The news reached Ayer quietly.
That was what unsettled me the most.
It wasn't announced with bells or messengers riding at full speed. It passed from mouth to mouth instead through murmurs among servants, lowered voices in corridors, the kind of half-finished sentences people used when they didn't yet know whether something was worth fearing.
I heard it first near the eastern wing of the estate.
Two workers stood near the well, one coughing into his sleeve, the other listening with arms crossed.
"They say it started near the outer towns," one muttered. "Fever that doesn't break easy."
"A healer came," the other replied. "Did what he could. The man stood again, but…" He hesitated. "Didn't last long."
I slowed my steps without realizing it.
Healing magic was common in Ayer. Not abundant, but present enough that most people trusted it implicitly. A wound closed, a fever suppressed, pain dulled. To many, that was the end of it.
But the words didn't last long lingered.
That evening, I paid closer attention.
I listened during meals. I listened when the estate's clerks gathered to discuss supply routes. I listened when Winston corrected a servant who'd missed his duties because of lingering exhaustion.
Patterns began to emerge, not clear ones, not yet, but familiar shapes.
People were being healed.
People were not recovering.
It bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
I spent the next day in the estate's records room, surrounded by ledgers and reports older than I was. Most were dull… crop yields, tax adjustments, repairs to roads and outer walls. But tucked between them were medical notes written by past healers stationed in Ayer.
I didn't understand everything. Some of the terminology was archaic, others overly poetic. But certain descriptions stood out.
Strength returns briefly.
Body weak despite purification.
Relapse within days.
I closed the book slowly.
Magic accelerated recovery. It repaired damage. But it didn't rebuild what had been eroded over time. If the body itself was strained… deprived, exhausted, weakened then healing only pushed it forward without reinforcing the foundation.
It was like forcing a cracked beam upright without replacing the wood.
That thought alone wouldn't have unsettled me so deeply.
What unsettled me was that I had read about something like this before.
Not here. Not in these words.
But the logic was the same.
I didn't know if it applied. I didn't know if I was overreaching. I was sevennearing eightnot a healer, not a scholar. Just someone who read too much and thought too hard.
Still… the resemblance gnawed at me.
That afternoon, I found the others near the training grounds.
Jucelis was arguing with Valkyrie over something trivial. Nibbo sat on a low wall, arms folded, expression unimpressed. Supremo was lying on the grass, staring at the sky as if it had personally offended him. Joen crouched nearby, drawing shapes in the dirt with a stick.
I hesitated.
Then I spoke.
"There's something wrong," I said.
They looked at me.
Not dismissively. Not mockingly. Just… waiting.
"With the sickness people are talking about," I continued. "It doesn't behave like a normal illness."
Nibbo raised an eyebrow. "People get sick all the time."
"I know." I swallowed. "But they're being healed. And still… they don't recover properly."
Jucelis straightened, interest sparking. "You're sure?"
"I'm not," I admitted. "But I've read accounts. Old ones. Similar patterns."
Supremo rolled onto his side, propping his head up. "You read a lot of things, Richard."
"I know," I said again. "That's why I might be wrong."
That gave them pause.
Supremo studied me for a moment, then clicked his tongue. "What if you're not?"
Nibbo scoffed lightly. "And how exactly would he know? He's not a healer."
"I didn't say he knows," Supremo replied. "I said…what if he's right?"
Joen looked up from the dirt. "If healing suppresses symptoms without restoring the body's balance… relapse probability increases."
We all turned to him.
He flushed slightly. "Just… mathematically."
Jucelis nodded slowly. "If that's the case, then the problem isn't the sickness alone. It's how it's being treated."
Nibbo frowned. "Then why hasn't anyone noticed?"
I thought of the estate workers. The healers. The trust placed in magic.
"Because magic works," I said quietly. "Just not completely."
Supremo whistled. "You're saying people rely on it too much."
"I think so."
He stared at me, then grinned suddenly. "What if the Maker's nudging you?"
I stiffened.
Nibbo shot him a look. "Don't be stupid."
"I'm serious," Supremo insisted. "Some people are guided. Chosen."
"I'm not," I said immediately.
"I mean…" just to add more sparks to the fire, Jucelis replied.
The words came out sharper than I intended.
They all looked at me again.
"I just read," I said, more carefully. "And think. That's all."
Supremo studied my face, then shrugged. "Fair enough. Still… weird timing."
Nibbo sighed. "Even if you're right, what do you expect us to do? Walk up to some official and tell them a bunch of kids solved their problem?"
"I don't," I said.
Jucelis leaned forward. "But we could talk to someone who wouldn't dismiss us."
"Who?" Valkyrie asked.
"There's a scholar," Jucelis said slowly. "Or… he used to be one."
Nibbo grimaced. "You mean him?"
"Yes."
Supremo blinked. "Who?"
Jucelis looked at me. "His name is Eldren Vaelor. Once respected. Brilliant, they say. Then he started charging absurd fees for consultations. Lost favor. Lost support. Now he lives in the back alleys near the old market."
"Why would he listen to us?" Valkyrie asked.
"Because," Jucelis replied, "no one else does anymore."
I considered it.
An abandoned scholar. Disgraced. Bitter, perhaps but knowledgeable.
Someone who might question assumptions instead of enforcing them.
My heart beat faster.
"I want to hear what he thinks," I said.
Nibbo exhaled sharply. "This is stupid."
"Maybe," I agreed.
Supremo pushed himself to his feet, grinning. "Stupid's kind of our thing."
Joen nodded. "Statistically speaking, consulting an outlier increases solution variance."
We stared at him.
"…It's good," he added softly.
Valkyrie crossed her arms, then smirked. "Well? Are we doing this or not?"
I looked at them.
At the group I hadn't known I'd needed.
"At least," I said, "we'll know."
The decision settled quietly among us.
By the time we started toward the city's lower districts, the sun was already dipping low, casting long shadows over Ayer's streets.
Behind us, the estate remained calm.
Too calm.
And somewhere beyond its walls, the rumor continued to spread.
Slowly.
Silently.
Like something waiting to be understood.