The sun, a lazy painter, hung low over the newest district of Otherrealm, gilding the freshly minted rooftops in hues of pale, wistful gold. Roy and Zehrina strolled at a companionable, leisurely pace, their footsteps a quiet counterpoint to the cheerful, cacophonous din of everyday life. They wove past market stalls overflowing with exotic fruits and unfamiliar textiles, the air thick with the smells of roasted nuts, spiced meats, and something vaguely like cinnamon-dusted despair, probably emanating from a particularly unlucky baker. Freshly laid asphalt, a modern marvel in this fantastical world, gleamed slick and black underfoot, a testament to the city's relentless, almost alarming growth since Roy's last proper visit.
Workers, a motley assortment of humans, dwarves, and various beastfolk, lugged carts laden with mortar and lumber, their faces set in expressions of grim determination or exhausted cheer. Volunteers, mostly former slaves eager to contribute to their new home, perched precariously on scaffolding, painting bright, hopeful colors onto the beams of newly constructed homes. Local children, a chaotic, joyful swarm, darted through bustling alleys, their delighted giggles echoing off the stone walls as they chased each other in endless, energetic games.
They passed a trio of recently freed slaves, faces smudged with grime but alight with newfound pride, chatting animatedly about their first real wages. One, a young otterfolk with bright, intelligent eyes, proudly displayed a handful of bronze washers, the city's peculiar currency. Roy offered a silent, respectful nod as they passed, and they shyly, almost reverently, bowed in return.
"You know," she teased, her voice a low, musical purr, her eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement, "everywhere I look, I see people practically genuflecting in your presence. Showing you such… reverence. And you look back with such pride. Should I be jealous, Captain? Am I no longer the most captivating being in your orbit?"
Roy's mouth quirked into an awkward, self-deprecating half-smile. "I'm hardly a god, Zehrina, despite what some of the more… enthusiastic… locals seem to believe. They're just grateful. It's… nice, I guess. A little overwhelming, but nice."
They wandered through a newly renovated side street, recently covered in asphalt, where carpenters, their hammers ringing out a rhythmic, industrious beat, were securing support beams for a brand-new convenience store. The sharp, clean scent of fresh sawdust brought an involuntary grin to Roy's face. Now, color, laughter, and the vibrant thrum of a thriving community abounded.
Soon, they reached the edge of the district, where New Noruma's sturdy, imposing wooden gates stood wide open, a welcoming invitation into the heart of the relocated fishing village. A stout, barrel-chested figure in simple, practical work-clothes, likely one of the Noruma elders, spotted Roy from atop a watchtower and waved vigorously, his weathered face splitting into a wide, toothy grin as he beckoned them in.
Inside the meticulously planned settlement, familiar faces bustled about with a sense of purpose and belonging. Farmers, their hands stained with rich earth, spread fragrant compost on neatly tilled land, preparing for the next planting season. Weavers, their fingers flying with practiced skill, sold bolts of brightly dyed cloth and intricately patterned tapestries in bustling open-air stalls. Roy felt a warm, comforting pang of nostalgia. This place, these people, felt like a genuine extension of home.
They stepped into the main square, the heart of New Noruma, to find Maelara, tall, imposing, and radiating an aura of no-nonsense authority. Her muscular arms were crossed, and she was in the midst of delivering a stern, though not unkind, lecture to a pair of shamefaced youths who had apparently, in a fit of youthful exuberance, knocked over a barrel of freshly salted fish. She broke off mid-sentence when she spotted Roy, her stern expression melting into a wide, teasing grin.
"Oho! If it isn't the Smasher of Innocents himself!" she boomed, her voice carrying easily across the square. Her stride was confident, almost a swagger, as she approached them. "And what's this, then? Did you finally dump your formidable goddess wife for her equally terrifying, though arguably more stylish, sister? Moving up in the world, are we, Captain?"
Zehrina let out a bright, melodious laugh, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Yes, he's quite the fickle lover, isn't he? One moment it's all 'Oh, Eryndra, your power is so magnificent,' and the next he's captivated by a new, even more enigmatic beauty. Men." She sighed dramatically, shaking her head in mock despair.
