Week 10

  Calanthe had claimed the only armchair in the upstairs room of The Disenchanted Cauldron. At some point in the early morning, she had fused with it, like a mollusk to an old pier.

  Her teacup steamed quietly on the low table. The window was cracked open, letting in the sun, and with it, a slow drift of green spores that caught in every beam of light.

  On the opposite side of the cramped space, Tanith hunched over a writing desk, her quill moving in swift, even strokes across the page. Every so often, she would stop, blink hard, then reread a line before continuing.

  Callie watched her for a while, content to let the scratching of the quill fill the silence. “So what are the final figures like?” she finally asked.

  Tanith picked up the slim note book filled with Briar’s careful cursive script. It had been carefully divided into three sections of equal size and Tanith flipped to the bottom third of the book where a date and the casualty figures had been listed.

  “Of the dead, there are three town guards including the Captain of the Guard, and four adventurers. We have another eight names with missing limbs or digits. Thirty-three with broken bones which are on the mend. Briar has recorded each one of their names, their place of residence, profession, and immediate family members. For future reference.”

  “It could have been worse,” Tanith added, but Callie wasn’t so sure about that.

  There was a knock at the door, then Briar pushed in. She looked healthy, almost indecently so, given what she’d just survived. The color had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes, though rimmed with exhaustion, had that flinty, stubborn brightness Callie had first fallen for.

  “Can I talk about something else for a moment?" said Tanith. "Would you say that the current phase is post-crisis or adaptive equilibrium?"

  Callie sipped her tea, her hands still trembling from yesterday's rewrite. The tea was a Briar Special: nettle, dandelion, and a hint of willow bark. It tasted like dirt. "It’s both," Callie said. "The crisis never really ends, but the parameters keep shifting. Think of it as… a fever breaking, then the chills that follow."

  Tanith wrote this down. "And you’re certain the Engine is still running diagnostics? There’s no sign of a rollback?"

  "Well... I have my version of what happened," Callie mused, almost to herself. "The Engine saw the moss as an ‘environmental hazard,’ but not a hostile one. It was coded as a neutral, self-propagating event, like a plague or a weather anomaly. Because we didn’t direct it to kill, only to suppress magic, the Engine didn’t flag it as an act of war."

  Tanith nodded, waiting for more.

  Callie continued, "Most towns have protocols for dealing with disasters. Fires, floods, even the occasional demon incursion. But what we made was different. The moss didn’t kill. It just dampened the field, equalized everything. That tricked the Engine into treating it like a zone effect. A spontaneous, emergent event."

  *

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Briar had caught most of the earlier conversation. “I still don’t understand why they starting killing everybody.“

  "I was the target. The rest was a mistake, at least initially," Callie said. “ A small percentage of all ‘Purifying’ missions devolve into chaos due to a lack of self-control."

  Tanith's eyes narrowed. "That still doesn't explain why the Paladins attacked so aggressively?"

  "In many cases, it’s absolutely worthwhile to kill all the town guards and adventurers—you get their loot and it even helps you level up. In many instances, there might not even be any consequences unless you want to return to the town again or take up a ‘quest’ from one of its citizens

  "Kaelen is an imported protagonist, a hero built for this specific mission. The Engine let him off his leash but something happened when he stepped into my [Cleanse Aura] field. It’s a Level 40 Passive, so I don’t have it any more. The only way to resolve it was to despawn the minions and quarantine the ‘hero’ until the town stabilized."

  "So there are no consequences to killing?” Briar asked. “That doesn’t sound right.”

  “It sounds illogical, even immoral, but it’s actually a perfect mirror of what happens in most… uhm… “ Callie hesitated, thinking if this was the right time to bring up other worlds. “…places outside Esharra.”The more powerful you are, the less consequences there are to your actions. You might even be lionized for murder. With the ‘right’ kind of killing, your prestige might even grow with time.”

  “Morality only happens in the stories we tell ourselves,” Tanith said, not looking up from her work.

  ***

  Week 11

  The evening wind had a gentleness Calanthe had never noticed before.

  It was most obvious after the sun set behind the hills: the air, which used to reek of stagnant marsh, excrement, and woodsmoke, now carried a hint of green and a sharpness that almost tickled the nose. Callie and Briar strolled side by side, their arms brushing occasionally, as they left the warmth of the Cervelan Arms and made their way through the town’s northern streets.

  The green fog was nearly gone now. Only a faint, pearly vapor remained, hugging the ground like morning dew. The moss had receded from the walls and cobbles, but everywhere it touched had been left with a faint, healthy shine; a thin residue that, as Briar put it, “left you smelling like a salad for a week.”

  The locals had taken to sweeping it up and scattering it in the kitchen gardens; the crops, according to rumor, were already sprouting at twice the normal rate. Even the weeds looked smug.

  “Next time, I’m buying dinner,” Briar said, elbowing Callie lightly as they walked. “Even if it’s just some stew with bread and butter.”

  “Why does it matter who pays?” Callie replied. “Everything I have belongs to you anyway.”

  “It makes a difference because I want to spend my hard earned money,” Briar said, holding Callie closer. “You don’t get a say in it.”

  Callie watched as they passed the stone fountain at the heart of town. A week ago it had been the site of a massacre; now, kids were daring each other to jump over the mossy patches lining its rim. The only evidence of violence was a single, dark stain in the mortar, already fading to memory.

  “Does it feel different to you?” Callie asked.

  Briar slowed. “The town?”

  Callie nodded.

  Briar considered. “People talk more. Even when they don’t want to. Like the words are leaking out of them, and they can’t get the lid back on. It’s nice. But kind of scary.”

  Callie understood. The last few days had been a blur of healing, talking, and not thinking about what happened to Briar. Or what almost happened. Callie found herself glancing at Briar’s stomach every time she laughed, half-expecting to see a wound reopening, or at least a hint of a scar. But there was nothing.

  As they turned onto the main lane, Callie spotted a figure she recognized at once: Kaelen, the Paladin, weaving his way through the crowd on the opposite side of the street. He walked with the exaggerated confidence of someone pretending not to be watched, his armor exchanged for a simple tunic and plain trousers, but still moving like he expected every head to turn his way.

  He must have seen them, too, because he instantly ducked his head and tried to vanish into a cluster of merchants near a pickled fish stall. Callie, never one to let an awkward moment go to waste, raised her hand and called out, “Kaelen! Don’t think I can’t see you.”