The saccharine everglades were a very peculiar ecosystem. A flooded expanse of sparsely wooded land, home to the endemic sun fruit trees.

  The trees’ wide, flat canopies brought shade to the innumerable boulder-sized berries hanging from the branches.

  Come winter, the fruit would fall into the water, turning the water a pale orange shade and making everything perpetually sticky.

  In the spring the waters began to ferment, turning the swamp into a weak, dirty cocktail.

  Then by the summer, the influx of fresh water purged the system, and the water ran clear once again.

  Simon and Chloe’s boots peeled off the sticky boards of the elevated walkway loudly with each step.

  Decomposing leaves, twigs, and insects were laminated to the wood beneath a coat of semi-solid syrup.

  Below them rippled the reflection of the pink morning sky above, padded with wisps of refracted clouds.

  “It smells like spilt wine out here,” Simon observed disinterestedly.

  Chloe didn’t answer. She was a positive individual, and unfortunately the only remarks that came to her mind started with “I hate” or at the very least reused the word “disgusting” a few too many times.

  She double-checked the address provided by Victor, determined not to spend a moment longer in the swamp than she had to.

  “How much to jump in the water?” Simon asked unprompted.

  Chloe momentarily stopped in her tracks before shuddering and continuing onwards.

  “Never.”

  “That’s not a number,” Simon drawled coyly.

  “Simon, that water is a breeding ground for all sorts of microbes!” She clenched her fists at the thought of falling in – or being pushed in.

  "It's nature’s petri dish…!” she grimaced invisibly beneath her mask.

  “We’ll never be able to drink swamp water with that sort of attitude,” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder as his voice took on a worryingly sincere edge.

  “Good?” she answered uncertainly.

  “Good?!” Simon erupted.

  “How is not being able to do something good?” He challenged the plague-seeker with a defensive scowl.

  “Because drinking swamp water makes you sick, Simon,” Chloe explained very slowly.

  The alchemist’s pride was wounded at the slugging delivery, but he didn’t let it show.

  “Okay then, smartass, shouldn’t you create some swamp-resistance pill?” he asked expectantly.

  ”Or even just a little floating water filter to bob around in your stomach?”

  Chloe’s mouth hung agape at the alchemist’s mad suggestions.

  “No…?”

  A tense moment of silence passed.

  “Also, are you going to shove filters in their lungs too? In case you aspirate some contaminated water?”

  “And the nose.” She continued with growing confidence.

  ”And make sure they have no sores or open wounds anywhere inside their digestive and respiratory tracts?"

  “Okay, I get it; you studied all the gross bits. You win this one, plague-seeker…” he sulked.

  Chloe sighed exasperatedly.

  “Nobody won or lost. It’s just a fact.”

  Simon grumbled something indistinct under his breath, which Chloe – ever the optimist – interpreted as graceful acquiescence.

  The wood platform brought the duo to the little town of Surfam.

  The fact that every structure had to be elevated above the mire didn’t seem to inspire much verticality in the architecture, save for the occasional basement-inspired storage room hanging closer to the water’s misty surface.

  These were traditionally frogman lands, but over the peaceful millennia everywhere became a homogeneous salad of carefully groomed culture.

  While Chloe asked some locals for directions to Edward’s home, Simon entertained himself by adhering every piece of litter he found to the wall of one unlucky home.

  By the time Chloe returned, Simon had already nearly finished his collage depicting a slouching wizard with a mean squint and atrocious teeth.

  “Simon…!” Chloe gasped in embarrassment as she rushed over and practically dragged him away from his mural.

  “I’m bored, and everything is sticky…” he whined indignantly.

  "Bury all this and bring me back here in a thousand years, and I’ll be a happy man,” he said sarcastically.

  “I’ll make a note of it in my journal," Chloe answered in turn.

  “Maybe I’ll be able to drink the swamp water then,” he said, trying to provoke another reaction from her.

  “We can only hope so,” she answered shortly.

  Knowing when he’s being ignored, the alchemist decided to move the goalpost in his mind and call it a win.

  He followed Chloe silently through the town until they reached the address provided.

  The home of ‘Edward the sculptor of blue marble and oil painter of Roehill’ was suitably stretched for someone of his stature.

