Her throat was bulging, squeezing, tightening and tightening, then a great scream erupted from her mouth. It echoed, as if chambered in a cave of mirrors. They vibrated and harmonized, humming along and chanting to her pain. All she could do was scream.

She couldn’t breathe.

“She’s choking, August!!”

“I know, Sire, but keep holding her! Don’t let go!”

Blood. All she could taste was blood. It began to fill her throat, like a torrential rain eclipsing a monsoon. It burned. It was disgusting. She couldn’t feel her limbs, or her body and bones. It was as if she was dissolving into that mess, the crimson, the ruptured flow of life. All a mess.

It hurts so much.

Why?

Why does it have to be this way?

Why does it have to hurt?

I don’t want to hurt…I don’t want to be awake…

Sleep isn’t painful…

“Ryunise! Dammit, girl, don’t even think about it! I didn’t give you permission to fade!”

“Your Highness, threatening her isn’t helping!”

“I have to do something! I can’t believe she’s making me, of all people, do this!”

Who the fuck…?

I’m in fucking pain. And you have the fucking balls to talk to me like that…?

“Your Highness, this is no time for tasteless jokes…”

“It’s not a joke, Sir! I’m supposed to be elsewhere! But I’m here!”

Your ass is going to be grass if you don’t shut up.

…why would I even think that…?

And who would…?

“I’m going to see this damn thing through! I will not let them have another of my citizen!!”

What are you even going about, you pompous ass crack.

“Your Highness! Don’t!”

“Your Highness, please. I have it under control. Don’t use it!”

“You’re too slow! It’s been hours now!”

“Highness, you will hurt her. Please.”

“Fuck…!”

Ryunise turned on her side, trying to gasp for air, but couldn’t. She coughed and heaved. Gobs and clumps slathered stubbornly in her chest cavity. A pathetic whine was lodged in her vocal cords and her hands weakly grasped her throat.

Breathe, please, Gods, breathe!

“Young Miss!”

“Ryunise!”

“My Lords, hold her in this position. Let it come out on its own.”

Hands were placed on her back. Were they wet, or was I?

Ryunise coughed and wheezed. It was too moist, soaked, drenched in a rancid wrapper, and yet somehow too viscous like gelatin to move. The hands massaged, pressed, and rolled. Silk traced in gentle tips, like feathers on wings, and unfurled inside of her. It was as if someone pulled back the dusty curtains to let in the sun, letting it shine the day and warmth to melt the ice away. Masses webbing and infesting her airways began to dissolve into watered-down jelly, allowing her to cough deeply.

“My Goddess, what the fuck…”

Splatter upon splatter spilled from her lips, as if she was throwing up bottles on bottles-worth of the crudest and mealiest oil paints hell had to offer. Her ears could hear small bubbles popping in the nasty goo she was expelling. Despite the horrific site, she was amazed at the numerous pairs of hands holding her still.

Finally, she slumped on her arm. She could breathe. She could feel her chest rise, her heart surge with life, rushing the oxygen to her starving cells, and kick-starting her organs. Ryunise sobbed, gritting her teeth, the tears allowed to break. This time they flowed clear and crystal, instead of the syrup crimson blood from before.

“Lady Ryunise…”

“It’s all right now…the worst has past, My Lords and Highness…”

“What…what…?” She tried to speak, but it only caused a wave of nausea and headaches.

“Shh, don’t speak yet…” That’s…Vin’s voice? It sounds so different.

She curled a little on herself and was shivering. Why was she wet? Did someone dump water on her?

“Principal Haviomist,” That voice. That was her father. Ryunise’s father, not hers, “What’s going on?”

The hands continued to hold her backside. They were rubbing, pressing, and swirling in circles to the little muscles. Warmth was being fed into her body, and she could taste a hint of mint and aqua at the corners of her mouth; a tattling signature of the Miracle Absensae. It was a level two holy spell uncommonly used by mid-level clergy of the Church that requires a strong affinity with the Goddess Liffi of Water and Sky Dew.

“Your young daughter, the Young Miss Ryunise, has been in Dark Sleep,” An older, much more older, voice spoke, like the aged touch of parchment and scrolls, “It appears this was a side effect of it.”

“Dark Sleep…?” Elouis’ voice now.

Unlike before, everyone sounded much clearer and much closer now. Ryunise could feel her arms and her hips, and started to finally relax.

“This…is what Dark Sleep can do, August?” Vin asked.

“You weren’t supposed to be made aware, Your Highness. But, at the same time, if you hadn’t been there, the Young Miss Ryunise could have very much passed on. It would no longer be Dark Sleep, but a Shadow Drown,” August replied.

