Alchimia Rex

Dia's second stop of importance was a diminutive hut, a small rustic box made from orcwood, set strategically on the outskirts of the city. Anyone looking at the hut and the few Orcs near it would assume it was just some storage area, or perhaps a place where some ill-behaved maidens were being held for punishment. None would suspect it was where the city’s most dangerous prisoner was currently held.

Rick, with his knack for unconventional strategies, had masterminded this setup. When confronted with the challenge of imprisoning a Malumari, a task as formidable as restraining Monica herself, he had reached this solution. The argument in favor of this frankly insane choice had been two-fold. On one side, if the Malumari wanted to escape, she would. Having her imprisonment near the heart of the city would only put others' lives at risk. On the other, anyone seeking to free the Malumari would need to specifically know where she was being held, as the Lord’s manor was being turned into a very large trap.

Very few had been convinced about his choice, but none would argue it. Particularly when Urtha herself had sworn that she’d beat the maiden as many times as it took. Dia hadn't been entirely convinced of the plan. But, she conceded, anything that pushed a potential threat further away from Rick was preferable to the alternative of him finding a way to sleep with it.

As Dia approached, a mouse-girl squirreled her way out from behind the nearest Orc, eyes wide and alert, blocking her path. “What is the password?” she asked in a quiet whisper.

“Kiara is a gigantic whiny baby,” the healer responded with a hint of amusement.

It was a necessary precaution; there were shapeshifters, and one of them could become a gigantic pain if she met the prisoner unsupervised. Of course, it had been Dia who had proposed the phrase, mostly to get some small pleasure out of her morning routine.

With her identity confirmed, she moved past the guards and entered the hut’s antechamber. Once properly dressed in the black, spiky armor, she entered the lone room, meeting the occupant and prisoner. Embla lay on the bed, awake and glaring at the ceiling, as if trying to etch her frustration into the wood.

“No humans here,” Dia pronounced gently, her gaze flickering to the empty bowl and platters. “Was breakfast tolerable?”

There was no answer from the prisoner.

With a nod, Dia stepped closer, stopping just outside the crippled maiden’s immediate reach. “My healing and diagnostics will be minimal. If you’d rather I not do either, please voice your concerns now.”

She waited for a few seconds; her patient only let out a huff of affirmation.

Stepping closer, she knelt to confirm the emptiness of the platters. “Is the Polita mead sitting well? Are there any new discomforts or pains?”

Embla glared harder at the roof. “I want food.”

Actual words? Dia kept her tone polite and measured. “Until your digestive tract finishes reforming, solids are out of the question.”

She kept her movements slow and easy to read as she touched the maiden’s elbow with her left hand. Her right hand moved to press against the abdomen, and she began to circulate it through the maiden’s body.

Every time she did this, she could do nothing but feel humbled. Embla’s power was a vast ocean, and she was nothing more than a stream. If the Malumari so much as thought that Dia was going too far, then there would be nothing she could do with her powers. Never had she treated a patient that could, with just a thought, throw her healing out.

That didn’t happen, however. Embla kept a wary eye on her actions, but didn’t impede her in any way.

Able to fully focus on her work, the healer carefully took stock of every corner of Embla’s body. Dia noted the physical status with great interest. The Malumari’s physiology was not as capable of self-healing as an Orc's, but it was decidedly several steps above a Sabertooth's. The body was capable of quickly scarring, but it was also healing itself and regenerating… just not properly. It was clearly being consciously directed; some of the problems felt as if they were being made by someone who held wrong assumptions about their own biology.

Given how delicate her patient’s condition was, Dia was very careful to triple-check her assumptions before she acted. It was a careful procedure, undoing the minute deviations and patching them back in the right direction. In a sense, she considered this to be a more complicated version of what she was already doing to Rick.

“The liver doesn’t have that shape,” she chided, flickering her focus to Embla’s face for a moment.

“Why do you mend my errors?” came the question.

That confirmed Dia’s suspicion. Whatever process a Malumari’s body took to recuperate, it wasn’t automatic. Did that mean that, if Embla were forcefully knocked unconscious, her body’s healing would come to a halt after a certain point? She tucked that fact away and focused on the question itself.

“Because my Lord wants you to live,” she answered softly. “Even if he didn’t, I’d want you to live as well.”

A moment of silence stretched out. “As a test subject? I’ve noticed how much attention you pay to some parts you don’t do anything to.”

