I mean… I'm not really in the right state of mind right now.
I've experienced too much, too little time, and too brutal a fashion. My brain's foggy, my emotions are fried, and my body—
Wait.
My body?!
The last thing I remember was pain. A surge of it. Like a collapsing mountain of agony caving in on itself, centred right where my eye used to be. My ribs were shattered, my back was broken, and my skull—well, I'm pretty sure something spiked through it. And yet…
I slowly raised my hand.
No tremor. No pain. No resistance. My fingers flexed effortlessly—too effortlessly, with subtle hints of lingering pain, at short intervals.
I touched my cheek, then my collarbone, then the edge of my bandages. The skin beneath felt whole. Not scarred. Not torn. Just… warm. Breathing. Alive.
That wasn't right. That wasn't natural.
I looked toward her, the elder woman seated calmly in the corner, unmoving, regal in her stillness. She hadn't spoken since that warning of hers, but her gaze had long since pierced through me like a scalpel through silk.
'What have you done?' I asked mentally, unsure if I even had to ask. She'd probably read the question the moment it surfaced in my cortex.
Sure enough, her eyes narrowed. Not in malice. More like a reminder. She had already mentioned healing me. I must've forgotten—or refused to process it at the time. Can't blame me. Brain trauma tends to mess with memory retention.
But to heal this fast? To this extent?
That was something else entirely.
"Thank you," I whispered, this time with actual words—raw, cracked words that dragged across my throat like sandpaper dipped in fire.
Ninia didn't flinch. Didn't blink. She simply reached toward her table, picked up a slender, glass vial, and tossed it to me in a slow arc. I caught it, barely.
The moment it touched my skin, I could tell—this wasn't just any potion. The vial was warm. Soft to the touch, almost organic. Inside swirled a blue liquid, glowing faintly with silver threads, each strand pulsing with latent power. This wasn't a mid-grade healing tonic. This was high-grade. Maybe special-grade.
I popped the lid, didn't bother sniffing it—bad idea—and chugged it down.
Instant regret.
Yup. Definitely special-grade. That signature vomit-meets-rotting-fruit taste, chased by the bitter afterburn of fermented riverstone and beast gall. A flavour profile straight out of Hell's own brewery. My entire being tried to hurl it back out, but I wrestled control, forcing it to stay down with a grimace and an inner scream.
Disgusting. Absolutely vile. Effective.
While I mentally cursed whoever invented this abomination of a potion, I could already feel it working. Beneath the surface of my skin, my cells began writhing—dividing, multiplying, stitching together. Muscle fibers twisted and reformed. Bones groaned. Veins pulsed like over-pressurised pipes.
It was agony. Not the dull, tolerable kind. No—this was cellular pain. Deep. Subconscious. Every nerve ending lit up in unison like a cursed symphony. I clenched my teeth, willing my face to remain neutral. The woman in front of me had already done enough. No need to show weakness now.
Even if my body was rebuilding itself one layer at a time.
Even if my skull had literally been punctured like a cracked egg not too long ago.
Still… kindness like this?
Unexpected. Especially after what she said before—calling me a vile creature, dripping with the kind of disgust that doesn't come from petty insult, but from history.
Yet here she was. Healing me. Saving me. Giving me a second chance.
"Thank you again," I said, more firmly this time. "I owe you a lot. I'll repay you. One day. With interest. That's a promise… and a man's word."
She didn't smile. But she nodded, once.
Then, because I'm both stupid and ungrateful apparently, I asked, "Could you maybe… also regenerate my eye?"
Yeah. I actually said that.
Her expression dropped into something colder, sharper. The fire in her eyes didn't rage, it burned slowly and with disappointment.
"Regeneration," she said, voice calm, "is a lost form of mana manipulation. As much as I pride myself on my mastery… that's a domain even I cannot touch. Your life was spared. But not without a price. One you'll carry with you for as long as your lifeforce burns."
I let out a breath. Couldn't say I was surprised. But hey—nothing to lose for trying, right?
"Still," I added, voice softer now, "thank you. And… I'm sorry. For the scar."
I bowed. Fully. Joined my hands together even though my shoulder ached and my ribs weren't exactly thrilled with the gesture.
"I didn't know. I had no idea about that entity. That it… attacked you. I didn't even know it existed."
She stared at me for a long moment. Then exhaled slowly, like someone who'd held her breath for years.
"Yeah. I know. And that's why I kept my distance. For my sake."
She adjusted in her seat, resting her chin against the back of her knuckles. Her voice now carried the weight of someone speaking not to a patient, but to a puzzle she'd once tried to solve—and failed.
"But I never stopped trying to help you. I just had to… find other ways. Indirect. Subtle."
Other ways?
Before my brain could start spinning wild theories, she cut straight to the point:
"You were out of reach. And I wasn't allowed to contact you directly. So I found alternatives. Mercy. Edward. Arcane himself."
My eye widened.
She gave me a tired look, the kind old people reserve for idiots who should've known better.
"Seriously," she said, tone dry. "You think someone like Arcane—one of the most powerful, secretive men alive—just happened to be passing by the desolate part of the mountains? One that you have converted into your own training grounds? That you sneak off to? What? For a better view of the sunrise, perhaps sunset? A once-in-a-lifetime event he's watched rise and fall, maybe a thousand times before?"
I blinked. "…Okay, that does sound stupid now that you say it out loud." and with that sort of tone...
"Because it was stupid," she replied, leaning back. "But necessary."
"..."
"Why show me such care?" My voice cracked mid-sentence, laced with suspicion. "Affectionate? I don't like being ungrateful when people around me express their desire to help, guide, or protect me. It's not that I don't appreciate it—I do. But you?" I looked at her, steady this time. "I'm grateful, yes. In debt? Probably. But I'm not stupid, or blind enough to trust anyone. Especially someone I've seen twice in the last ten years."
