Khessa releases a long exhale as she walks into her room. It had been a long day—all this drama around the human thievery had resulted in a backlog of matters that actually needed to be dealt with. She wonders when her sister would show up, perhaps Janai was giving her time to relax a little before—

"Your plan is short-sighted."

Nevermind.

Khessa takes off her headdress without looking at her sister. "I came up with a plan," she says pointedly, letting her hair down and brushing it out. Janai waits for her to continue but speaks when she is met with Khessa's bored stare.

"How are you so certain that there's only one person in Katolis that knows how to use the staff?" Janai demands, still standing at the threshold of the Queen's chambers.

"Magic is the High Mage's expertise, is it not?" She lifts off her shoulder plate and turns to face her sister. "It stands to reason that he's the worst of our problems."

"No," Janai crosses the threshold. "What if they have students? Apprentices? What of the other human kingdoms? They could just as easily steal—"

"Janai," Khessa snaps and hangs up her armor. "As your Queen, I have given you orders. Orders that you, as an appointed knight, must follow: execute the High Mage of Katolis." Janai looks ready to retaliate, but Khessa holds up a finger to stop her.

"But as your sister, I say it's all at your discretion," she shrugs. "If you choose to go on a rampage and kill every individual that has been touched by dark magic, I won't stop you. If you choose to take the staff back, that's fine by me. It's your prerogative as a warrior to do what you feel needs to be done, I just don't think it's worth the effort." Janai stays silent. "Is that all, my dear sister?"

"Sure." Janai's eyes narrow but she makes her way out of the room. "Goodnight, Khessa."

"Goodnight, Janai," her sister calls after her in a sing-song voice. Janai resists the urge to return and introduce her fist to her sister's smug face.

Sarai cradles an almost-sleeping Callum in her arms. Though the steady rise and fall of his chest might have been enough to convince anyone he was asleep, he would occasionally adjust himself so he could face his father, probably checking to see that Adriel was still there. She could feel him relaxing just a little bit more with every confirmation and she hoped that meant that he would sleep peacefully tonight.

They had spent the rest of their day in the courtyard, playing around until their bellies ached from laughter. By the time they decided to depart for dinner, the sun was long gone and the children could hardly keep themselves up. The adults barely kept them awake enough to eat but they made it back to the room, somehow.

In all honesty, Sarai was expecting everyone to be ready for bed and halfway to dreamland shortly after arriving at the room. However, a freshly-bathed Claudia had other plans.

Wide awake, she decided she would do some preliminary checkups on Uncle Adriel before her mother arrived. Seeing he had no apparent injuries, though, she took the liberty of assigning him imaginary cuts and bruises that she needed to patch up.

"I'm going to clean it now," Claudia announces, pulling in Adriel's hand. She picks up a corner of the blanket and wipes his invisible injury. "Don't touch it, okay? I'm going to get medicine for it."

"Yes, Doctor," Adriel answers solemnly as Claudia walks to the bathroom. Sarai can't help but giggle, and he stares up at her from the bed with an eyebrow raised.

"What? It's cute!" she whispers defensively.

"It is," Adriel agrees with a chuckle. "You know… We could always try for a girl next." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, though it looks more comical than anything. Sarai simply rolls her eyes in response.

Claudia returns with an empty cup. "Just pretend there's medicine in here," she whispers conspiratorially, looking around to make sure no one heard her secret. Sarai did, of course, and she swallows the laughter bubbling up her throat.

"I'm going to put the medicine now!" Her tiny fingers dip into the cup then gently rub the ointment on his non-existent wound. "I'm going to stitch it closed—don't look, it'll hurt more." She pushes Adriel's face away before she starts "stitching."

"You're really good at this," her patient comments. "It doesn't hurt at all!"

"Because mommy taught me." She sits back with a proud grin. "There, all done!"

"Your mom taught you a lot, huh?" Sarai notes and Claudia nods enthusiastically. The child takes a breath to speak, but a knock on the door interrupts her. Lissa and Soren enter when Sarai beckons them in.

"Mommy!" Claudia is hugging tightly onto her legs before anyone else can react. "I helped Uncle Adriel a little bit before you got here. Didn't I?" She eagerly turns to Adriel who flashes a wide grin and a thumbs up.

"Is that so?" Lissa crouches so her eyes are level with her daughter's. "Good job, my darling, I'm proud of you. Soon enough, you'll be able to help me and Mathias at the infirmary." Lissa faces her son, but not before catching her daughter's eyes lighting up. "Now, Sor-Bear, why don't you take your sister to the room so the two of you can get ready for bed?"