“Shadow Drown?” Marcaes questioned.

“Shadow Drown is a state of perpetual drowning in one’s own blood and cursed gel, but you will not die. No matter how much you cough or choke, it will not kill you.”

The room was icy. A rage icy. A lethal, dangerous, and murderous swirl of intent and violence. But Marcaes’ voice was deceptively cool, “Is that so…?”

“My Lord Emerodelle, please…” August softly said, but there was a hint of fear.

“Sir Marcaes,” Vins said briefly.

Somehow, just the uttering of two words in a firm, casual tone, was enough to order the brewing squall and crashing seas to pull back and into the Order Knight.

“Apologies, Your Highness…” Marcaes bowed his head slightly.

“Principal Haviomist,” Elouis spoke up, “You said in one’s blood…does that mean all this is…”

“Yes, Master Silphyre. All this is the Young Miss Ryunise’s blood…” August confirmed softly.

“There’s so much of it…”

“Won’t she need a blood transfusion?” Vin asked.

Ahh, she thought. It’s not so dark anymore, but I can barely see. It’s warm now, but it’s still cold…makes sense…not. Blood transfusion…? They have such a thing in this world…?

“Yes, Your Highness. But this is quite tricky,” August articulated, “Matching the correct type was only recently discovered by the Oracles.”

Oh shit, she grumbled in her mind. Oracles, too? There really are no doctors or medical technology like back home? I’m screwed.

“Under normal circumstances…”

“Under normal circumstances?” Vin repeated slowly.

“Under normal circumstances, the Oracles can identify a person’s blood type, and locate an appropriate match. However, none of the cases before were afflicted. Let alone something as unheard of as Dark Sleep.”

“Then what can we do?” Elouis asked.

“We’re just going to have to try,” Marcaes’ voice was cool, but strained.

She felt her father caress her face and pull back her sodden hair. All she could do was just lay there, lay still, and feel the weight of her own helpless body pressure her waning life. Ryunise, you poor thing. Apparently, I have rotten luck of taking care of your body, she silently apologized. You, your family, your community, doesn’t deserve this. His voice was wavering in the presence of strangers. The Gods have not granted him the courtesy to not feel despair.

“…Pa…pa…” Ryunise managed to sigh out.

“I’m here, Ryunise…” He swallowed, “No matter what, I’m not giving up on my daughter. Either they’re successful, or I can’t promise what will happen afterwards.”

“I have sent word to the Academy of Swords and Arts, and Aster Hospital, Principal Haviomist…” A young male voice said from a far doorway.

“Thank you,” The elderly man responded.

“What happens now, August?” Vin watched the man with a leveled gaze.

“For now, I will tie her life to the Miracle. I have not used any today, so there should be enough ample time if she takes a turn for the worst.”

Elouis took her cold, wet black-splotched hands in his. Faintly she could see the white, pristine gloves he once wore was now the same color that ran like lava from her eyes and mouth.

“I…am dirty…Marquis…” She said slowly. It didn’t hurt so much anymore, but it was hard to catch the words in her mouth.

“No, Young Miss…you are never dirty…” He shook his head.

Vin was standing back, and his hands were dripping at his side. They were in a spacious office in the Eastern wing that easily matched the size and height of a two-story library. Most of the walls were lined with books, scrolls, and research papers. There was a lounge area to receive guests in the middle, and a long, wide desk at the back parallel to arching glass windows. More than half the floor looked as if someone mad took a vat of dark, dirty water, lifted it above their head, and smashed it. Ryunise’s small body was at its center. It was a wonder, or a demon’s bane, that she was still alive.

It was different. Much different. He thought being on a battle field past crowded with hills of twisted bodies and ripped heads would have hardened him to gore. That his impressive affinity to the Amsel the God of Sword and Fight would crystallize his heart instantly. That the children, the victims, the shields, the cries, the despair would deafen his ears and blank his eyes. But for some reason or no reason, a sassy, willful, and audacious little girl cut through everything with her blood and screams.

Then there was Sir Captain Commander Marcaes Emerodelle. The Order Knight. One of Rakoul Kingdom’s most decorated and honored Royal Bladen, and trusted double sword to His Highness Excellene King Leorvis Regima Rakoul…reduced to the soaked floor a father in desolation.

Why does it bother me so much? He asked himself sharply. Vin raised his hands, staring down at his hands still coated in fresh, coppery garnet. Why? He raised his face to the glowing embrace of the crescent moon illuminating the starless night.

‘Do you want to live?’