couldn’t carry the both of them. And they’d slow him down unintentionally.

He needed to get to Olberic quickly.

Though it physically hurt his chest to turn his back on Cyrus and Therion, Alfyn gritted his teeth and didn’t look back. He ran through the manor once more, heading toward the bright source of light. It would lead to outside. He didn’t care if it was a door or a window; he was using it to get outside.

Henry and Beatrice were both dead. Cyrus and Therion were on the recovery thanks to the antidote. They were fine. He’d come back for them later.

Thankfully, the source of light was from a set of doors that were wide open. Good. He didn’t have to waste any more time in fiddling with the darn thing. He barrelled through the doors and jumped down the steps. He paused briefly, panting lightly, to survey his surroundings.

In a garden this big and overgrown...where could Olberic be?

Alfyn cupped his hands around his mouth. “Olberic!”

It was Tressa’s voice that replied. “Alfyn, over here!”

Alfyn didn’t know whether it was adrenaline or survival instinct, but he immediately honed in on the direction of Tressa’s voice. He pushed through some of the thorny vines, ignoring the way they tugged at his clothing. He soon found himself in a small clearing.

In the middle were three people. One of them was Olberic. He was sat on the ground, his sword in hand in an attempt to keep himself upright. His gaze was unfocused as he stared at the ground in front of him.

...Half of his face was grey.

Alfyn was pulled from his observations by someone nearly tackling him. He huffed out a noise of surprise and looked down to see that it was Tressa who had barrelled into him, hugging him tightly when her face pressed against his chest.

“Are you ok?” Tressa asked as she abruptly pulled back to look up at him.

Alfyn shook his head dismissively. “Never mind me,” he said as he gently pushed Tressa to the side. “Olberic?”

“He is unable to speaketh,” H’annit answered for him, her face creased in deep concern. However, she stepped back to allow Alfyn to crouch in front of Olberic.

“You’ll be ok,” Alfyn immediately comforted as he reached into his bag for another bottle of antidote. He popped the lid with his thumb before he reached up with his hand to gently but firmly cup the side of Olberic’s face and urged him to lift his chin up.

Alfyn had to swallow back a gasp at the sheer...emptiness of Olberic’s gaze. It was like he was in deep meditation.

“Here, can you drink this?” Alfyn questioned, though honestly concerned that he didn’t hear him.

If he couldn’t, he’d have to find some way to inject it into him. It honestly felt to him that he didn’t have time for Olberic to drink it slowly. He needed the medicine immediately.

Thankfully, being the stubborn and determined man that he was, Olberic allowed for Alfyn to bring the medicine to his lips and drank it all down quickly. With the bottle now empty, Alfyn continued to hold the side of Olberic’s face, watching closely and with baited breath as the grey rash like symptom that covered more than half of his face slowly, but still quickly, began to fade.

“How you feeling, Boss?” Alfyn asked softly, well aware that both Tressa and H’annit were huddled close behind him.

Olberic finally blinked his eyes and a half smile appeared on his lips. “Hah, better than before.”

Alfyn sighed loudly with relief, and he heard Tressa and H’annit do the same.

Thank the gods. The life was back within Olberic’s eyes.

“Don’t push yourself,” Alfyn said as he pulled his hand back and rested on his heels, his shoulders sagging from weariness. “Let the antidote do its work.”

He was starting to feel really fatigued, even though he...hadn’t done much.

“The others?” Olberic questioned.

Alfyn automatically straightened his posture. That was right, he couldn’t relax yet. More work needed to be done. “Therion and Cyrus are still inside,” he answered as he motioned toward the manor with a tilt of his head.

“I wilth find them,” H’annit immediately offered before Alfyn had the chance to ask, and she placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Tressa shalt stayeth with Olberic. I wilt bringeth Cyrus and Therion to safety. Thee, wend. Taketh care of what thee needeth to doth.”

Pushing aside his weariness, Alfyn grabbed his bag and forced himself to his feet.

He didn’t have much of the antidote left. With the Flower of Life dead, he couldn’t go back and make any more. He’d have to choose who would get the antidote, and who wouldn’t.

...His travelling companions came first. Then the orphaned children.

Gods, he hoped Primrose and Ophilia were ok.

“I’ll return soon and we’ll take everyone back to the inn. They’re...out of danger, but I want to keep an eye on everyone.”

“Of course.”

Alfyn offered H’annit a tight smile before he forced himself for the second time to turn away from his companions. Grasping at the strap of his bag tightly, Alfyn ran through the garden and through the vines, to make it out into the streets of the village once more.

Heading in the direction of the orphanage, Alfyn realised that the streets were empty as ever. That was probably a good thing. He didn’t really want to have to deal with a hoard of infected patients, acting like zombies or something. But that did lead to the question of how many inhabitants were infected? And if...they were even alive.

“Alfyn!”

Alfyn snapped his head up at the sound of Ophilia’s voice, and realised that she was actually running in his direction. Why she left the orphanage was of concern. But she seemed uninfected by the serum.

“Phillie,” Alfyn murmured in concern when she all but barrelled into him, hugging him in a similar fashion as Tressa. “Are you all right? Where’s Primrose?”