  The leaded windows were fogged over on the inside.

  Chloe eyed the door distrustfully. It glistened with more sticky residue.

  She looked over at Simon, whose gloves already shared the same sheen.

  “Hey, could you knock for me, please?”

  Confused, Simon looked at her and then at the door.

  He groaned as he understood what her problem was.

  One knock in, his knuckle remained glued to the solid wood door.

  Stolen story; please report.

  He pried it off with some effort.

  Simon tilted his head in acknowledgement of Chloe’s concern before trying again.

  Three solid knocks in, Simon stepped back and reluctantly waited.

  Any attempts to tap his foot failed to break the grip of the glue below.

  A couple seconds later, Simon tried to knock again.

  This time, as the door grabbed onto his glove, it opened, ripping the glove cleanly off his hand.

  “Yes?” came the cautious voice.

  Edward looked no older than his nephew; his hair was long and a chalky platinum in colour.

  His eyes looked the alchemist up and down and immediately narrowed.

  “Not another history lunatic…!” the elf groaned frustratedly.

  “Whatever it is that you want from me, you won’t get it!”

  As soon as Chloe saw the thinly veiled outrage simmering beneath a strained grin on Simon’s reddening face, she instantly jumped in. She pulled him back and took his place.

  “I’m so sorry!” The plague-seeker apologised frantically.

  “FOR WHAT?!” Simon seethed in the background.

  Edward was taken aback by the odd pairing.

  He didn’t say anything at first, his eyes darting back and forth between Chloe and Simon.

  “Apologies…” Edward sighed guiltily.

  “I thought it was another one of those damn archaeologists…” he shuddered.

  “Regardless of who may or may not be an alchemist…!” Chloe cut Simon off before he could utter a single word.

  “We’re not here for your help with any archaeology.”

  Chloe’s reassurance seemed to calm the elf some.

  He nodded.

  “Alright…”

  His face lit up.

  “Oh! Are you looking for a sculpture, perhaps?”

  “N-no,” Chloe said with a gentle shake of her head.

  “So… maybe an oil painting then?” he asked hopefully.

  Chloe only shook her head once more.

  “A lot of people are in danger in Malacro,” she explained.

  “From what we heard, you might have some experience that could really help us out…” Her tone was almost pleading.

  The elf opened his mouth to speak.

  He kept oscillating between wanting to give a reply and wanting to ask the plague-seeker to be more specific.

  Eventually he closed his mouth and gestured for them to enter his home.

  “Come inside and tell me more about this problem of yours.”

  Chloe’s eyes glimmered with renewed hope.

  “Of course, thank you for taking the time to speak with us!” she said as she stepped inside.

  Simon followed her silently.

  The ground in the foyer was lower than the rest of the house and was filled with a shallow layer of sawdust.

  “Are you a carpenter also?” Simon asked, curiously dragging his foot through the bed of fine particles.

  Edward gave a polite chuckle and shook his head.

  “No, no, I despise carpentry,” he waved his hand dismissively.

  “The sawdust is how the locals deal with all the syrup,” he explained, gesturing to his own thoroughly coated boots.

  “Sweeping up sawdust does sound like less work than scraping glue off the floor,” the alchemist conceded.

  “Exactly!” Edward nodded, disappearing into another room.

  “Please, sit down; I will be over with you in a moment,” his voice travelled through the thin wooden walls.

  As Chloe took her seat, Simon explored the room, scanning the countless statues, some small enough to be stored on shelves, others taller than Simon and heavy enough to make the old wood dip slightly.

  “This guy really does love blue marble,” he said, seeing the striated blues encased in milky white stone polished to perfection.

  “You shouldn’t be looking around at other people's stuff, Simon…!” Chloe whisper-yelled through anxiously clenched teeth.

  “Artists love when you look at their stuff,” he shrugged and squinted to take in the intricate detail of a little marble fenrake.

  Its clubbed tail and porous, spongy body looked almost lifelike.

  The floor was generously seasoned with sawdust, as expected, but everything above looked clean and organised.

  Before long, Edward returned carrying a wooden platter with an ornate jade teapot, three matching teacups, and a small plate of biscuits.

  As he set the tray down on the table, Simon finally pulled up a seat.

