Mist Walker
Lansius' eyes remained unblinking for several moments as he stared at the traveling bags before him. He recognized the familiar leather and worn straps. They were his. Without knowing why, he began rummaging through their contents as the sun kept moving above, its light breaking through the forest canopy in restless flickers. His heart worked hard to pump blood into his weary head while his hands fumbled through the bag.
One by one, he pulled out what little he had left: a piece of hard biscuit wrapped in linen, a wooden bowl and spoon, a tin cup, two small purple carrots, and a peculiar purple fruit he had found but dared not eat.
"Purple?" he muttered. The forest rustled in reply, stirred by a passing wind.
He turned, searching for something, but saw only patchy grass, shrubs, and the surrounding trees.
“But where’s the purple flower?” he asked under his breath.
There was only the strange weight of déjà vu. He had been here before. He had done this before. Yet, he did not care.
He kept repeating the motion, searching for something important, until, from behind, a voice called out in a hushed tone, “Lansius.”
He paused mid-search. It was a boy’s voice, not yet a man’s. Lansius turned and saw a young man with unkempt hair and a soaked tunic.
"Y-you?" Lansius stammered, eyes wide, struggling to recall a name.
"Do you remember me?" the youth asked softly, unmoving, his legs half-lost in the watery ground.
Lansius shook his head in disbelief.
A second figure appeared beside the boy, a larger young man, broader in the shoulders.
Lansius lurched to his feet, the contents of his bag spilling onto the earth as his mouth fell open.
"Meister, why did you leave me behind?" The larger man slowly pulled at his tunic, revealing a dark wound from a bolt. "They killed me and Theo. We didn’t make it. But you know that."
"Theo!" Lansius blurted, the memory striking him as he looked at the younger one.
"I took a bolt, but I survived. Alas, the boat didn’t carry me far..." the young man said sheepishly, as if ashamed of his fate. "I tried to run, but a search party found me. They butchered me by the river. Nobody ever found my body; the stream carried me away."
"No... no..." Lansius dropped to his knees and clutched his head.
The larger young man, whose name Lansius still couldn’t remember, said quietly, "Do you remember us now?"
Lansius nodded in admission but spoke aloud, as if to justify himself. "I had to save Stefi."
"Did you save Stefi?" Theo asked.
Lansius couldn’t answer. "Stefi..."
"She’s in Riverstead. You abandoned her too," the larger man said.
Lansius’ head began to spin, and a thin mist began to rise around them. "I abandoned Stefi?"
"You broke your promise," the larger man said coldly.
"Promise?"
"Just like your other promises."
"What?"
"You promised to deliver the items to Alba Castle." He drew out an ornamented buckle, and Theo followed, showing his jewel-encrusted brooch.
There had been such a promise. "But I already met old man Thomas and gave him my coins," Lansius retorted.
The two young men looked stunned, then their faces twisted with anger. "You can’t complete what we couldn’t," Theo scowled.
"What do you mean? I completed mine. My oath was fulfilled."
"It’s your fault," the larger man said, stepping onto the bank. The ground beneath his feet broke apart into water, yet he did not stop. "You should’ve saved us."
"I can't save you. I don't have anything."
"But you have your crossbow," Theo replied, still unmoving from where he stood.
Lansius wanted to retort, but suddenly he felt the weight of a crossbow in his hands. "What?" He dropped it at once. "It isn’t mine."
"I can see it in your eyes. You recognize it."
Lansius stepped back, confused, and the mist thickened. "It’s not mine. It’s..."
"It’s mine." A firm voice came from behind.
Lansius turned and saw Stefi, dressed in a black, just as he remembered her in Riverstead.
"Don’t call me that." Her face twisted in annoyance.
He frowned. "But I haven’t said anything."
Stefi strode past him, saying, "I’ll be quick."
"Huh?"
She turned to the other two. "It’s boys this time..."
Lansius was utterly confused. His head felt as if it were pulsating.