Roy's cheeks flared a brilliant, unbecoming shade of red. "Wha—? I didn't— We're not— I am not anyone's lover!" he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. He groaned, rubbing his face in exasperation. "We're just touring the city, that's all! Checking on progress! Official captain business!"
Maelara rolled her eyes with theatrical exaggeration. "Right. And I'm a delicate, fainting flower. I'll believe that 'official business' when I see it, Captain." Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. "So, you're not actually dating anyone these days, for real? Because, you know, a big, strong woman like myself might be interested in a man with… assets as large as yours. Your battleship, I mean. Obviously."
"Right," Roy managed, fighting down a fresh wave of mortifying embarrassment. "I'm not… with… yeah, let's just forget it. Please." He desperately wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Preferably before Maelara started flexing again.
Before the teasing could escalate into truly unbearable territory, Tadanori, Grandma Hisa's grandson, pushed eagerly through the crowd, his face flushed with excitement, a wide, almost goofy grin plastered across his features. "Roy!" he called, bounding up to them and, without a moment's hesitation, wrapping Roy in a tight, enthusiastic hug. Roy, surprised but not entirely displeased, promptly spun him half around, returning the gesture with a warmth that surprised even himself.
"Ah, Maelara, Zehrina, you see, I have a prior commitment," Roy joked, patting Tadanori's back with exaggerated affection. "The esteemed Grandma Hisa, in her infinite wisdom, has already demanded I marry this fine young specimen. So, my deepest apologies, formidable Thunderborne sisters and Maelara, but there's simply no room left in my heart, or my schedule, for any further romantic entanglements."
Tadanori's face turned a truly spectacular shade of scarlet. He squirmed in Roy's surprisingly strong grip, but Roy held fast for a moment longer, savoring the his acute embarrassment. Finally, with a theatrical sigh of mock disappointment, Tadanori buried his face in Roy's shoulder. "You'll never, ever let that go, will you?" he mumbled, his voice muffled.
"Never," Roy agreed cheerfully, finally letting Tadanori slip free. Tadanori stepped back, rubbing his neck and glaring half-heartedly at Roy, though the affection in his eyes was undeniable. Zehrina watched the exchange with a soft, knowing smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.
Maelara snorted in amusement, crossing her powerful arms. "Well, nice to see you're keeping your delightful sense of humor, Captain. Even if it is at poor Tadanori's expense." She motioned for Roy to follow, leading them around a corner to a newly constructed, surprisingly large warehouse at the edge of the settlement.
Rows of wooden crates, neatly stacked, lined the walls. A distant, subdued bustle of activity echoed from the far side of the cavernous building. "We got a new shipment of freed slaves in this morning," Maelara said, her voice dipping, losing its earlier teasing tone. "Mostly children this time. Disturbingly few adults came through with this lot."
Zehrina's eyebrows rose, a shadow of concern passing over her usually composed features. She followed Roy's gaze as they made their way into the open loading area at the rear of the warehouse. A group of scruffy, terribly malnourished youngsters sat huddled together on the cold stone floor, some coughing weakly into their hands, others clinging tightly to what looked like siblings or close friends. Most wore torn, threadbare clothes or ragged blankets that offered little protection against the damp chill of the warehouse. Their eyes, large and haunted, darted nervously at every passerby, flinching at any sudden movement or loud noise.
A local official, a kind-faced, middle-aged woman who had volunteered as the freed slaves' new caretaker, stood by with a stack of official-looking parchment. One by one, each child was gently guided forward, trembling, to have their slave contract symbolically cut in half with a pair of ceremonial shears. Roy felt his stomach knot at the sight. He remembered his first day of buying out slave contracts, the raw fury and helplessness he'd felt. Now, depressingly, it had almost become routine.
Zehrina exhaled softly, pity and anger warring on her beautiful features. "They're… so young. So small."
