CHAPTER 64: Shadows Beneath the Calm
(Two Days Later)
The scratching sound of a quill against parchment echoed steadily through the modest office, a sound that had become strangely comforting over the last two days. Stacks of paper lay neatly—*or as neatly as possible*—on the wooden desk, each sheet bearing records of supplies, town repairs, and medical reports.
"Vanessa!"
The cleric's voice rang out, firm but tired, as he leaned back slightly in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. His once-pristine white garments were now creased and faintly stained with ink, sweat, and dust—clear evidence of a man who had barely rested since the crisis ended.
No reply came immediately.
"Vanessa!" he called again, louder this time.
"Yes, sir!"
Footsteps hurried down the hall, followed by the soft creak of the office door opening. Vanessa rushed in, slightly out of breath, her brown hair loosely tied back, a few strands falling free around her face. Despite her fatigue, her eyes were bright—alive, unlike the hollow fear they held just days ago.
"You called for me?" she asked, straightening her posture.
"Yes," the cleric replied, gesturing toward the chair opposite him. "Please, sit."
She obeyed, folding her hands neatly on her lap as he shuffled through the papers before him.
"The town is recovering well," he began. "Better than I dared hope. The sick are regaining strength, merchants have reopened their shops, and families who fled have begun returning."
Vanessa smiled faintly at that.
"However," he continued, his tone darkening, "the plague halted all production. Our reserves are nearly depleted. Rebuilding will require funds, and I still haven't finished arranging Sir Zodac's payment—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
The quill slipped from his fingers and clattered softly onto the desk.
A realization struck him like a sudden chill.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze to Vanessa.
Her smile had vanished.
Their eyes met.
"We… haven't seen Sir Zodac in days," the cleric said carefully, as though speaking too loudly might shatter something fragile.
Vanessa swallowed.
"No," she replied quietly. "We haven't."
Silence stretched between them.
"The last time I saw him," she added after a moment, "was when he returned from the mountain. He looked… exhausted. More than usual."
The cleric rose from his chair abruptly.
"That fight with the dragon, dispersing the fog, healing the land—" He shook his head. "Even a hero cannot do all that without consequence."
Vanessa nodded, guilt creeping into her expression.
"The past two days have been hectic," she said softly. "We were so focused on everyone else… we didn't check on him."
"That was our mistake," the cleric said firmly. "Come. We must see him immediately."
The town streets were alive with sound as they walked.
Laughter drifted through the air, mingling with the rhythmic clatter of tools and the murmur of conversation. Children chased one another through open spaces, their carefree shouts echoing between buildings that once stood silent and dying. Merchants called out to customers, and the scent of fresh bread and cooked vegetables carried on the breeze.
Only days ago, this same town had been wrapped in purple fog and despair.
Now, sunlight bathed it in warmth.
Vanessa held a covered tray of food in her hands—simple but nourishing. Steamed vegetables, bread, and a bowl of soup still warm to the touch.
"He probably hasn't eaten properly," she said.
"Hmm," the cleric replied grimly.
They stopped before a modest house near the edge of town—the one assigned to Zodac during his stay.
The building stood quietly, untouched by the bustle around it.
Too quiet.
Vanessa frowned.
"Strange… there's no sign of movement."
The cleric stepped forward and placed his hand on the door.
It opened easily.
Too easily.
*******************
The air inside was stale.
Cold.
Unlived-in.
"Sir Zodac?" Vanessa called gently as they stepped inside.
No response.
The house was dim, the curtains drawn, dust settling undisturbed on the furniture. A faint unease crawled up Vanessa's spine.
"Sir Hero?" the cleric added.
Still nothing.
Vanessa carefully set the tray down on a nearby table.
They moved deeper into the house, checking each room—the kitchen, the storage space, the spare room.
Empty.
Finally, they reached the last door at the end of the hall.
Vanessa hesitated.
Something felt Wrong.
"Sir Zodac," she called again, her voice quieter now.
The cleric pushed the door open.
It creaked loudly, the sound unnaturally sharp in the silence.
The room beyond was dark.
For a moment, they saw nothing.
Then—
"There!" Vanessa exclaimed with relief. "He's still here!"
A figure lay on the bed.
Motionless.
"He must be sleeping," the cleric said, though his voice lacked conviction.
Vanessa stepped forward, heart pounding, and reached for the curtains.
She pulled them open.
Light flooded the room and Vanessa turns to Zodac she screams at the sight of what she saw.
The cleric rushes in,
"What is it?" As his gaze fell on Zodac he paused in his tracks,
"Good Lord…" the cleric whispered.
Zodac lay shirtless on the bed, his chest rising faintly with shallow breaths. His face was pale, drawn, beads of cold sweat clinging to his skin.
But it was his left side that stole the breath from their lungs.
Dark, purple-black coloring spread from his left arm like a living stain, crawling across his chest and up his neck. The skin there looked corrupted—*wrong* swollen.
Vanessa staggered back, covering her mouth.
"What… what is this?" she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.
The cleric approached cautiously, fear etched deeply into his features.
"Good Lord...."