When Ophilia pulled her face from his chest, she looked up at him with eyes that were red and filled with tears. Yet, she wouldn’t allow herself to shed any. “She’s...been infected. S-she sent me to find you. I-I tried the salve. It’s stopped it from spreading, but…”

No...she must be in pretty bad shape for Ophilia to run through the village in an desperate attempt to find him.

“It’s ok,” Alfyn instinctively comfort as he took Ophilia by the shoulders and pulled her back. “I’ll help her, don’t worry.”

Ophilia drew in a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. Though her eyes were still tearful, her brow furrowed slightly as she looked at him. “What happened? You’re as pale as a ghost.”

Alfyn had no doubt he looked like a mess. Pale, hair down, tired looking. But standing there wasn’t letting him get any prettier. “Long story. Let’s run.”

“Yes.”

They both turn and ran toward the orphanage once again. Not paying to anything else. Just each other and the goal to get to the orphanage as quickly as possible. And to save precious time, they spoke along the way. The more information Alfyn had, the better.

“How about the kids?”

“They were acting strangely, so we used the salve you created to ease their symptoms.”

“That’s great! Now I won’t have to use as much of the antidote as I thought.”

“You’ve created an antidote?”

“The Flower of Life exists. Well, existed.”

“W-what?”

“Long story,” Alfyn said as they barrelled into the orphanage. They paused briefly to catch their breaths. “Where is she?”

“Over here,” Ophilia said as she led him deeper into the orphanage, to the area where the children were kept together in their beds. Primrose occupied one of the beds. Lying atop of the sheets, a wet cloth resting against her forehead.

Gods, the grey rash had spread across both her arms, in blotchy patches from her hands to her shoulders.

How…? Beatrice must have left some of the serum behind in order to subdue Ophilia and Primrose. So why wasn’t Ophilia infected?

Must be because of exposure.

“Hng…” Primrose murmured as both Alfyn and Ophilia reached her bedside.

Ophilia immediately dropped to her knees and took Primrose’s hand in hers. Alfyn took to the other side of the bed and immediately dug around in his bag for a bottle of antidote. Primrose was in pretty bad shape. She, like Olberic, needed to drink the entire antidote, and quickly.

“Oh, Primrose,” she murmured as she tenderly stroked the side of her face. “Prim, can you hear me?”

Primrose furrowed her brow and tried to weakly push Ophilia away. “Don’t...get too...close.”

“It’s ok, Prim,” Alfyn comforted as he slipped an arm around her shoulders and effortlessly sat her up. Ophilia reached out to gently tilt Primrose’s head back, to allow for him to efficiently, but gently give her the antidote to drink. “Drink this.”

Thankfully, either out of survival instinct or she was conscious enough to know that she was in safe hands, Primrose swallowed down the potion quickly. When the bottle was empty, Alfyn laid her back down upon the bed.

They then watched and waited with baited breath for the antidote to take effect.

The colour slowly began to return to Primrose’s cheeks, and the grey coloured rash on her arms began to fade.

She was out of danger.

Alfyn sighed and Ophilia looked to him expectantly. “She’s going to be all right,” he said before he furrowed his brow in concern and inspected Ophilia with his eyes. “You’re not infected?”

“No, Primrose...She told me to keep my gloves on and she was the one who handled the children, giving them the salve to help them,” Ophilia replied before she, too, frowned. “It was...contagious?”

Alfyn shook his head. “No, but it’s easy to become infected,” he explained. “Thankfully, you guys didn’t receive the latest concoction.”

“I don’t fully understand…”

“Sorry, I’ll explain everything later, I promise,” Alfyn said as he ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly when he remembered that his hair was still hanging loose around his shoulders. “You could say it’s been a rough day.”

And it wasn’t over yet.

“Ok, time for the kids,” Alfyn said as he pushed himself to his feet and holstered his bad upon his shoulder once more.

And after that...he’d have to see how much of the antidote was left.

Chapter Text

Night-time had fallen when Alfyn was finally able to gather everyone back at the inn. It took some time, but thankfully with H’annit’s help, Alfyn was able to bring everyone back and make them comfortable. Though the antidote he created helped alleviate and then eliminate the symptoms and causes of the illness that infected his companions, it could not ease their exhaustion of having to battle against the serum.

They were all sleeping. Therion, Cyrus, Olberic, and Primrose.

They had a bed room each at the inn. A place they currently had full reign over due to the inn-keepers and their maid being infected by the serum as well.

With four members of their group infected, and four not, thankfully there was one person to watch over the other who was sick. Ophilia was with Primrose, H’annit with Olberic, Tressa with Cyrus, and Alfyn chose to watch over Therion.

With a chair pulled close to Therion’s bedside, Alfyn gazed down at his sleeping friend. The grey rash was nowhere to be seen. The deathly paleness to his cheeks had vanished. And now he was just sleeping off the rest of the serum and stress.

He couldn’t stop himself from constantly reaching out to brush aside the strands of his hair from his forehead to check if his fever had returned or not.

Alfyn was of course worried for everyone. But it was Therion who was at the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt about what happened. The way Therion had pushed himself to find him, even as the serum ravished his senses, nearly turning him to stone. The way Therion staggered.

He never done that before. Stagger or stumble.

He could still feel the shock and concern when Therion staggered over to him and free him from his bindings. He could still feel the way his heart leapt into his throat when Therion fell in front of him. Falling in slow motion.