"But I'm not sleepy yet," Soren protests and Claudia whines along, agreeing with her brother.

"But what if daddy comes home and no one's there? He would be sad, wouldn't he?" Lissa frowns.

Soren pouts but lets out a hum in agreement.

"Besides, I can't send Claudia alone. You're her big brother, you need to protect her." She turns to Claudia. "And you, my little healer," she taps her daughter's nose, "need to make sure Soren doesn't get hurt. So can you two do that for me? Take care of each other and wait for daddy?"

The children exchange glances before Soren slowly nods at his mother.

"Thank you." Lissa engulfs them in a tight hug. "I'll see the two of you in the room, run along now." She rises when her children leave. "So, your leg was hurting?" she questions, quickly transitioning into a professional tone of voice.

He blinks at her. "Hip," he corrects. "Though with how fast you changed your persona you might need to check for the effects of a whiplash, too."

"It comes with the profession," she shrugs. "Lay on your stomach, please." Adriel complies and she starts pressing into his back, feeling around for any anomalies in his spine. Sarai initiates an idle conversation with the Doctor and Adriel allows his eyes to close.

He's somewhat relieved that Sarai is there to keep her company, he has never been much of a conversationalist. Of course, as General, interacting with others was inevitable but it often exhausted him to do so. Adriel has always prided himself in being an observer, the kind of soldier that watched and waited for an opportune time to strike. That's how he was in conversation too, a listener more than a speaker.

Except now—he wasn't listening to anything the ladies were saying.

They often start with small talk, but Sarai has known Lissa longer than Adriel has. Lissa had just married Viren when Sarai first joined the crown guard and his wife, ever the passionate fighter, often found herself in the infirmary. Their history shows when their conversation turns reminiscent, names and stories that even he doesn't know float between them. He decided a while back that he'd rather hear the full story from his wife instead of trying to piece together fragments of their memories.

"Exhale when I push down," Lissa instructs, snapping him out of his stupor.

Wind leaves his lungs harsher than he expects as Lissa abruptly pushes down on his spine, causing a frighteningly loud crack.

"What was that?" he hears Sarai ask.

"His spine," Lissa answers nonchalantly. There's a pause and Adriel can vividly imagine Sarai looking at the doctor expectantly before she continues. "The healers of Evenere have a practice centered on the spine. Each part of the body is connected to it at different locations so, theoretically, aligning the discs of your spine should help with the pain."

"Theoretically?" Adriel echoes, his voice muffled.

"It's a fairly new practice," Lissa explains. "And it has shown promise in pain relief so I figured I'd try it on you."

"What an honor," he says dryly.

"Exhale," she grunts before she presses into his back again. "Hey, it's better than anything we've got. If magic doesn't fix this then I don't have high hopes for our medicine." He feels her palms lift from his back. "There, that should do it. Try to walk on it." Adriel pushes himself up and tests his range of motion. "So, when did the guards get here?" Lissa asks as he starts pacing the room.

It's Sarai who answers. "The ones outside? Not sure, they were here when we got back."

"There weren't a lot of them."

Adriel marches in place, his left leg buckling ever so slightly when it supports the weight of his body alone. "Don't need a lot of them," he says with a shrug, now shifting his weight between his right and left legs. "The pain is gone and a limp won't deter me. Two generals in this room should be enough to take them down. Besides, we have the High Mage, the palace Doctor, and Captain of the crown guard all living along this hall."

Lissa raises an eyebrow. "Is that why you brought your family here?"

He freezes, and his eyes wander over to Sarai as she lowers her sleeping child into his crib. "I brought them here because my family is safest with me." He hobbles over to his wife and takes her hand protectively. She responds with a reassuring nod. "I knew I would need to return to the castle to be fixed up but there's no one I trust more than myself to ensure their safety."

"I understand." Lissa smiles softly at his statement. "I'll check on you again in a few days. For now, rest and hopefully the next time I come back I'll have something for that limp. Is there anything else you need?"

Sarai and Adriel shake their heads and thank her for her efforts.

"Perfect! And don't worry about it, I'm always happy to help. Sleep well, take care!" With a delicate wave of her fingers, her professional persona melts away and she exits the room, leaving her duties behind for the night.

Harrow's coughing into a handkerchief when Viren steps into his room. He's dressed warmly in plush burgundy robes, but their loose fit only highlights his morbidly thin body. The Prince doesn't acknowledge him immediately, but when he does it's with a tight hug and a wide grin. "Viren! I was starting to think you weren't—whoa what happened to your eyes?" he asks, holding the mage by his shoulders after pulling away from the hug.