"Last time it was assassins," she muttered as she charged toward Theo and the other man.
"Wait!" Lansius shouted.
Her eyes already flared gold. "These specters need some banishing."
The two looked terrified and began to run, their feet splashing through the shallow water.
"Wait, no, no!" Lansius pleaded, but neither his limbs nor his muscles would move.
Meanwhile, Audrey drew a beautiful reflex bow from nowhere. One arrow struck the larger man in the head. For the other, she advanced with a dagger, and wherever she went, the mist disappeared.
"W-who are you?" Theo stammered.
She seized him by the neck and hauled him from the water. "Damn specter."
Theo’s form twisted into a ghastly abomination of many faces, crooked limbs, and dozens of serpent-like tongues, all screeching in distorted voices. Stefi punched it in the face. It fell into the shallow water, but she didn’t stop. She struck again and again, declaring, "He’s mine."
"Ackk... gahkk..." the monstrous thing gurgled in pain.
"You have no right to be here."
The creature shrieked. It was clear it wanted to flee, but Stefi didn’t let up. She kept striking, even though she could have used her dagger. Her fists did the talking now, each blow vicious and merciless.
Lansius could only watch in disbelief. "What is this? A nightmare...?"
She kept landing punch after punch, and the creature whimpered before going still, its body fading into a translucent shadow. Then she turned toward him, her eyes still golden, menacing, even threatening.
Lansius jolted awake, gasping for air. His chest heaved as he drew a heavy, shuddering breath.
He didn’t recognize the place, but it wasn’t the forest.
The forest...?
He looked around and froze in surprise. A beautiful woman sat beside him. "Audrey," he muttered the familiar name.
The woman opened her hazel eyes and quickly showed an annoyed look. "How dare you forget my name?"
"W-what?"
"Earlier." She stood, giving him a patronizing glare.
"What did I do? That... that was a dream. Wait, you saw my dream?"
She took a cup from the bedside, removed its wooden lid, and thrust it toward Lansius. He accepted it but pressed, "You can enter my dream?"
"Apologize first," she demanded.
"What?" Lansius frowned.
"Do you want an answer or not?" Even now, the mere mention of her old name was enough to bring out her selfish, bratty side.
Lansius had enough. He raised his voice and delivered it straight and cold. "I refuse."
Audrey was taken aback, then turned away from him. "W-well, you must be tired. Then I’ll call—"
"The heck you’re not." He grabbed her arm and pulled her close.
"Hey!" Audrey protested, but his pull was too strong. She stumbled backward, falling onto the bed and into him, while the wooden cup fell to the floor, splashing water across the stone floor.
Lansius didn’t care about her weight pressing against him. He simply wrapped his arms around her.
"Lans," she gasped, struggling a little.
"You might be a specter too."
"We’re not inside the dream."
Her words proved that she was in his dream. "I don’t recognize this place."
"This is the guest chamber."
"Guest chamber? And why am I in here?"
"You don’t remember?" Despite his grip, she managed to turn around, now resting against his chest, face to face with him. "You had a fever, and since you feared it might be contagious to Gilly, you asked to be moved somewhere else."
"Ah," he muttered.
Again, though he still held her, Audrey slipped her right hand free and pressed it gently to his forehead. "You’re only warm. Nearly recovered."
She looked pleased now, her earlier annoyance gone.
"My Lady, it’s best for you to explain what’s going on, or I’ll be very cross."
She smiled playfully, then buried her face in his chest before explaining, "Well, I grew bored waiting for you. It’s been days. And since you seemed so troubled, I decided to try something."
"Something?"
She nodded. "Do you know the story of Sir Drustanus? He's one of the hero’s companions, who found a noblewoman haunted by a specter that left her fevered for days. The mage who traveled with him sent the knight into her dream, where he fought specters and shadows until he found her and set her free."
"But I thought the Ageless didn’t believe in spirits," Lansius muttered with mixed feelings.
Did I just encounter a ghost?