By the gods, that scared him more than anything.

Alfyn had to shake his head to rid himself of that image and the lingering after effects that still caused his heart to skip a beat. He spent a minute or so ensuring that Therion was comfortable, lightly draping the blankets over him and carefully folding his arms over his torso above the sheets. Therion didn’t like having his arms trapped beneath the blankets, after all.

With a lingering glance, Alfyn pushed himself to his feet and walked out of the room. He quietly closed to the door behind him and carefully descended the stairs.

“Alfyn?” Ophilia called his name softly.

Alfyn paused at the bottom of the stairs and turned around to look up at her. He tried to offer her a comforting smile when he realised she had obvious worry on her face. “Sorry. Just...one more thing I need to do.”

He then turned and walked out of the inn.

It was still unnerving to him how quiet the streets were. It wasn’t something he liked. Villages were meant to be busy, after all.

It also didn’t help that the silence made him reflect back on all that had occurred.

There was so much that needed to be done. What about those kids? Who would watch over them now? And the residents of the village; what conditions were they in? How long had they suffered at the hands of Henry and Beatrice, and their mind-altering serum?

It was honestly overwhelming, so Alfyn tried to focus on the present. Look after his companions. Make sure those kids were alive.

One step at a time.

After everyone had recovered, then they may be able to start the process of sticking the village back together. They couldn’t stay for very long, though. It felt wrong to leave after what happened, but they had places they needed to go. And Alfyn wanted to go with them.

After what had happened, he didn’t want to be a part from them for very long. Just in case something similar happened again.

Aflyn shook his head to clear it and uttered a sigh. His feet scraped against the ground, giving the small indication that he was feeling tired. But he kept walking until he reached a water well located in the centre of town.

He gazed down the inky blackness for a moment before he reached into his bag and pulled out a glass bottle. It contained the antidote.

And it was the only one he had left.

Tightening his hand around it, Alfyn tilted his head back and sighed as he looked up at the starry sky. Despite himself, more questions about what had occurred floated through his mind.

Was the Aeracure Blossom gone for good? What was it exactly? Where did it come from? Who built the Chamber of Healing it was housed in? What about the abandoned manor? Who owned it before Henry and Beatrice inhabited it? Why was it abandoned?

There were just...so many questions left unanswered. And the frustrating part was he may never know the truth.

Turning his eyes away from the sky, Alfyn looked down at the bottle in his hand once more. Slowly, he popped off the lid, the noise seeming to echo through the silence. He then poured it into the drinking supply.

It was all he could do. He couldn’t make anymore. All he could do was hope that by drinking the water with the antidote, those who were still infected would heal in time.

...There was nothing else he could do.

Slipping the empty bottle back into his bag, Alfyn turned and headed back in the direction of the inn.

He was silently glad that Ophilia didn’t try to wait for his return. Poor girl was worried enough about everyone. She didn’t need to be fussing over him now.

Their rooms were located across from each other and close to the stairs. So, Alfyn dropped his bag upon the top step and sat down heavily next to it. With a weary sigh, and ignoring the ache in his shoulders and back, he rested his elbows on his knees and closed his eyes.

Finally, he was able to sit down.

“Alfyn?”

Alfyn instinctively straightened his posture and placed a smile on his lips. “Hey, Phillie,” he greeted in return. He tried to sound jovial so not to alarm her, but he honestly surprised himself by how tired he sounded.

Ophilia looked at him for a while, her expression unreadable. She slowly lowered herself onto the top step next to him and folded her hands atop of her lap. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, just a tad tired,” Alfyn replied, his grin turning more genuine. “Hah, don’t even feel like a drink right now.”

Ophilia nodded her head idly before she pulled her legs to her chest and folded her arms tightly around them. “...I can’t believe all that happened,” she whispered as she rested her chin atop of her knees.

The smile faded from his lips and Alfyn nodded his head. “Feels like it came out of the blue.”

“I felt really helpless,” Ophilia admitted softly. “I don’t like that feeling.”

Alfyn turned his head to look forward, but not really looking at anything. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“It must have been so hard for you. So close to the cure, yet unable to reach it.”

“I bet it was scary for you, too. Locked away in that orphanage, not knowing what was going on.”

Ophilia’s arms tightened around her legs and nodded her head slowly.

It honestly wasn’t fair.

“...Let’s try not to think about it too much, ok?” Alfyn suggested, straightening his posture once more, trying to look energetic and willing to move forward.

“Y-yes, mustn’t waste precious energy,” Ophilia replied, reacting similarly to him. “We have others in need of our healing.”

Alfyn laughed lightly, actually feeling better than before. “Right. We’re not helpless now. So, let’s get back to work.”

Ophilia took to her feet and idly patted down her clothes to straighten them. “Yes.” She sent him a grateful smile and turned to head back to the room which Primrose was recuperating in.

But she paused and glanced down at Alfyn with a curious look on her. “You know, Alfyn? You look good with your hair down.”

Alfyn instinctively reached up to touch his hair and realised that his hair was indeed left hanging around his shoulders and neck. No wonder he kept feeling a tickling sensation at the back of his neck. “Oh, do I? I keep forgetting about it.”