  “I’m sorry about earlier,” Edward said, looking at Simon specifically.

  “I moved to the edge of the world to avoid the attention of curious historians, and still, at least once a year, someone new travels out here and makes a big entitled speech about ethics or ‘the intrinsic value of information’…” he sighed exhaustedly.

  Simon’s withdrawn expression softened slightly.

  “I’d get pretty pissed off too, I suppose,” he admitted.

  “Plus that’s just lazy archaeology."

  Edward smiled genuinely at Simon’s unexpected understanding.

  “Indeed.”

  “That said, I can understand the frustration from your perspective.”

  “Life,” Simon shrugged as Edward poured them his own blend of tea.

  Simon was the first to detect the beverage’s pungent aroma.

  The alchemist took his cup and gave it a second, closer sniff. Almost immediately, he recoiled from the minty burn ravaging his nasal cavity.

  “Ooh! What’s in this?” he coughed.

  “Oh, it’s just a mix of some dried roots and herbs,” he explained.

  While Simon sampled his drink, Chloe undid the fastenings on her mask and took it off.

  She set it down on her lap and quickly swept back her hair.

  “Oh, it smells—" she began before the smell hit her.

  She coughed, occasionally seeming like she was stopping before bursting into another coughing fit.

  “Give us an air rating, plague-seeker,” Simon said, thoroughly entertained.

  Chloe’s coughing got worse on account of the added outburst of laughter.

  “No – cough – Simon – cough – shut – cough – up!" she managed to cough out to the alchemist's continued amusement.

  Edward looked at Simon and cocked his head curiously.

  “The plague-seeker’s reaction is actually more typical,” he remarked.

  Simon grinned proudly.

  “My lungs breathed worse,” he said, taking another sip.

  The flavour itself was pleasant, sweet, very tart, and very floral.

  It burned with a mix of menthol and gingerol, but not for an obnoxiously long time.

  Chloe took a small, measured sip of her tea to try and ease her throat.

  To her surprise, somewhere in the bazaar of ingredients must have been a herb for soothing the throat, because Chloe’s cough disappeared almost immediately.

  “Sorry…” she said, clearing her throat one final time.

  Edward smiled and took a sip of his brew.

  “So, tell me, what exactly is going on?”

  “It’s about a fairy,” Simon explained.

  Edward’s smile fell before he clumsily tried to recover it.

  “I see…” He looked down at the table, suddenly finding the aged wood fascinating.

  “We were exploring an old military facility around Malacro,” Simon explained, seeing Edward’s ears pull back in mute surprise.

  “Of course…” he muttered quietly with a nod.

  He anxiously interlaced his long, elven fingers.

  “While exploring, we found a metal crate.”

  As soon as Edward processed the mention of the crate, his face went pale.

  “W-what kind of crate?” he asked. “Did it have… pots…?"

  Simon nodded wordlessly.

  The elf’s hands slumped off the table and to his sides.

  After a long while, he spoke.

  “I-I don’t understand what that has to do with the danger you mentioned…” Edward said, his voice now carrying a slight tremor.

  “We think one of the fairies survived,” Chloe interjected.

  Edward’s head turned to her immediately.

  “Impossible…!” he gasped.

  “Improbably,” Simon argued.

  “One of the pots was shattered in the flux. The crate itself had a hole in its side. And we couldn’t find the missing skeleton anywhere.”

  He gently tapped his throat. “And it stabbed me with a fork.”

  Edward’s mouth hung slightly open as he stared into his cooling drink while processing the new information.

  “The fairy is on the loose; it's scared and confused; it’s attacking people and setting traps around the woods.”

  “It’s only a matter of time before it or somebody else gets seriously hurt,” Chloe stressed pleadingly.

  “And what do you want me to do exactly?” he asked weakly.

  “We heard you used to catch fairies back in the day for the elven military,” Simon explained.

  “We thought you could use those skills to help us track the fairy down so we can catch them up to speed on where the world is at.”

  “Before something in the woods eats them, or some hunter mistakes it for a weird animal and shoots it.”

  Chloe’s nose wrinkled at the visceral imagery, while Edward remained still for a long time before nodding.

  “I understand; I will help however I can.”