"Yes, there are no spirits here, but even the Ancients are powerless in their dreams," Audrey replied, as if that explained everything.
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Likely, the people of this world saw dreams differently. Lansius' preexisting knowledge of history had blinded him. Despite hearing countless discussions about dreams since his early years in Bellandia, he had never thought they could be anything beyond what he knew from his own world’s history books. After all, modern medicine taught that vivid dreams were normal when the mind was rested but the body still asleep, most often in the final hours before morning.
With the people of this age sleeping so early, usually an hour or two after dark, it was only common to encounter vivid dreams as they were well rested. Still, that didn’t explain what he had just seen in his dream. "Drey."
"Yes, love?"
"It still doesn’t answer how you entered my dream. Is that even possible?"
"Well, after many, many tries, I can sort of see glimpses. It’s like training with the Source, so delicate and thin. When I attuned my mind to it, suddenly I could see it." She paused, correcting herself. "Well, not seeing with my eyes, since they were closed, but... you know what I mean."
Lansius chuckled and brushed her back gently. "I can’t believe it. My wife can enter someone's dream."
She smiled with pride. "Probably only yours, though."
"Hm?"
"The attunement work is very messy. I think I’ve worn myself out many times, and only succeeded because I know you inside and out."
"Perhaps..." He paused. "So, what exactly did we encounter in that dream?"
"I saw several dreams. You don’t remember?"
"Well..." Lansius tried to recall, but found nothing except strange flashes that might have come from his fever rather than a dream. "Only the last one. And Drey, why did you beat them?"
"Sir Drustanus’ story said they were specters that wandered and fed on people's strong memories."
Lansius felt unsettled. It didn’t make much sense, but then again, there was magic in this world, and she was a mage. "So, the people in my dream...?"
“They’re just miasma taking form from your strong memories.”
Lansius drew a long breath, feeling her chin resting on his chest.
Don’t tell me miasma in this world is real. That would be troublesome... more things to research?
Probably, there was no need, since the people of this era already tried to avoid miasma and believed it to be harmful.
"I think you need more rest. But I doubt you’ll let me go."
Lansius snorted. Spotting the lantern, he asked, "What time is it?"
"Only a few hours after sundown."
"If you're here, who’s taking care of Gilly?"
"Mother, of course. I already gave Gilly his milk before coming here. Now he doesn’t wake up too often at night."
"Our baby boy is growing." Lansius was pleased, then asked, "He’s healthy, right?"
"Yes, just a little fussy. Just needs the father to come back strong again. And, Lans, I really need a sparring partner, you know."
"Not that strong."
"Valerie isn’t here. I can’t go all out on the other knights."
"Why not?"
"They can’t resist the eyes, and I don’t know how far I can go with them. I don’t want to send someone’s husband to the physician's chamber."
He looked her in the eyes, saying, "So you’re more comfortable sending your husband instead to the house of healing? What a wonderful wife."
She giggled. "It won’t be that bad. You have the best armor and gemstones. I’ve been talking to Ingrid. Since we have several, she confirmed it’s possible to rotate them so you can train every day."
Lansius suddenly gave a dry cough. He wasn’t faking it, but it was likely an involuntary reaction to her words.
"Hey, no faking sickness," she said quietly, with a pout.
"I’m not," he reassured her, then refocused on what mattered. "So, how long have I been like this?"
"Four nights. You’ve been in and out of fever."
Lansius was surprised. He couldn’t remember anything clearly. Yet somehow, he didn’t feel weak. There was only dryness in his throat, a dull ache behind his eyes, and parched lips. “Did you try healing magic?”
“You know healing magic has dangerous side effects. I still want to grow old with you.”
“Right,” Lansius muttered, recalling his conversation with Valerie. Healing magic might even cause tumors from aggressive regrowth of cells.
“You had your gemstone too.” She brushed her fingers gently across the pendant resting on his chest. “Ingrid said its power was enough to keep you from the worst.”