Ophilia folded her hands in front of her and smiled. “Therion is sure to appreciate it.”

Alfyn felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “H-hey, Phillie!”

Ophilia giggled as she dashed away. She paused at the bedroom door to wave a hand at him before opening the door and stepped inside.

Alfyn sighed and idly rubbed at his cheeks with his hands. He felt a small frown on his lips, though, and glanced at the door to Therion’s room.

Therion…He pushed himself too hard for him.

He hoped he would awaken soon.

… … … … …

The stars glittered high above as Therion rolled his head to the side. The campfire were just glowing embers now, but it offered enough light to reveal that the spot next to him was empty.

Alfyn was supposed to sleeping there.

Therion immediately sat up and looked around. He soon found a familiar form nearby, near a lake. He sat on the bank, leaning back on his hands as he stared up at the starry sky. Still close enough to the campsite, but too far for Therion’s liking. Especially alone and in such an unguarded state.

Uttering a silent sigh, Therion heaved himself to his feet and made his way over to Alfyn. “What are you doing?”

Alfyn tilted his head back and granted him a small smile. “Thinking,” he replied simply.

Therion arched an eyebrow and stood there for a moment longer. However, he soon dropped down onto the ground next to him, lazing back on an elbow, turned toward Alfyn subtly. “...About what?”

Alfyn turned his gaze skywards. “Ogen.”

Therion was unable to prevent a grimace and frown. “You still thinking about that?”

However, Alfyn shook his head. “Nah. There’s something else that’s been bothering me about the guy.”

“And what’s that?”

“It’s just…” Alfyn hesitated, probably trying to search for the right words. “I think he’s truly forgotten what it is truly like to feel.”

Therion felt his brow furrowed in confusion. “Feel what?”

“Everything,” Alfyn answered as he flopped back onto the grass, his sprawled out widely. “I guess if you’ve been hurt enough, it’s easy to mistake any depth of feeling for sadness, any sense of the unknown with fear, any sense of peace with boredom.” He rolled his head to the side and looked at him. “Ya know what I mean?”

Therion tried to remain casual and dismissively, but his body tensed nonetheless and he frowned. “Yeah…”

“Hey, Therion?”

“What?”

Alfyn reached out and slipped a finger around that damn fool’s bangle around his wrist and tugged on it lightly. “Your life is yours to do what you will with; you can make it whatever you want.”

That caught Therion completely off guard and he wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “...What about you? There’s nothing holding you here.”

Alfyn hummed lightly as he released his grip on that stupid bracelet and let his hand flop listlessly onto the grass beside his head. “Hmm, there kinda is.”

“What?”

Despite lying flat on the grass, Alfyn managed to shrug and fold his hands across his torso. “I like spending time with you.”

Therion snorted to cover up the unusual feeling of peace and flopped onto his back next to Alfyn. “You need a better hobby,” he said as he folded his arms behind his head and rested an ankle on his knee.

“Now, don’t be like that,” Alfyn whined, but the amusement in his voice was obvious.

Therion just smirked and closed his eyes.

He found himself opening them moments later, however, and the slightly familiar sight of a ceiling over his head greeted him instead of a cluster of stars. That confused him. But as his vision began to clear, so did his mind.

And he soon remembered everything that had happened.

Therion immediately sat up in bed, ignored the way he head spun from the sudden movement, and swung his legs over the side. He placed his feet on the floor, taking light note that his shoes and poncho had been removed, and stood up.

A wave of panic washed over him internally as he glanced around the room and couldn’t see Alfyn anywhere.

“Alfyn?”

“Therion?” Alfyn questioned in return before he suddenly appeared directly before Therion and flung his arms around him, embracing him tightly. The hug was so sudden that Therion instinctively wrapped his arms around him in return in an attempt to prevent them both from toppling over onto the bed behind him.

It actually surprised Therion somewhat to realise how calm he felt the instant Alfyn flung his arms around him and pressed his face against the curve of his neck. In fact, he felt a sense of satisfaction and relief. He had managed to find Alfyn after all. And the fact that he was standing, breathing, and not some statue meant that Alfyn had managed to find a cure for whatever it was that Henry used on them.

“How are you feeling?” Alfyn asked as he pulled back slightly, but did step back from him. Instead he stayed pressed against him as his hands cupped the sides of Therion’s face gently. “Let me look at you.”

Normally, Therion would try to dismiss some of Alfyn’s obvious concern toward him. But tonight, he really couldn’t be bothered. So, he just rested his hands on the other man’s sides and let him fuss. “What happened?”

Alfyn sighed and interlocked his fingers together behind Therion’s neck. “Cyrus, Olberic, and Primrose had been infected with the mind-altering serum,” he explained as he rested his forehead against Therion’s. “I...was able to make an antidote. They’re going to be fine now.”

Noticing a white, hastily made bandage on Alfyn’s arm caused Therion to bristle with protectiveness. “Did that bastard do anything to you?” he asked, his arms unconsciously pressing firmly against Alfyn’s sides.

Alfyn kept his forehead against his and shook his head ever so slightly. “No. You got to me in time.”

Despite the affirmation that Henry hadn’t done anything, Therion still felt protective. “So, he was planning something?” murmured, not so much as a question, but as a complaint.

One that drew a small laugh from Alfyn, but little else.

