11

Jackson had an idea of where to go first for the best chances of finding someone who could dispel his curse, but getting there was another problem.

The capital of mages, Crysta, lay far enough to the northwest of his home that there was a very strong chance of getting lost. All the maps that could be found in the clan’s storage were rough and inaccurate, the roadmaps likely completely out of date.

Overall, Jackson’s best best was to head for Spira City first, it was much closer and the one road that led to the city from here was clearly marked. When he got there, he could find a better map at a library, or even find a guide to lead him to Crysta.

On the second day of his journey through the mountains west of Heite Mesas, Jackson marveled at how quickly the red sandstone of his homeland had been replaced with trees and greenery. The wildlife was different as well, magic beasts he’d never seen before made their unwise attempts on his life and were consumed by the curse.

Maybe the curse was happy that it got to taste something new for once… not that he cared about making it “happy,” if it could feel at all.

On the third day, Jackson started to feel a strange sense of foreboding. It was nothing like the familiar hungry itch caused by the curse. Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what, or where. Unconsciously, he started to increase his pace.

Day four since leaving the clan. Jackson had found himself unable to take his eyes off the massive plume of smoke on the horizon. It was miles away, in a direction that was squarely in-line with his path.

* * *

He had only just arrived, but it was easy to tell at a glance that the situation was just as bad as the amount of smoke had implied. There was very little left besides the rubble, ashes, and scorched and hollowed out husks of buildings. From the smell of it… burnt corpses also lie somewhere underneath all this destruction.

The force that tore through Spira City must not have met much resistance for the destruction to be this absolute. Even several days later, there were still fires flickering among anything that hadn’t already been reduced to cinders. Blue flame, the characteristic color of Loma pyromancy. Jackson had seen it a few times before.

The nation of Loma lay just beyond the southernmost end of Heite Mesas. Jackson’s clan lived at the northern edge, so they were almost neighbors. There were a few occasions where bandits originally from Loma had made their way up to the clan’s territory, so although he didn’t know much about the place itself he had least seen their magic.

Regardless, even as an outsider surveying the destruction, Jackson began to feel tears welling up in his eyes. Likely this could have been more from irritation caused by the smoke than anything, but he liked to think he still had some traces of humanity left in him.

Not knowing what else to do, his own personal traveling plans having been stopped short, he wandered through the desolate streets looking for survivors.

* * *

Eventually, he made his way to the northernmost part of the city, having found no one. There was a forest path here, but there wasn’t much left besides burnt stumps and piles of smoking gray ash.

The path led to a set of barred metal gates, perhaps the way into some rich family’s dwelling, but Jackson’s attention was more focused on what was at the base of those gates.

Standing out brightly with its pale blue against all the browns, blacks, and grays was a strange multi-faceted, dome-shaped barrier. It encased a huddled shape, which was gripping one of the bars of the gate with a blistered hand.

The ground around the barrier was scorched blacker than anything else, but the barrier itself had held. It seemed like they had wanted to get in, but ironically the barrier that protected them had also wedged the gates in place.

Jackson felt queasy at the thought of approaching the figure—in case he had just stumbled upon some mage’s corpse and their last futile attempt to protect themselves—but he did so anyway. If the spell was intact, they could still be alive.

He tried tapping on the barrier, but there was no response. Steeling his nerves, he drew his sword and struck at it, the black energy from within the blade gleaming hungrily as it met the bright surface and tore through it like paper. Now this elicited a response from the figure, who awoke with a start and a weak cry that was more like a croak.

It appeared to be a woman with short hair, once neatly trimmed but now frayed at the ends. She wore clothes that were probably some sort of traditional mage garb, but they were singed, coated with soot, and stained by smoke.

She was in pretty bad shape, and might not have had anything to eat or drink in that barrier for a while, but she was alive.

* * *

Finding burnable material that hadn’t already been torched was difficult, but Jackson piled together some wood and rags and was able to start a fire—one of his own, non-magical fires, none of that horrible blue sort of course. He put some meat he had hunted during the trip onto skewers and roasted it, as he gave the shaking girl his waterskin.

She was clearly pretty out of it, frequently lapsing into silence to stare off into the distance at nothing in particular, but Jackson listened patiently as she told him her account of what had happened.

She, of course, worked as a mage in Spira City, doing odd jobs and pursuing her own personal hobbies. The people had only received word of the incoming attack too late, and although the Duke and his family had tried their best to coordinate an evacuation in what short time they had left… nobody was able to escape.

“I… I tried to make it up to their manor—I was friends with the Duke’s daughter—but…” she spoke in a raspy voice, pained both physically and mentally, “I was caught before I made it through the gates. I don’t know what happened to my friend or her family. They probably didn’t make it either, did they…?”

Pausing to take another sip from the waterskin, she continued, “I was able to protect myself with an enchanted glass barrier—gets stronger by absorbing magical attacks—and they gave up on trying to burn me. Just left me there.”

She made a sound that might have been an attempt at a scoff.

Jackson handed her one of the now fully cooked skewers and deliberated his next words carefully. “Do you want to go check the manor now, or do you want me to check for you?” he asked gently.

Hera looked him in the eyes for the first time, the smallest glimmer of strength still lingering in the depths of her own as she gave her answer: “I’ll go with you.”

* * *

The invaders had obviously made their way over the walls, because even though the heavy iron gates remained shut, the land inside was as badly burned as everything else. The two made their way up the path to what remained of the mansion, Jackson occasionally stopping to wait for Hera or to support her when she stumbled.

There really wasn’t much to see. Only the foundations and a few of the support columns still stood, otherwise it looked and smelled the same as every other destroyed building in the city. Hera was in no condition to go rooting through debris, so she sat on a pile of fallen bricks while Jackson searched.

He expected to find nothing but ashes as usual, and only kept working for the sake of the mage’s peace of mind. However, upon moving a wooden beam that was little more than charcoal, he heard a groan. Not the sound of burnt wood scraping against the hard floor, but a person’s voice.

Quickly trying to pinpoint the source of the sound, he continued to throw aside nearby debris. Noticing the increased activity, Hera slowly got up and moved closer. Jackson moved aside the last piece of rubble, and the two of them saw the woman who had been lying underneath. She was badly injured, but breathing.

“Recognize her?” Jackson asked Hera, but she shook her head.

She was small in stature, her hair seemed to be orange underneath the thick layer of soot covering it, and… she had a pair of feline ears atop her head.

A beastfolk… it had been years since Jackson last saw one. They used to have a humble commune not far from his clan’s territory at Heite Mesas, but at some point they disappeared. They were either killed off or left to find somewhere else to settle, and nobody had seen or heard of them since.

This individual was very much alive though, at least for now. Jackson made an attempt to rouse her from unconsciousness, and she groaned again, opening her eyes slowly and wincing as if she had only just started to feel the pain of her wounds.

“Can you hear me? We’ll get you to a safe place, just hold on.”

The girl’s glazed eyes turned in his direction, but she made no further response. Jackson tried to move her, Hera even made a feeble attempt to help, but part of her torso was still stuck under a piece of debris.

Jackson impatiently removed that piece and threw it aside with the rest… then stopped. Hera looked at him confused, then to where he was staring at.

Neither of them had the kind of restorative magic to heal that. All they could do now was be there, and hold the beastfolk girl’s hand as the last traces of life faded from her eyes.