“Four nights, even with magic… that sounds dangerous. What did the physician say?”
“Too tired. Too many things in your head. And the miasma from somewhere got you.”
Lansius exhaled, knowing it to be true, perhaps even the part about the miasma.
"But I know the real reason," she added.
He met her eyes.
"Assassin," she said, making Lansius shift uncomfortably. "You’re afraid of that assassin who might be targeting Tanya."
Only then did he realize the reason he still felt tired, even after sleeping.
"How can you tell things I don’t even realize?" he muttered.
Audrey smiled and brushed her fingers along his chin. "Now that I can see your dreams, I’m looking forward to enjoying a better one."
"Like what?"
"You, in bed with someone else," she teased.
Lansius was struck by her imagination. "But wouldn’t that be the miasma taking form?"
"Then it’ll turn into a fight," she said in a heartbeat.
"No way, I don’t want to wake up exhausted." Lansius chuckled, and Audrey felt warm seeing him back to his usual self.
"You know, I also saw glimpses. Beaches, and women wearing those cloth strips that barely cover their breasts and waists."
Don't tell me... Bikinis?
Lansius’ eyes widened. "Wait, you saw my memories."
"Maybe. It's just unclear glimpses."
"Not fair. What else did you see?"
"I only learned how to do this a few hours ago." Her eyes then glinted with mischief. "You said you don’t like lingerie, but you like that kind of thing. How cute."
He pulled her close in retaliation, but she resisted easily, matching his strength.
Lansius broke into a sweat and chuckled.
"Release me," she said playfully. "I need to get the squire to bring you something to eat."
"I don’t feel—"
"It’s been days since you've eaten anything. You’ll eat porridge and soft food for several days. If only you’d eat duck egg broth."
"I’ll do it."
"Hm?"
"For you, I’ll eat it again."
Lansius couldn’t describe the surprised smile on Audrey’s face. It was so beautiful that he drew her gently closer and kissed her, gratitude flooding through him for ending the nightmares that had plagued him.
With nothing more to say, they slowly rose from the bed. Lansius decided to eat in the usual place, hoping to find a sense of normalcy, realizing the air in the chamber had grown stale.
As he changed clothes, he suddenly said, "My dreams."
"What about them?" Audrey asked, pressing a cloth over the spilled water while Lansius retrieved the cup.
"How many did you see?"
"Only a few. Most were just chaotic flashes that I couldn’t enter, only sense. Only the strong, vivid ones I can step into. Even then, it’s a hit or miss."
Lansius nodded in quiet understanding. "Sometimes, after a battle, I see skirmishes in my dreams."
"Don’t worry," Audrey said, her gaze fixed on him. "If that happens, I’ll bring an army."
Lansius chuckled. His wife had never seemed so reliable. "So you’ll protect me both here and in my dreams."
"Yes, and you’ll pay me double," she replied without losing a beat.
"You already have my heart. Spare me my purse."
Audrey laughed as they stepped out. The night guards, servants, and maids saw them, and word spread quickly through the castle. The Lord of Midlandia had recovered, and the dread that had gripped them for nearly a week was instantly lifted.
***
Canardia
After nearly two weeks of toil, the harvest was finally over across most of Midlandia. Only the far western reaches of the province, where the weather remained warm, still had crops left to gather. There had been reports of rats and other vermin, but those were isolated cases that occurred only in a few villages. All in all, this year’s yield could be called a modest but good harvest.
The harvest refilled every community’s granaries and every family's larders with food. Hearts long weighed by the fear of war were now filled with renewed hope that the tumultuous year of strife had finally come to an end.
For the Lord’s highest retinue, despite Lady Ingrid’s concern over the stolen Great Gemstone and Saint Nay, who might summon disastrous weather, no thunderstorm ever came. There was only a sporadic drizzle in several areas, but light enough not to even warrant a report.