Roy moved closer, his gaze sweeping over their pale, frightened faces. "Too young," he agreed, his voice tight. "How did they even…?" He left the question unfinished, the implications too grim to voice. The caretaker murmured that they'd been rescued from some remote, illegal quarry pit deep in the northern mountains, but the details were fuzzy, lost in the trauma of their ordeal. Roy offered a few quiet words of reassurance to a little girl who looked no more than six, her eyes wide and unblinking. He gently patted her on the head as he passed, his heart aching.
As the children lined up for warm broth and clean blankets, Roy noticed an odd, unsettling pattern: slight, almost imperceptible tremors in many of their small hands, a strange, glassy look in their eyes even as they managed weak, grateful smiles. Some were unnaturally pallid, their skin almost translucent. A few complained of aching joints, and a troubling, intermittent, dry cough punctuated the hush whenever one of them tried to speak.
He crouched beside a young boy with a crudely bandaged arm, his small face flushed with fever. "You feeling okay, champ?" Roy asked softly, gently resting a hand on the kid's forehead. It was hot to the touch, far too hot.
"He's been feverish ever since they arrived this morning," the caretaker whispered, her voice laced with worry. "Many of them are. We can't seem to figure out what it is. Some have developed odd, blotchy rashes on their ankles and wrists, and others keep complaining that their bones ache terribly."
Zehrina frowned, her arms crossed, the black dust around her swirling with a subtle agitation. "A disease? Something they picked up in that quarry?"
Maelara's expression darkened. "We initially thought it might be some typical infection, a consequence of severe malnourishment and harsh conditions. But it's not responding to any of the 'Serenity Drug Blends' she has us give all newcomers"
Roy felt a jolt of genuine alarm. Malnourishment alone wouldn't cause such a wide array of disparate symptoms, joint pain, persistent cough, unusual rashes, high fever. It felt… wrong. Something was very wrong here.
"Captain," a new, somewhat high-pitched voice announced, startling everyone. A Presidroid Roy didn't immediately recognize, its chassis a gleaming white with delicate gold filigree unlike the standard models, stepped forward. It wore a pristine, almost comically oversized lab coat, and its optical sensors were a soft, intelligent blue. It carried a sophisticated medical scanner in one hand and a data-slate in the other. "Apologies for the interruption. I am William Henry Harrison, Self-Designated Medical Officer, 1st Generation Diagnostic Unit. Serenity tasked me with preliminary analysis upon the new arrivals' processing."
Roy blinked. "William Henry Harrison? I thought… well, never mind. What have you found, Harrison?"
Harrison tilted its head, a gesture that was somehow both childlike and unnervingly precise. "The symptoms are… atypical, Captain. Multiple systemic inflammations, suppressed immune response, and as you've noted, febrile conditions. Initial readings suggest a parasitic or fungal agent, but it's unlike anything in Serenity's Earth-based databases or local Grimoire GARRISON's documented pathogens." Its voice was strangely melodic, with a hint of something that sounded like… elitist curiosity?
Zehrina's black dust swirled more intensely, almost reflecting her concern. "If it's contagious," she said, her voice low and urgent, "and if we don't isolate them soon—"
"Indeed," Harrison chirped, its blue optics brightening. "Containment protocols are advisable. However, the vector of transmission is currently unknown. It could be airborne, fluid-based, or even mana-reactive. Fascinating, is it not?"
Roy ignored the Presidroid's odd enthusiasm. He began to speak but Serenity cut him off. "Harrison, can you run a deeper scan? Check for spore-like cysts on their bone tissue, and cross-reference for any known bacterial strains that might act as a conduit for a local parasite."
Harrison's head tilted again, its blue eyes focusing intently on Roy. "An intriguing hypothesis, Serenity. Earth-based bacteria acting synergistically with an unknown endemic parasite… a novel pathogenic model. Highly improbable, but… not impossible. Commencing focused scans." The Presidroid's free hand moved with blurring speed over its data-slate.