Ninia didn't flinch. She met my gaze without so much as a twitch. Cold. Collected. Calculated.
"Correct. That's good awareness." Her tone was neither soft nor cruel—just direct. "I did all of this—saving you, healing you—for my own sake. Just as you desire to protect your loved ones, I desire something as well. Your survival is necessary to achieve my goals. Don't misunderstand. I wouldn't have minded if you had died out there last night." She paused for a beat, not for dramatic effect, but because she meant every word. "But… you have something in you, around you, above you… Something I can't afford to lose. Something that might help us all against the calamities that are crawling out of the darkness. The empire is shifting, and I plan to survive it."
Blunt. Brutal. Honest. I respected that. No sugarcoated lies or emotional baiting. She had a motive. One I could trust—if I couldn't trust her. That was good enough. For now.
Still, before I could continue, her eyes narrowed slightly, like something had just occurred to her. "...What's with your hair?"
My brow lifted, genuinely confused. "What?"
"Your hair," she repeated, gesturing toward me with a slight motion of her chin. "It used to be jet black, now it's… changing. White strands. You didn't have that previously."
Of all things to focus on while we were discussing potential empire-wide catastrophe, my hair?
"I don't know. And honestly?" I pulled the blanket off and began inspecting my body. "I don't care. I've got more important things to worry about."
Physically, I looked fine. No open wounds. No broken limbs. But when I tried to stand, I realised how deceptive appearances could be. My hands pushed against the bed frame, legs tense, arms trembling with the effort to lift my own weight. It took longer than I liked. Much longer. My muscles burned. My vision blurred. Still, I stood. For a moment. Before the weight of my own body collapsed me back into the bed.
That's it? My new limit?
Pathetic.
I glanced at Ninia again, maybe expecting—hoping—for something resembling sympathy.
She didn't give it.
"That potion you gulped down like sweet wine?" she said, tilting her head slightly. "It's still working. Its true effects will kick in within a few hours. Your body needs rest more than anything. Sleep. That's an order."
I didn't want to nod. I wanted to argue. But I did it anyway. She was right. Arguing would be wasted energy. I rewrapped myself in the warmth of the blanket, the frustration simmering under my skin like poison.
Then she added, "Your armor's been damaged, but I'll patch it enough to get you through the mission you're leaving for tomorrow."
Tomorrow?
Seriously?
"In the meantime," she continued, tone now sharper, faster, as if time itself had turned into a predator, "start figuring out this strange connection between the Nmanas and the Wraiths. I'll give you a head start—maybe two. One, the Wraiths are real. They're not myths. They're in numbers, and they've already begun to infest our city—maybe more than one. Maybe the entire empire. Two, they were once Nmanas."
She gave me a moment to digest it, but not long.
"Before something, or someone, turned them. Corrupted them. Converted them. I don't know what kind of unspeakable acts twisted them into what they are now, but they're not natural. They're not right. You must investigate. Use whatever instincts, mana connections, or leftover madness that still exists in you, but do it fast. We don't have time."
Sure. Just toss the whole world-saving agenda on the guy who just lost a fucking eye.
Was she insane?
I mean, yes—I agreed that this needed to be looked into. But how about a real clue? Something more helpful than doom prophecy and vague warnings. If she really wanted my help, if I was really that important to her plan, then why not offer something concrete? A trail. A thread. Anything.
The room grew colder. Her gaze sharpened.
She'd heard everything.
Of course she did.
"Do you happen to know of an adventurer named Jhansi?" she asked, arms folded tightly across her chest, back as straight as a blade. She was shifting gears now—tactics mode.
"Jhansi?" I blinked. "As in, Guildmaster Dargan's fiancée? Leader of the Flying Daggers? That Jhansi?"
We'd met. Once or twice. She was sharp. Ruthless. Always had this look in her eyes like she'd already calculated everyone's weaknesses.
"Before she became an adventurer," Ninia said, tone loaded with implication, "who was she?"
The question landed heavily.
Jhansi's past wasn't a secret, but it also wasn't something people freely talked about. She was a fallen noble. I remembered now—her house, House Raigarth, had collapsed nearly fifteen years ago, brought down by internal betrayal. Whispers of blackmail. Poison. A failed coup from within. The details were scarce. Deliberately erased, maybe. But even the most controlled stories leave scars in history.
"The Raigarth family," I said slowly, the dots connecting faster than I wanted. "They were known for something else too… weren't they?"
Ninia didn't reply. She was waiting for me to keep going. Her silence pushed my mind forward.
Yeah. I remembered.
The Raigarths were one of the very few noble houses that openly supported the Nmanas. Not just supported—protected. Funded their settlements. Offered safe zones. They even went against imperial directives to ensure the Nmanas retained lands, rights, and, sometimes, justice. Hell, the Ra-Ai Colony of Varis—one of the oldest surviving Nmana colonies—was named after 'Rai,' the first letter of the house.
And now?
It was again confirmed that the Wraiths used to be Nmanas.
Jhansi. Raigarth. The colony. The corruption.
I felt my breath slow. A cold sense of realisation began to thread itself into my chest like ice weaving through veins.
Ninia watched me silently, still and poised. She didn't need to spell it out.
The implications were unravelling inside me faster than I could cage them.
If what she's hinting at is true… then this goes deeper than those shadow monsters. This is about betrayal. About bloodlines. About history being manipulated—or erased entirely.
And Jhansi?
She might be at the heart of it.
Maybe she knew something, maybe she didn't, but if I get to have an uninterrupted conversation with her... I could figure something out, or a way forward.
Either way, I had a trail now. A dangerous one. But a trail nonetheless.