He pushed aside that protectiveness and instead focused his attention on the man directly in front of him. The lighting of the room was dim, and Therion’s eyes were still a tad blurry from waking and moving suddenly. But he could see the tired lines on Alfyn’s face.

And the unruly strands of his hair around his shoulders and framing his face. Alfyn honestly looked good with his hair down. He would complain about it, though. How it tickled the back of his neck, how the strands would get in his eyes when he was trying to concentrate.

Therion secretly liked it when he wore his head down. But right now, he just looked exhausted.

“You have your hair down,” Therion murmured before he had the chance to reconsider.

Alfyn leaned back to look down at him in surprise. He, however, smiled somewhat sheepishly and draped one arm around Therion’s shoulders while he reached up to touch his hair with the other. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Didn’t really have time to put it back up, ya know?”

...He wondered what had happened after he found Alfyn. Perhaps finding him was the easy part. Leaving him to clean up the mess by himself was...a little unfair.

Alfyn uttered another sigh as he lowered his hand from his hair and draped it casually around Therion’s shoulders, like he had done with the other. He looked tiredly into his eyes. And yet...there was something in those eyes that Therion couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“You pushed yourself to rescue me.”

“You were the only one to find a cure, after all.”

“Is that all, though?”

Therion sighed. No point in trying to be dismissive about it now. “...No.”

Alfyn tilted his head to the side and smiled softly. “...Shucks, Therion. I was worried about you, too.”

As Alfyn leaned down toward him, Therion instinctively tilted his head back so that his lips caught Alfyn’s. Alfyn didn’t react negatively in anyway. Didn’t stiffen. Didn’t immediately pull back. No, he pressed forward to press his lips a little firmer against Therion’s. While he did no more than that, Therion knew what the slight movement meant.

It was both an invitation and a request.

So Therion took the lead, he being the one to deepen the kiss. And Alfyn happily followed, letting Therion kiss him in anyway he felt comfortable.

It was humbling, in a way. Even in such an intimate act, Alfyn still found a way to express his trust in him. A small voice piped up, saying that he didn’t deserve someone like Alfyn. But he squashed it.

Because, damn it all, pushing people away was getting tiring.

After one last, lingering caress, they pulled back from the kiss. But not from each other. While Therion opened his eyes, Alfyn didn’t. Instead he leaned forward to rest his forehead against his once again.

“I knew you would come for me,” he murmured.

Of course he would.

“Did you now?” Therion returned. “How can you be so sure?”

“I trust you, that’s why,” Alfyn replied quickly and easily. “And you trust me, don’t you?”

“...Yeah.” Of course he did.

“Good,” Alfyn said as he hugged him tightly, resting his cheek on his hair. “So, if you ever get arrested, I’ll definitely break you out.”

“Oh, will you now?”

“Well, I broke into a mansion. I think I’m getting the hang of this thieving business.”

Therion tried to snort, but instead chuckled in mild amusement. “I guess the gods like me more than I thought,” he murmured.

Alfyn pulled back to look at him with his head tilted curiously to the side. “Therion?”

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to have heard him. By the gods, that was cheesy. He might tell him about it later. But not now. He’d be damned if Primrose ever found out.

“You look tired,” Alfyn suddenly commented with a slight frown.

Therion had no doubt about that. But he wasn’t the only one. “I probably look less tired than you do right now. You’ve never been very good at looking after yourself.”

Alfyn granted him a sheepish half smile but didn’t argue. “I should try to refute that, but even I know you’re right.”

Therion smirked. It quickly faded though when Alfyn made the half-hearted attempt to pull back and he reacted by wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him still. Alfyn stiffened for a fraction of a moment but placed his arms around Therion’s shoulders once more.

“Share the one bed tonight?” Alfyn requested. “I’d...sleep better that way.”

Therion immediately nodded his head. Yeah, he would, too.

With that reassurance, Alfyn smiled and they finally parted. Only so that Therion could flop back down onto the bed and for Alfyn to get himself into the state where he could sleep comfortably. He soon flopped down onto the bed next to Therion and rolled over so that he was facing him.

Alfyn was obviously more tired than he thought. As soon as Alfyn’s head hit the pillow, he was out like a light.

And Therion found himself watching him sleep for a while. Just watching. Reassuring himself that Alfyn was safe, that everyone else was sure to be safe. There were still a lot of questions swimming around in his head about what happened while he was out, while Alfyn was held captive.

But they could wait.

Draping an arm over Alfyn’s waist, Therion finally settled down and fell asleep himself.

Chapter Text

Morning came sooner than Alfyn would have liked. Lying in bed with Therion resting next to him and his arm draped over him comfortably, yet protectively; Alfyn didn’t want to move. Warm, safe, comfortable. Could you blame him?

But he had to get up. He needed to check on Cyrus, Primrose, and Olberic. Not to mention the children at the orphanage. They were virtually unsupervised, after all.

...Gods, he needed to find a caretaker for them, too.

He’d...have to worry about that later. For today, he just had to concentrate on being the caretaker for everyone.

Still, he rolled over onto his side with his head nestled in the crook of his elbow and just looked at Therion as he slept. It wasn’t often that Alfyn awoke before Therion. Vigilant Therion was always on edge, ready to react to any situation at any given time. But now? He was asleep. Sleeping off the serum. Sleeping off the stress.