"Good to see you too," Viren says with a laugh that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "And the state of my eyes is an unfortunate side effect of using this." He holds out the staff and Harrow's eyes light up with fascination.

His voice is hoarse as he stifles another cough. "Is this it, then?"

Viren rolls his eyes. "This? No, it's just some random scepter I found—Don't be daft, of course this is it!" Harrow guffaws and eagerly takes the staff, examining the handiwork. Not even the exhausted drawl of his voice clouds his enthusiasm and Viren can't help but feel excitement welling up in his chest.

The last 24 hours had been tiresome for him. He hadn't had the chance to sleep, spending whatever time he had available digging into the unintended effects of the staff. And despite spending all this time in research, his attempts were far from fruitful. The hope of his family seeing him without these monstrous eyes gradually died with every scroll and tome that failed to hold the answers to his predicament. It broke his heart, but seeing his closest friend marveling at the staff alleviates some of his misery.

Harrow passes it back with shaky hands, and Viren subconsciously holds a hand out to catch him in case he falls. The mage gently ushers his friend to the bed as they have a brief conversation about what has been accomplished with the staff so far.

"So I guess it's my turn to be healed now?" the Prince asks, his tone hopeful. He fiddles with the handkerchief in his hands, and a spot of red reveals itself for just a second before Harrow folds it closed again.

"Not yet," Viren says apologetically. "But I should be able to figure out what's wrong."

The Prince frowns and his shoulders slump. "So another reveal spell."

"Well, yes—"

Harrow holds his finger up to stop his friend before coughing uncontrollably. Just as the coughs subside, he shoots up and runs to his bathroom. The metallic stench of blood wafts into the bedroom accompanied by the sound of Harrow retching.

"You alright?"

"Peachy," Harrow groans, coming back into the room with his breath heavy, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes shining with unshed tears.

Viren casts him a look of sympathy, patting him on the back. The Prince has been through a lot these past few months. The illness had first manifested as shivers, seemingly harmless. He requested herbal tea from Lissa, hoping to prevent the cold that he thought was coming but it came anyway. They eventually suspected magic of some kind when his sickness got worse the more they tried to do something about it.

By the time they realized though, Harrow was already coughing blood, with a dangerously high fever that came and went as his body struggled to fight it. Still, they couldn't just sit around and wait for him to die, so they continued to treat him sparingly while searching tirelessly for possible causes of both the magic and mundane kind.

It surprised everyone to see that Harrow was still the same optimistic, exuberant prince that he was before his affliction. But when the sun sets and his caregivers leave for the day, he lets his walls crumble. All that's left behind is a broken man, fighting to keep himself together for the sake of his people—this was a side of him that not many were privy to. Viren just so happened to be one of the lucky few.

"It'll work this time. I'm sure of it."

The Prince releases a shaky sigh and sits up. "Go on then," he murmurs, defeat leaking into his voice.

Viren nods and walks over to his satchel of ingredients, fishing out an eye he had harvested from the corpse of a hawk that died on the castle grounds. "Ready?" Harrow offers a single nod with pursed lips.

He speaks out the incantation, crushing the eye in his hand and holding it out in front of his friend. Swirls of purple light emerge from his palm, they reach out and engulf the Prince like snakes wrapping around his frail form.

Both parties tense up as the projections creep across Harrow's body, causing him to shake. They slowly begin to disappear as if the Prince's body is absorbing them and that's when Viren feels it.

The life pulsing in the palm of his hand, its heat almost scalding as it ebbs and flows with Harrow's breath. But there's also a layer of magic, lingering in the air like a suffocating smog. His eyes close as he tries to focus on this lead, feeling his magic coax and pull. It felt as though he was tugging on a loose thread: there was some resistance, but it got easier as he continued. What would he find at the end of this rope of magic?

He gets his answers when a strange, disembodied voice speaks. It sounded far from human-distorted and rough-but the syllables it utters are clear.

"Mih emusnoc—"

They don't get to hear the full spell before Viren's concentration breaks and the light dissipates like billows of smoke. "It's dark magic," he pants, attempting to catch his breath. "That's the reason we could never find its description—we've only been looking through elven texts." He lets out an airy, humorless laugh. "Dark magic! I should've known. But who would've done this to you?"

Harrow's mind races with possible theories. "It seems that someone on this side of the border is attempting to start a new royal line."

"We don't know that yet," Viren cautions. "The elves are capable of performing dark magic as well. It could just as easily be one of them." He grimaces. "But at least now we do know the cause of this. And believe me, Harrow, I will stop at nothing to fix this. You will be cured, you have my word."

Next chapter will be up by 08/21/20~