Because of this, the force besieging the Monastery canceled their plan to assault and remained in position while continuing to gather more troops. Further rounds of scouting confirmed that the Monastery was a well-fortified complex. As it was also guarded by fanatics, it wasn’t something anyone would wish to attack half-heartedly. Moreover, they knew there would be many Saint Candidates inside, numbering more than two dozen. If even a quarter of them knew how to use strengthening magic like Clementine, it would quickly turn into a bloodbath.
Thus, the siege dragged on, tense yet eerily quiet. The only stirrings came at night from futile attempts to smuggle food and goods into the Monastery.
Beyond Monastery Hill, however, the air across Midlandia was alive with the sounds of harvest festivities. Everywhere, ale, food, and sweetened fruits were plentiful. The celebration lasted more than a week, followed by a wave of marriages among the younger generation, as was the custom. These new unions became the fresh lifeblood of the communities, for many lives had been lost during the civil war and rebellion.
In Canardia, this year’s celebration was particularly lively. There were more visitors than ever before, drawn by the power that now resided within the city. The festivals overflowed with food and goods, all paid for by the ruling House. Music and laughter filled the plazas, streets, and neighborhood squares. As the city rejoiced, visitors also flocked to the shops and workshops, for the Lord had introduced several new inventions that drew curious travelers and merchants from afar, even from beyond the province. Among them were groups of Elandians, Lowlandians, and North Midlandians.
Yet among all these marvels, what truly captured the people’s imagination was the washing complex powered by a great waterwheel.
Travelers who visited were astonished that such a thing could exist to ease the long, weary work of laundry. It freed the women, especially those from large households, from labor that easily consumed half a day, not counting the drying under the sun. Cleanliness was a matter of great importance in towns and cities, where families lived close together in cramped dwellings, unlike those in the countryside. Filth could not be allowed to linger, for it invited lice infestation, rashes, and sickness.
Those who carried authority quickly recognized its worth. A community equipped with such a place would surely become a better place to be. As they could see, the women who waited for their laundry gathered around and began bringing their craftwork with them. Where women gathered, business followed. Peddlers set up outside, offering snacks, combs, bracelets, shawls, and shoes. Traveling cobblers, ironsmiths, and leatherworkers worked nearby, mending worn soles, sharpening tools, or repairing bags. Each morning, vegetable sellers arrived with baskets of greens, and even an apothecary’s apprentice came to sell simple salves and medicines.
What had begun as a lifeless waterwheel complex, its endless creaking echoing beside the small stream, had turned into a bustling place of trade and chatter. Only the Lord’s order forbidding unlicensed peddlers from entering the grounds kept a measure of order. Still, some women quietly sold their husbands’ goods within, and little could be done to stop them.
Many visitors were thrilled by the clever contraption. Even those who employed servants and rarely thought of laundry understood its value, for it allowed their maids to tend to other duties instead of toiling endlessly over wash tubs. More than convenience, it empowered the entire neighborhoods.
Thus, people who held power, such as wealthy landowners, were quick to make contact with the guilds, eager to devise simpler versions for their own lands. They could easily imagine how a town or village equipped with such a device would thrive further. More than easing the lives of many, they were certain that it would bring them endless praise, honor, and profit, whether from collecting fees or granting trade permits to sell within and around the complex.
For those within the administration, they reached out to the Office of Works and formally submitted proposals for the lands under their care, knowing it would please the people and strengthen their influence and authority.
Yet the greater result was hiding in plain sight. In the quiet corners of the washing complex, beneath the shade of trees, women sat teaching their toddlers to write and read. There were even older boys and girls studying parchments and simple books. The ruling House had sent its scribe and invited a mentor from the School of the Commoners to spread their wings. Here, the Lord had planted his strongest catalyst for change in the region.
A mother freed from her greatest chores could now study, better herself, and teach her children more than mere letters. When her knowledge was spent, there were scrolls, books, and a teacher to guide them further. And soon, there would be learning halls and a public library in the city, just as the Lord had intended.