He was safe, though. The colour of health had returned to his cheeks. No sign of a rash, of any kind of illness, to his exposed skin.

Alfyn had no idea how the antidote worked, how his blood appeared to be the pivotal part of the tonic, but...in the end he supposed it didn’t matter. The end result did.

Though he was reluctant to do so, Alfyn gently nudged Therion to wake him from his sleep. He knew he would prefer to be awoken then to awake some time later to find Alfyn missing from his place next to him. Alfyn certainly would have.

“Therion? Wakey wakey,” Alfyn said as he tried to sit up. But couldn’t move very far with Therion’s arm around him.

Therion muttered out a few choice words. Something about it being too early or something. It brought a small smile to Alfyn’s lips. He couldn’t help but wonder if this...this peace, the way Therion refused to pull back his arm would happen every morning now.

It was nice to think about.

But he really needed to get up right now.

“Come on, Therion, I need to check in on the others,” Alfyn explained with a grin.

“Fine,” Therion murmured as reluctantly pulled his arm back, to allow Alfyn to sit up.

Alfyn leaned forward to place a quick kiss to Therion’s cheek, causing him to blink in surprise at him. But he didn’t recoil or try to pull away from him. Alfyn simply smiled at him before he sat up and pulled back the blankets. He pivoted to sit on the edge of the bed with his feet on the ground.

“Gonna check on the others,” Alfyn said idly. “After that, let’s gather for breakfast or something. In front of the fireplace?”

“Yeah, all right,” Therion murmured as he stretched out on the bed.

Running a hand through his hair prompted Alfyn to remember that his hair was loose from it’s usual style. He’d have to leave it down for the day, too, as he didn’t know what happened to his hair band and he didn’t have a spare. He’d been meaning to get a spare for a while, but never got around to it.

Ignoring the way the strands of his hair were tickling the back of his neck, Alfyn slipped on his boots and grabbed his bag. He slung it hastily over his shoulder as he walked from the room.

The first person Alfyn wanted to check in on was Olberic. Out of the four that were infected, he seemed to have gotten the worst of it. It was likely because of that habit of his of throwing himself in front of everyone to take any hits or attacks aimed at them. Alfyn honestly wasn’t all the fond of that ‘habit’ of his.

Then again, he wasn’t fond of people getting hurt in general. And, really, when battling against monsters, someone getting hurt was bound to happen.

Thankfully, everyone seemed to have anticipated that he would want to check in on them first thing in the morning. And equally relieving, they were all awake and in good shape. Like Therion. While knowing that they were out of danger after he gave them the antidote, there was nothing like actually seeing them up and about, moving easily. And verbally reassuring him that they felt find.

Even so, Alfyn gave Cyrus, Primrose, and Olberic the once over, ensuring him and them that the rash had finally faded for good. They were out of danger. They weren’t going to turn to statues. Not now. Not with him around.

Finally, after reassuring himself and everyone, they gathered together in front of the unlit fireplace to discuss the events that had occurred yesterday. There were a lot of details that each member had and in order to get the full picture, they needed to sit down and talk, comparing notes. As it were.

Alfyn waited until everyone had said their piece. Since he was virtually in the middle of everyone. He had to tell them everything that had occurred. And about how he had been restrained, preventing him from doing anything useful in his capture. About the serum, what said serum was created to do. And their reasonings for such an invention.

And he winced his way through the details of how Henry wanted him to be his protege and then...turned to him with a knife, believing his blood was somehow sacred and useful.

That admission brought numerous protective bristles from the others. Therion most notably.

Alfyn had to smile at that. They were likely to be rather protective of him, and each other for quite some time now. Alfyn didn’t necessarily need someone being protective of him. But it was something he appreciated nevertheless.

“So, that’s what happened,” Alfyn said from where he sat on a chair in front of the fireplace, essentially the centre of everyone’s attention. “What I learnt at least.”

Cyrus nodded his head before he held his chin and folded his other arm across his chest. “I remember Beatrice saying something similar. Honestly. A mind-altering serum? How preposterous.”

Ophilia looked distraught as she folded her hands against her chest and looked down at the floor. “Those poor children…”

“It seemed to have worked on some, but turned others into stone,” Olberic mused.

“It certainly sounds like an incredibly unstable and dangerous substance.”

As the others talked and mused amongst themselves, Alfyn felt that unfair feeling of guilt wash over him again. He knew that what happened wasn’t his fault. He knew. But there was that little voice at the back of his mind whispering little ‘what if you had done this instead?’ at him.

“Um, hey?” Alfyn said as he interlocked his fingers together and pressed them together between his knees somewhat nervously. “Do you think...this is my fault somehow?”

Everyone immediately fell silent and turned to look at him with dumbfounded expressions on their faces.

“Where you get that nonsense from?” Therion asked sharply, breaking the rather uncomfortable silence that had fallen over them.

The corner of Alfyn’s mouth twitched into a half smile. “Nonsense, huh?”

“Of course it’s nonsense,” Ophilia said, surprisingly sternly. “Why would you think such a thing?”

“Sorry, I can’t help it,” Alfyn said apologetically before he shrugged his shoulders. “They were after me from the start and stuff, you know?”

