A few minutes later, Zowell’s sobs subsided into ragged breaths. He wiped his face with a trembling hand, struggling to regain his composure in the quiet sanctuary of the bookshelves.

  “Can you tell us what happened?” Eira asked, her voice gentle.

  “Cecilia is dying,” Zowell replied, the words hollow and heavy. “Celica’s mother.”

  Eira and Dain exchanged a look of shared horror.

  “Her condition is deteriorating rapidly. If I can’t find a cure… she won’t last the week,” Zowell said, his voice weak with despair. Then, a spark of bitter anger flashed in his eyes. “I’ve tried every formula, every rare herb I know. Nothing works. And still, no one has been able to capture that damned warlock.”

  “So you know the illness is caused by the warlock?” Eira asked.

  “You know as well?” Zowell looked up, surprised. “Yes. And Cecilia contracted it because of me.”

  “Please, tell us what happened,” Eira urged softly.

  Zowell took a deep, shuddering breath. “Cecilia, her husband Lazarus, and I were all in the same clan. Cecilia retired when she became pregnant with Celica. Not long after, I was badly injured—a minotaur gored me, shattering my ribs and leg. It never healed properly, and I lost the ability to cast spells, so I was forced to retire, too. I opened the shop to make a living.” He paused, the memory painful. “Our retirement left the clan unbalanced. They struggled to find replacements and, desperate for funds, began taking on quests that were too dangerous. One failed mission led to another… until they accepted a quest on a rocky mountain in the far northeast, where they encountered a drake. The entire party was wiped out.”

  Eira listened, her hand pressed to her mouth as tears began to well in her own eyes.

  “After Cecilia recovered from giving birth, she returned to adventuring, joining random parties to provide for her daughter. I looked after Celica at the shop.” His voice grew thick with guilt. “About a year ago, I made a terrible mistake. I left Celica alone while I came here, to this very library, researching an antidote for armored tarantula venom. I lost track of time. Celica got hungry and tried to cook for herself. She… she accidentally used poisonous mushrooms.”

  “And you’re doing it again,” Dain interjected, his tone sharp with disapproval as he remembered finding Celica alone at the shop.

  “I know! I’m sorry!” Zowell said, flinching. “But this time, I gave her money and strict instructions to eat at the tavern until I returned.”

  Dain didn’t reply, but his disappointment was palpable as he shook his head, running a hand down his face.

  “Please continue, Mr. Zowell,” Eira prompted gently.

  “When I finally returned, Cecilia was already there, tending to Celica. We realized there were no healers available nearby, and the church was overwhelmed with other patients. I knew the poison, I knew the cure, but I was out of the key ingredient—Langia root. We had no choice. Cecilia and I went into the woods near Narida Village to find some. We found it quickly, but on our way back… we encountered the warlock.” Zowell’s eyes grew distant with the memory. “It summoned a hobgoblin out of thin air. My old injury gave way, and I fell. Cecilia… she scooped me up and carried me as we fled. She was always so strong.” His voice broke. “But before we could get away, the warlock cast a spell, a barrage of reddish-black energy. It struck Cecilia in the back. It was dark; I couldn’t see clearly. We made it back, made the antidote, and saved Celica. But a few days later, Cecilia grew weaker and developed a cough, and bruises on her back. It got worse each day. No medicine I gave her helped. Now… now she can’t even lift her fingers.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Don’t blame yourself, Mr. Zowell,” Eira said, her own tears falling freely. “It was a series of terrible, unlucky events. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “But if I had just been there for Celica–”

  A heavy silence fell over them.

  “So it’s the same entity who summoned all those goblins in the forest,” Dain murmured, his mind racing. “But Narida Village? That’s far too close to the capital. How is that possible?”

  “We don’t know. When I asked the villagers about it later, they claimed to have never seen such a creature,” Zowell added, his confusion mirroring Dain’s.

  “It’s deeply concerning,” Dain said, his brow furrowed.

  “What about your research?” Eira asked, gesturing to the mountain of books. “Have you found anything?”

  Zowell shook his head slowly. “I still haven’t found anything solid. Not a real clue. Honestly… capturing that warlock might be the only answer.”

  “The major clans and the Royal Guard are hunting it now. We’ll keep our ears open at the guild for any news,” Dain said, trying to offer a thread of hope.

  Eira stared at him, her expression intense.

  “We can’t join that hunt, Eira,” Dain said firmly, anticipating her thoughts. “We’re not ready. It would be a suicide mission.”

  “Dain is right,” Zowell said, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “All we can do is wait and pray for their success. And read.” He gestured weakly at the books, the symbol of his futile efforts.

  Eira’s fists clenched in her lap, her frustration radiating off her.

  “Let’s head back, Mr. Zowell,” Eira said, her voice firm with a new resolve. “You need to rest. Celica is probably worried sick about you.”

  “And she needs you,” Dain added. “Now more than ever.”

  Zowell managed a frail, grateful smile. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Eira, Dain. I shouldn’t have burdened you with all this.”

  “It’s not a burden,” Eira said firmly. “We want to share it.”

  They returned to Soteria Apothecary to find Celica waiting anxiously. “Where have you been, you idiot?!” she cried, but her usual scolding tone was gone, replaced by raw fear and relief. She rushed forward and threw her arms around Zowell, who was swaying on his feet from exhaustion and hunger.

  “I am so sorry, Celica,” Zowell whispered, hugging her tightly as he finally let his tears fall.

  Dain moved past them and into the small kitchen. “I’ll make dinner,” he volunteered.

  “You should stay and eat with us, Big Brother, Big Sister,” Celica offered, her voice small and sweet as she looked at Eira and Dain.

  “Yes, please,” Zowell added, his voice hoarse. “It’s the least we can do.”

  Eira’s heart swelled. It was the first time anyone had ever called her ‘Big Sister.’ The simple, affectionate term from someone as sweet as Celica melted her frustration away, replacing it with a warm, protective glow. She couldn’t help but smile.