Dia paused, her gloved hands lingering against the ebony skin of the maiden. “I’ll admit, I want to know more about how your body works. I have loved ones who have been grievously injured, and my hope is to learn how to undo the damage.” She took a deep breath and let it out as she shook her head. “But there are lines no healer should cross. I’ve seen what the Pinielf did and it’s repugnant.”

Embla didn’t say anything, keeping her gaze fixed on the ceiling.

“You could be a powerful healer, if you put your mind to it,” Dia muttered, a twinge of envy seeping into her words. “You only lack the knowledge.”

“It won't work,” she answered harshly. “My powers only work on my own flesh. Believe me, I’ve tried. The power of aberration is not meant for healing.”

The elemental power of aberration was one meant to twist, corrupt, and alter. No doubt it was how the Malumari could undo the powers of others with but a gesture. Still, Dia could only scoff at the words. “There are plenty of maidens whose powers rely on aberration. Any medical center will have dozens of spells they could teach built around that element.” She chuckled slightly. “I’d bet Kiara knows a few herself, but it’d be best if you didn’t cross paths with her.”

Embla returned to silence, her attention fixating on the ceiling as if to convey the conversation had come to an end.

Dia accepted it, letting the peace wash over her like a cool, calm sea. As her next alarm chimed, she began to pack her medical kit. Today’s session could have gone longer, but most everything worth addressing had been tackled, the rest could wait until tomorrow.

She stopped at the door, a thought flickering over the rest. “Have you ever heard the term ‘Nightingale’?”

The prisoner stirred slightly, her pale brows furrowing. “Do not look into this matter.”

Dia scowled, mimicking the gesture. “Why?”

“My mother possessed a list of all the breeds the kingdom and empire have deemed threats. Each breed was put into its own category. The Succubi, for example, are ‘charmers’, deemed threats for their ability to twist the hearts of others.” Her gaze turned to Dia, deep and troubled. “The Nightingale’s name was next to the Pinielf’s, they are both ‘fleshcrafters’, makers of abominations.”

The scowl deepened. Was this why the Pinielf had brought up the breed? Dia was a Rapha, and all her life she’d been taught Raphas were like many other maidens whose genus was a circle. She’d been told there would be no ascension waiting for her. And now this? Her mind buzzed, exploring the complex implications of 'fleshcrafters'. The ability to not just mend, but grotesquely and unnaturally alter flesh — it was a chilling antithesis to the core principles of her medical creed.

Any maiden found wielding such power faced immediate execution, a necessary measure to maintain the delicate balance of the natural order.

The masked maiden — the creator of the plant monstrosity — was a potent reminder of the devastating power, and why breaking the natural order in such a way was deemed a severe taboo. Both kingdoms and empires understood the gravity of the threat. Those discovered indulging in such horrifying practices were swiftly dealt with and for good reason.

"Using a tool changes the way you perceive the world," Embla pressed on, her voice strained. "If you gain great power in crushing things, you will see things you can crush. Some powers should not be wielded."

Dia didn’t answer. She lowered her eyes to her gloved hands, the spiky black metal. "There are countless people who will spend their lives crippled." The leather creaked as she closed her hand into a fist. "Meanwhile, there are those who will live their lives capable of fully recovering from even the most grievous of misfortunes." She looked at Embla. "No one has the right to claim the people I love should suffer more just because they were born different."

The other maiden recoiled slightly, turning to look away.

She left, her thoughts turning more decidedly to the matter at hand.

Originally, she had thought that the Nightingale was a breed of maiden so rare that there wouldn’t be records of them in any common library. But if they were a forbidden breed, then that also explained why she couldn’t find any references to them.

As the city swallowed her into its cobblestone streets and squat wooden houses, she found herself lost in a sea of assumptions. Her training as a healer had made it clear that any reference to forbidden breeds was to be destroyed. The methods by which a maiden could ascend into such forms were meant to be eradicated, lest the knowledge tempt someone desperate enough to try. For this reason, what little records remained would be obfuscated through secondary classifications. After all, if you coined a term and used it to describe forty different possible maidens, then it would be near impossible to determine which part of that information was relevant.

Normally, maidens that could become a forbidden breed would themselves be deemed forbidden. But doing so with all such maiden breeds would be impossible. Being with Rick had taught her that there was no guaranteed way to maintain control over a city, let alone an empire. What then would they do? She asked herself how Rick would handle such a situation, not wanting to kill anyone but wanting to dissuade them from ascending in a certain way?

Dia had met countless Rapha’s like herself, yet not one of them had heard of the possibility of ascension... "Systemic problems are near invisible to those who view the system from within," she whispered Rick’s words back to herself. There had to be something going on that made the chances of a Rapha becoming a Nightingale, even by accident, impossible.