Therion muttered to himself from the corner of the room, but still close to where Alfyn sat. “...knew they were fucking sketchy…” he sniffed with some kind of self-justification and folded his arms across his chest.

Primrose peered at him from the corner of her eye before she placed a comforting smile on her lips and directed her attention toward Alfyn. “It’s not your fault,” she said gently. “Nothing is.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” Alfyn said in what he hoped was a pacifying manner. He couldn’t prevent a frown, though, when another concern pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. “There’s something I still don’t understand.”

“What’s that?” Therion was the one to ask.

“It’s just...Therion, Cyrus, and Olberic were infected by the serum when Henry attacked us at the Chamber of Healing,” Alfyn explained, his frown deepening. “Yet I didn’t fall victim to it as well. Not to mention the contact I had with the kids at the orphanage. By all accounts, I should have been infected, too.”

Cyrus took to his usual ’pondering stance. “Are you sure you hadn’t and Henry had interfered somehow?” he questioned.

But Alfyn shook his head. “No. Henry didn’t have the antidote. He was still working on it while I was his prisoner. He actually kept me prisoner so I would work with him and help him discover it. So…”

They fell silent once more, which lingered for a few moments before Therion was the one to break it once more.

“Don’t try to think about it,” he said simply.

Hah, easier said than done.

“I’ll try,” Alfyn replied with a small smile. “I can’t guarantee that, though.”

“Wait,” Tressa suddenly piped up. “What happened to those two, anyway? Henry and Beatrice?”

Alfyn couldn’t prevent a wince. “Beatrice is dead, suffocated in a pillar of ice. And Therion kicked Henry out of a window.” He turned to look directly at Therion and grinned at him. “Remember?”

Therion scrunched his nose up slightly as he gazed at the floor. “...Vaguely,” he finally replied before he made a sound of pure annoyance and looked off to the side. “Damn, I wanted to prolong that bastard’s suffering.”

Ah, typical Therion. Still, it was appreciated.

“What should we do now?” Tressa asked, the question directed toward everyone.

“Now that’s a good question,” Cyrus mumbled.

“And what of this Aeracura Blossom?” Primrose was the one to question. “What happened with it?”

Alfyn sighed and shook his head. “It’s dead,” he said quickly, deciding to keep the fact that he used his blood as part of the antidote to himself. “Withered and died. After I made the antidote.”

“Oh, I see.” Ophilia sounded truly disappointed.

“...I’d honestly would like to inspect that Chamber of Healing again,” Cyrus suddenly stated, which surprised a few of them. “Perhaps it might hold some answers.”

Ah, that made sense.

“...I want to see it, too,” Alfyn admitted but shook his head and sighed. “Before we do any of that, though, we need to find someone willing to be the caretaker to those orphaned children. Not to mention I need to see if anyone else has been infected. Also, Henry’s recipe is still inside of that abandoned manor.”

“I’d like to ensure that both Henry and Beatrice are indeed dead,” Olberic added. “So they won’t return to create more supposedly ‘justifiable’ havoc upon this village once again.”

“Aye,” H’annit agreed before adding her own suggestion. “And those creatures within that Garden of Unease must beest attended to. To putteth those who hadst suffered at peace once more.”

Sounded like they had a lot of work ahead of them...

Cyrus dropped his hand from his chin and uttered an uncharacteristic weary sigh. “Yes, we...are the only ones who can bring any kind of peace and security to this village.”

“Well, if you’re going to that Chamber of Healing or that Garden of Unease, or whatever, we’re all going this time!” Tressa insisted without any room for argument.

Sounded more than reasonable.

Well then, they had better get to work then!

… … … … …

It was around midday when Alfyn found himself standing before the tall steel gates that led into the Garden of Unease. He wasn’t looking at the forest of thorns and vines, though. His eyes were glued upon the remains of the mansion. The top floor. The windows were boarded up, so it wasn’t on this side of the mansion he was held captive.

Even so, he kept staring as his mind went over what had occurred.

Honestly, it now felt so...surreal. With the death of not only Henry and Beatrice, but of the Aeracura Blossom as well. Not to mention the elimination of the serum Henry created, those infected fixed and cured; everything now just felt like it had been a dream.

“Ah, Therion told me you would be here.”

The sound of a familiar voice pulled Alfyn from his thoughts. He immediately turned to watch as Cyrus approached him.

“Professor? Therion did?” Alfyn questioned as the other man stopped to stand next to him.

“Indeed,” Cyrus replied simply with a seeming knowing smile on his lips.

“Now, don’t worry; I wasn’t heading inside by myself,” Alfyn insisted with a smile, speaking loud enough to ensure that any of their companions who just happened to be nearby.

Ah, but he knew that, didn’t he? That wasn’t the reason why Therion sent Cyrus after him.

“What brings you here then, my friend?” Cyrus asked encouragingly.

“Just…” Alfyn started before he sighed and turned his attention back to the abandoned ruins of the mansion. “Reflecting on things, I guess.”

Cyrus stepped up next to him and turned his gaze toward the building also. “And?”

Alfyn chewed on his bottom lip for a second. “...Hey, Professor?”

“Hm?”

