In front of Azrean stands a tall woman.
Her black eyes are sharp and steady, her tanned skin glowing faintly under the rain. Brown hair is twisted into chignon at the back of her head, neat despite the storm. She looks to be in her late thirties, yet there's nothing faded about her.
She wears an off-shoulder cream lace dress, the neckline ruffled softly around her collarbones. The hem falls unevenly—shorter in the front, longer in the back—layered fabric darkened at the edges by mud. The sleeves puff gently to her elbows. Around her waist sits a brown leather underbust corset, buckle straps fastened tight. Knee-high brown lace-up boots are planted firmly in the soaked earth.
On her head rests a black top hat adorned with goggles and small gear-shaped ornaments.
In her hands is a long, thick wooden staff carved with floral patterns winding along its length.
The end of that staff, along with her boot, pins the twisted creature to the ground.
She looks down at Azrean and smiles faintly.
The creature writhes beneath her leg, bones grinding against stone as it tries to push itself up.
She adjusts her grip on the staff, both hands tightening.
"Move."
Azrean doesn't argue. He slides back across the mud, boots scraping.
The woman lifts the staff high.
Then she brings it down with brutal force against the creature's temple.
The crack is sickening.
The creature's head snaps sideways and tears free from its ruined neck, flying across the graveyard before crashing somewhere out of sight. The body spasms violently, limbs jerking against the ground, then slowly goes limp.
Azrean lets out a long breath and drops back against the mud.
"I thought I was dead for sure…"
The woman steps toward him, calm as ever. From a pouch at her side, she pulls out a small glass bottle filled with a white liquid that glows softly even in the dark.
She closes one eye playfully and brings the bottle near the other, peering at him through the glass.
"Don't worry. Your guardian, Vane Thalai, is here!"
She tosses the bottle toward him.
"Here's the pousun you need."
Azrean catches it with both hands. He quickly pulls the lid free and drinks every drop without hesitation.
Warmth spreads through his body, different from before.
He lifts his black coat and white shirt, exposing the stab wound in his abdomen. The torn flesh slowly begins to knit together, the bleeding easing until only a raw line remains.
Vane removes her hat and exhales deeply.
"Phew. Thank the stars the plan worked. Otherwise, you'd be food for worms and those elegy bugs."
Azrean looks up at her, still catching his breath.
"Yeah, and how in King Halren's name did that failed fuse crawl out of that grave?"
Vane shrugs, as if the answer is obvious.
"It tried to fuse with the dead body. And you know a fusion can't happen unless both sides agree. So it turned into a failed fuse and dragged itself out."
She glances toward the broken grave in the distance.
"Whoever was buried there couldn't afford a coffin. Just dirt over a body. Probably made it easier for the bug to slip inside."
Azrean frowns slightly as he pushes himself to his feet.
"I thought it was only possible with a living heyuman."
Vane steps closer and brushes dirt and clumps of mud from his hair and shoulders with quick movements.
"Normally, yes. If it had gone near the city, it would have been killed immediately. So maybe it tried to buy itself a little more time by fusing with whatever it could find—even a corpse."
Azrean moves her hand away.
"Yeah…after all, they only live for two days."
Vane places the hat back on her head, adjusting it until it sits just right. When she looks at him again, the playfulness is gone.
"Now focus on yourself. You survived the execution. Fine. But how are you going to survive the five symptoms?"
Azrean meets her gaze for a second, then looks away. His voice drops.
"If you're with me… then I'll survive anything. Even this. I already did—with your help."
Vane goes quiet.
Rain taps against the brim of her hat. For a brief moment.
"I shouldn't have sent you to the apothecaries in the first place," she mutters. "If I hadn't, none of this would have happened."
She exhales slowly.
"I should've made time. I should've checked you myself."
Azrean stands still, mud clinging to his boots. After a few seconds, he answers.
"It was your job. It's not your fault."
He lifts his hand slightly, then lets it fall.
"You still managed to send me the letter. And the adrenaline drug when they captured me in that laboratory."
A faint curve touches his lips.
"And you even gave me the cell recovery pousun. I wonder how much that cost."
Vane glances at him.
"Two silver leaves and a bronze stem. That's nearly all my savings from last week."
She smiles faintly at the memory of it, then her expression tightens again.
"Listen carefully, Azrean. Surviving the five symptoms isn't simple. You know that. Even if you're wealthy and fully prepared, the survival rate is five to ten percent."
Azrean lowers his head.
"That's only for the rich…"
His voice grows quieter.
"For commoners and for people like us."
He swallows.
"They give death and call it emancipation."
Vane's eyes soften. She looks down at the muddy ground between them, jaw tightening.
Azrean notices.
He sighs, then forces a small smile onto his face.
"But who said I'm not rich, Ms. Vane? As long as you're with me, I'm the richest."
He straightens slightly despite the pain.
"And after I get through these symptoms and all this mess, I'll earn so much money you won't know what to do with it. I'll make you super rich."
Vane blinks at him, surprised.
Then she smiles—this time warmer.
"Azrean, you're such a dreamer."
"Huh?" he says, confused.
She looks directly into his eyes.
"Nothing. Just saying you're an amazing person."
He frowns lightly. "Why are you saying that?"
Vane turns her face slightly to the side, watching the mist drift between the gravestones.
"Just saying. Who knows… next time you hear that, it might be your last time hearing it from me."
Azrean takes a step back.
"What? I already told you, I'm not dying. And I'm not scared either."
Vane laughs under her breath and begins walking forward, boots squelching softly in the mud.
Azrean stares at her back.
"Hey, where are you going?"
She doesn't turn around.
"Come with me. I'll show you what you just survived."