And, as a Rapha herself, she should be keenly aware of what this method would be. She'd been trained in Balet by the most experienced healers in the city. However, no matter how much she strained her memory, she found no conspicuous elements to which she could latch on.

"Focus on the positives," she reminded herself.

If she couldn't find a solution right away, all she needed to do was chip away at the problem until she did. Determination and positivity were the best ways to approach things. Maybe she could talk it over with Rick once she had something a bit more concrete.

With no apparent answers readily available, she banished her lingering doubts for the time being.

The sun had finally risen enough that, even with the clouds, walking the streets was no longer a hazard without summoned light. The city was stirring a bit more enthusiastically as well; the odd human would join the maidens. The number of shops and voices was steadily growing. Sinco had yet to fully recover, but the signs were there. Most activity was centered around the food distribution efforts by the tribe. By now, legumes and fruit had already fallen into full commerce, while the rest were on their way. Eventually, the city would need to return to paying coin for their food, and only then would things be deemed to have flowed back into a healthy state.

After a brief halt to secure a handful of toasted nuts, she eagerly recommenced her journey toward what she would one day call a medical center. It was hers, and that added a little pep to her stride.

The building was nestled in the city's core, not too far from the central plaza. It was a single-story construction painted in white to mark its role as a place for healing. Its size was unassuming, and there was a twin building right next to the city gates. However, that one would only open if they anticipated a fight would take place, or if the farmers were being pushed into a triple shift. Fortunately, Dia’s proximity to Rick gave her ample access to this information, so she could allocate what little resources she had depending on what they expected.

Looking at the structure from outside made her want to sigh. The term "medical center" wasn't quite apt. Even Astunes, a village far smaller than Sinco, had a less humble infrastructure. In its current form, her precious medical center was closer to a "medicine shack," not least because the 'nurses' working there left much to be desired.

A staff, she noted, was not present upon her entry.

The reception area was deserted, not a single soul in sight.

The glowstone lamp situated near the vacant desk was off, having run out of power likely hours ago. The deeper recesses of the building were eerily silent. Anyone unfamiliar with the circumstances might surmise the building to be abandoned, which should be impossible since over a dozen Politas called this building their home.

Dia confirmed the absence of any lurking figures — behind the desk, inside the supply closet (a one-time hideout), and beneath the empty patient beds. Moving silently, like a specter, Dia navigated her way towards the basement, drawn by the faint melody of snores escaping past the wooden door.

She knew better than to open the door and count how many Politas there were. The pillbug-like maidens had a knack for hiding out of sight when panicking.

Inhaling deeply, she rapped on the door with force, raising her voice into a commanding shout. "You have three apples or else!" she declared, her voice sending a wave of startled 'eeps' and tiny shrieks reverberating through the room on the other side.

A clamor of hurried movement ensued, the maidens springing into action. Dia retraced her steps upstairs. Stopping at the reception desk, she opened the snack drawer and sure enough, there were some apples there. She picked the first and bit down, the loud crunch serving as a ticking clock for the feral-born maidens that had a rather poor sense of time.

It was exactly at the end of the third apple that the Politas had clambered into the reception area. One and all wore the brown-white healer’s uniform. They stood in two lines, antennae waving in a slight panic as they nervously glanced at their mentor, the very same who was currently glaring them down.

"Aside from the usual itinerary, today we do double inventory and sanitization," Dia's announcement was punctuated by the collective flinch of her pupils. "No matter the hour, twilight or dawn..."

"... there must always be a helping hand," the Politas recited in unison. Their bodies mimicked their resignation; antennas dropping, heads bobbing in acknowledgment.

“I will be writing the finished parasite report,” her gaze swept over each of the maidens. “You will take turns to read the abbreviated form out loud. Make sure to check your words while you do inventory.” She waited for a heartbeat, softening her glare and breaking out into a smile. “This report might make your teacher famous all over the kingdom.”

Her proclamation brought about awe in the eyes of the huddled nurses-in-training. It stirred a little pride inside Dia. The report was a thorough exploration of detection, containment, cure, and eradication strategies for the parasitic plant. Even if the infestation didn’t make it anywhere else, the report had some potential far-reaching implications within the field of brain-healing. This presented the tantalizing possibility of her work being replicated and disseminated across the continent, a paper trail leading right back to her by name.

Idly she mused about what her mother and mentors would say if they stumbled onto the report. The lofty dreams of humble but far-reaching recognition came to an abrupt end when someone knocked at the door.