Alfyn turned around to face him directly and grasped at the strap of his knapsack, twisting it nervously. “I...kinda understood why Henry would do something like this. I mean, it’s still wrong, but I…”

“And that’s fine, Alfyn,” Cyrus returned, cutting off his ramblings by placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You understand. You sympathise. You may even empathise. But that doesn’t automatically mean you agree with what happened. With what they did. To understand someone doesn’t mean you accept what they’ve done.”

That...sounded reasonable.

Alfyn slowly nodded his head in understanding. He continued to twist and fidget with the strap of his bag, however. And Cyrus obvious noticed as he gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, while also prompting him to speak his mind.

“I felt really helpless, you know?” Alfyn blurted out. “I’m not really used to that. I mean, I’ve faced down monsters by myself. I’ve always had my axe. I’ve always got my salves, my tonics on hand. I’ve always been able to defend myself. But what happened…”

“That wasn’t your fault, Alfyn,” Cyrus reiterated sternly, but still reassuringly.

“I know, but-”

“Henry had it planned so you could not defend yourself,” Cyrus continued. “He went out of his way to ensure that you would not cause him any trouble. He ensured that you would feel helpless. That was his intention. As cruel as it was.”

Yeah, that made perfect sense. He just hoped it would be enough to silence that voice uttering little ‘what ifs?’ at him from the back of his mind.

Alfyn sighed and nodded his head. “I know, you’re right.”

Cyrus gave his shoulder another comforting squeeze before he released and let his hand drop to his side. “We all felt that helplessness, too.”

Alfyn winced apologetically. “Yeah, I know. Sorry, I’ve been thinking about myself.”

“And that’s fine as well,” Cyrus quickly replied and actually moved closer toward him and took him by the shoulders. “Alfyn, listen. What happened, it reminded us all how important you are to everyone.”

Alfyn blinked at him in surprise. “Huh?”

“Without your guiding and healing hands to help us, we’d truly be lost.”

“That’s not-”

“Yes, it is true,” Cyrus interrupted him, similarity to how he did before. “When you were taken from us in such a way, it reminded us all how vulnerable we are. Any injury could lead to something devastating. Any illness could take our lives. But with you, we’re virtually invincible. That’s what everyone feels.”

Alfyn found himself both speechless and humbled by what he had heard. Was...that really true? He was an apothecary, so it made sense that he would do whatever was necessary to ensure the safety and health of his companions. He was simply doing his job, as it were.

...But he did feel intense relief whenever he helped someone with an injury or illness. Often times staying up late, or all through the night to watch over them to ensure their recovery.

So they certainly weren’t just a ‘job’ to him. No, they were more than that.

“There’s no way I could have gotten this far without everyone supporting me,” Alfyn insisted before he tilted his head to the side, unable to stop himself from smiling goofily. “We’re...kinda like one big family, aren’t we?”

Cyrus chuckled and released his hold on Alfyn’s shoulders. “Yes, we truly are,” he said as he took a half step back. “Are you feeling better?”

Yeah, he was. How could he not be after that?

“Yeah,” Alfyn smile gratefully. “Thanks for the pep talk, Professor.”

“Any time,” Cyrus simply replied.

Supposed, he better give thanks to Therion, too, for sending the Professor to him, right?

However, there was one more thing that had been concerning him since he had discovered it. He wasn’t sure what to do with it, or the knowledge within, to be completely honest. Who better to ask about tomes and knowledge?

“Professor?”

“Is there something else wrong, my friend?” Cyrus immediately responded, his head tilted to the side in curiosity.

Alfyn took a moment to fish around in his bag. “In Henry’s lab, I found this,” he explained as he revealed that mysterious tome. “It details supposedly mythical flowers and their properties. And their supposed locations. The Aeracura Blossom is in here.”

An expression of utter intrigued immediately appeared on Cyrus’ face as he regarded the book. “I see,” he murmured as he took the book from Alfyn, instinctively flipping through the pages.

“What do you think I should do with it?” Alfyn asked as he twisted the strap of his bag in his hands once again.

Cyrus didn’t immediately respond at first. He flipped through a few more pages, quickly reading some of the text. He then slowly shut the book and stared at the front cover in thought.

He then unexpectedly handed it back to Alfyn.

“Keep it safe with you,” he instructed. “The knowledge that book contains is safe with someone like you.”

Alfyn received the book from him. “...If you say so,” he replied.

But honestly, he also wanted to keep the book with him. To prevent others who had similar ideas or interest as Henry did from using the flowers or knowledge within to hurt others. And to keep it from the hands of those who resort to outlandish beliefs in their times of grief and pain.

The Flower of Life had once existed. He had managed to find it, watch it as it bloomed, and watched as it wilted. The Aeracura Blossom was just a passage in this book. Could the other flowers and plants found within also exist?

It was actually exciting to think about. He just hoped if he did find the existence of other so-called mythical plants, they didn’t result in him being kidnapped, a dangerous serum, and his companions poisoned!

“Come,” Cyrus said, pulling Alfyn from his thoughts. “We still have much work to do. The others are waiting for us.”

Alfyn slipped the tome back into his bag, already used to the added weight in his satchel. “Sure,” he said with a smile.

For the time being, though, he would just continue to help his friends, no his family members, as best as he could on their own journeys.

That was what being an apothecary was all about, right?