In the Lords vision, Canardia would rise as his second administrative center beside Korelia. From these two cities, he would draw his most loyal supporters, for the House of Blue and Bronze was still young and in great need of fresh talent for years to come.
...
Lansius
The washing complex was born when Lansius saw Mother Arryn still washing clothes despite the servants telling her it was their duty. Thinking he could do something, he ordered his crew of carpenters, already accustomed to the challenge of crafting unfamiliar things, to build several prototypes of a manual washing machine. The base was a barrel, the lightest they could find, fitted with a simple gear to make it spin faster with minimal effort.
Yet despite their best attempts, whether it was a top-load design or a front-loader style, the result was barely functional or practical. He tried it himself, turning the handle for several minutes, and though the gear made it spin faster without needing much strength, it was still a tiresome task.
Even Lansius thought that bashing a stick on river stones was far more satisfying than keeping it spinning. While a lighter barrel could be made, it would likely only lessen the burden a little.
But Lansius did not give up. After a stroke of thought, he decided to scale up the design and make use of an abandoned waterwheel as its power source.
If he were to help Arryn, then he might as well help everyone.
And now the result was greater than he had ever hoped.
After the harvest festivities ended, Lansius, still not feeling his best and wearing a pashmina scarf around his neck, rode in an unmarked carriage with Audrey at his side. Through the window, he saw how the communal laundry project had grown into something much larger.
The cleaning complex, powered by the steady rhythm of the waterwheel, had freed many Canardian women from the grueling labor of washing, giving them hours, if not half of their waking days, of reclaimed time. With less effort spent on beating or scrubbing clothes, the women turned to other pursuits. Some took up small crafts, others weaving and dyeing, while a few found work in markets, stalls, or workshops, bolstering their family income.
Mothers now had more time to care for their children, improving both their livelihood and their children’s education. With the ease of laundry, the people’s cleanliness improved by leaps and bounds. It reduced sickness and made life more bearable, sparing them from the gnawing jaws of bedbugs and the misery of body and head lice, especially among the lower class. The streets, once filled with the scent of sweat and filth, now carried the fragrance of freshly laundered linen.
Lansius had expected productivity but not this great a shift. The washing complex had become more than a place for washing. It had turned into a meeting place where women worked, traded, and exchanged news. Many job opportunities were shared there, such as caring for children, cleaning, baking for wealthy clients’ feasts, and clerical work for those skilled with letters and numbers.
As this once-unseen pool of talent began to find steady income, many parents grew more willing to send their children to learn words and numbers, even daughters, an idea still rare among commoners. When they needed someone to consult, his scribes and teachers from the School of the Commoners were there to guide them.
Right now, Lansius and his staff truly felt that he had reached an unprecedented level of support. Not only the pilgrims and men of the city, but the women as well. With the rebellion won, the harvest secured, and innovations taking root, he had likely earned the total support of Canardia’s people.
“To think it wasn’t something grand,” he muttered, still surprised by the success that had secured a piece of this realm where millions lived.
Audrey, seated beside him, smiled, but her eyes remained on the window, watching for any sign of an assassin. After a brief moment, she glanced and said, “You’ve done a great work. I never expected any man to achieve all this. And to think it was someone I met by chance in Bellandia, I feel truly blessed.”
Lansius snorted, and the carriage, flanked by disguised guards, continued through the city’s bustling yet orderly streets.
Only winter remained in the year 4426.
The banners of Blue and Bronze had stood firmly over the skies of Midlandia. Meanwhile, the Shogunate had expanded into the farthest reaches of Nicopola.
His future army of ten thousand, with another ten thousand auxiliaries, was being formed, and he faced no shortage of volunteers. Recruitment centers in every town and city were overcrowded with applicants. With the surviving nobility and the educated class warming to him, many veterans who had once served in the old Midlandian army now joined, forming a much-needed officer corps for the new force.
The Imperium lay in ruins, yet Midlandia had risen, turning into an independent kingdom in all but name.
***
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