Zehrina stood vigil, quiet but protective, as Roy stared at Tadanori and Maelara. "It might be wise to move them to a more secure, isolated wing of the warehouse," he suggested, his voice strained. "At least until Harrison figures out what exactly we're dealing with."
Maelara nodded, her face grim, already motioning for a few volunteers to gently guide the ailing children away from the main group. Tadanori helped corral them, offering soft, friendly reassurances that they'd get better soon, though his own eyes were shadowed with worry. Roy watched them go, his heart heavy at the sight of their small, tired, feverish faces.
The data-slate in Harrison's hand beeped. "Analysis complete, Captain," the Presidroid announced, its melodic voice now laced with a hint of something Roy couldn't quite decipher. Excitement? Or was it… delight? "Serenity's improbable hypothesis appears to be… remarkably accurate. There is indeed evidence of spore-like cystic structures on the bone marrow samples, and I am detecting residual markers of a bacterial strain, specifically, Yersinia pestis. The Plague."
A chill, colder than any ocean depth, ran down Roy's spine. "But that's… that's impossible," Roy stammered, his mind reeling. "How could they…?"
"The bacterial strain appears to be a dormant, non-virulent variant, similar to Earth's," Harrison continued, its blue optics gleaming with an almost unsettling brilliance. "However, it seems to be acting as a biological catalyst, or perhaps a 'welcome mat,' for an aggressive, fast-acting fungal parasite endemic to this world's deeper subterranean strata, likely originating from the quarry they were rescued from. The parasite, once anchored by the bacteria, rapidly colonizes bone tissue, leading to systemic inflammation and immune collapse. A most elegant, if unfortunate, biological synergy."
Zehrina overheard, her gaze hardening into chips of obsidian. "More time we might not have," she murmured, her voice a low growl. A worried hush fell over the small group as Roy gripped his own hands, trying to stop them from shaking.
"Harrison," Roy said, his voice barely a whisper. "Treatment. Is there a treatment?"
The Presidroid tilted its head, its childlike demeanor at odds with the grim prognosis it was about to deliver. "Standard antibiotics would be ineffective against the fungal parasite, and anti-fungal remedies would not address the bacterial anchor. We are dealing with a compound pathogenic assault. However…" Harrison paused, its blue optics flickering as it accessed more data. "If my analysis of the parasite's cellular structure is correct, a combination of high-dose intravenous fluconazole, coupled with a broad-spectrum fourth-generation cephalosporin, administered concurrently over a period of no less than fourteen days, might… might… arrest the progression. The success rate, however, is… statistically unfavorable without immediate intervention."
"Uh, english?" Roy said.
A single tear tracked down the cheek of one feverish boy, who had been listening with wide, terrified eyes. Roy gently wiped it away, forcing a reassuring smile he didn't feel. "We'll figure this out," he promised, his voice more confident than his heart.
He turned to Harrison, his own fear a cold knot in his stomach. "What's the timeline, Harrison? If we don't act, how long do they have?"
The Presidroid turned Medical Officer, looked from the child to Roy, its blue optics dimming slightly, its cheerful, elitist tone softening into something that might have been… sorrow. "Captain," it said, its melodic voice now quiet, almost a whisper. "Without immediate, aggressive, and frankly, experimental treatment… another day. Two at most."
In the uneasy hush of that moment, the horizon of New Noruma's bright, bustling, hopeful life suddenly felt incredibly, terrifyingly fragile.
On the Nightshatter's bridge, Harmony, in her tiny plant-girl avatar form, was idly watching the main stem of Serenity's central flower. Serenity herself was deeply engrossed in processing the complex medical data Harrison was relaying, her own avatar a still, focused point of light. Suddenly, Harmony gasped, her little avatar eyes widening. A tiny, almost imperceptible bump, no bigger than a pinhead, was forming on the side of Serenity's main stem, just below where her primary flower bloomed.
Harmony giggled, a mischievous, delighted sound. Her avatar did a little happy dance on its petal. "Oh, this is going to be rich, she thought, her eyes sparkling with gleeful anticipation. Serenity is going to be SO mad."