It was the sharp bang of someone throwing a heavy book onto the surgical table Maeve was napping on that jolted her awake.

"Wake up, milady napknife," Gael barked from near the front door. "Get your head off the bloody steel and hand me the medicine bag under the table. Don't make the Saintess come up here to shake you herself."

She turned to look. Gael was sitting cross-legged on a stool beside a patient: a man in his fifties, hunched and balding, coughing softly as he sat on a folding chair by the front door.

"Yep," Maeve muttered, her voice cracked from sleep. She ducked down, rustling through the compartment beneath the surgical table until her fingers curled around the string of the medicine satchel. She straightened up and tossed it with a two-handed swing across the chamber.

Gael caught it mid-air without looking.

Show-off.

While she yawned and stretched her limbs, he turned back to the patient. "Everything in here's labelled," he said. "Six tablets of mist-filter, four barkshimmer wraps, and two doses of bloodclot powder. Inhale the mist-filter first thing every morning, no later than dawn, and keep the wraps warm and sealed. Come back in four days. If your coughing gets worse, you've got a burst node. I'll need to thread it."

The man nodded, grateful. "How much, Doctor?"

"Twenty-five. No upcharge."

Maeve blinked. That was fair. More than fair, actually. She'd seen doctors up in Vharnveil charge triple for lesser kits.

The man fumbled into his jacket and left a bundle of coins on the tray by the door before bowing once, awkwardly, and hobbling back out into the prayer hall.

Then it was just the two of them in the surgical chamber.

Gael gave a long exhale and leaned on the doorframe, peering through the window slot into the prayer hall.

"And that's the last one for today," he muttered. "Praise the bleeding mist. I'm done." Then he turned and snapped his fingers in her direction. "Up. Come on. You're harvesting leaves with me."

Maeve, still blinking off the last tendrils of sleep, rubbed her eyes. There it was again.

That younger version of him.

She saw his child self flickering over the real one like a film frame out of sync, and the memory clung to him, having crawled out of her dreams like smoke that wouldn't lift.

"... Exorcist!"

She jerked upright. "Yes, yes, I'm coming."

He'd already turned, coat swishing behind him, and disappeared through the doorway. The chain on her ankle tugged as he moved—a gentle reminder. She winced, hopped down from her. stool, and jogged to catch up.

Down the stairs and past the statue of the Saintess, they entered the vast prayer hall.

Soft gaslamps lined the walls of the hall, their bioarcanic flames casting warm orange halos across the old wooden walls. A few people sat on the benches scattered around the hall: mostly elderly folk, plague widows, and slum wanderers recovering from venom stings. Their chests rose slow and steady as they lounged and breathed in the fresh air, filtered clean by the Vile Eater that loomed behind the statue.

As she and Gael walked through the center aisle, crossing the red carpet stained by decades of footsteps, heads turned.

"Thank you again, Lady Maeve," one man murmured, hand on his chest.

"You looked after my son," said a woman from the far bench. "Saintess bless you."

"Do you sleep at all, dear?"

Maeve smiled gently at the man who asked her that. "I do, I promise. I like keeping everyone company."

All of them nodded at her as she passed. One even bowed his head.

They didn't speak to Gael, though.

Not directly.

A few gave him nods—brief, curt acknowledgments—but most eyes slid past him like he wasn't there. He didn't seem to mind. His stride never faltered, and his face was unreadable.

Maeve's lips twitched faintly. She understood why they feared him. With half of his Plagueplain Doctor mask always clinging to his face and the perpetual scent of bloodroot and antiseptic clinging to his sleeves, he looked more executioner than healer… but he'd saved more lives in this building than anyone else ever had. Including her.

… Am I feeling bad for him?

Stop that.

He's wearing that mask of his own volition.

Once they reached the front door, though, they stepped out into the glowing night.

The street outside was green.

Unreasonably green.

Lush trees arched overhead like cathedral vaults, their branches heavy with jewel-toned leaves and slow-swaying lantern pods. Roots coiled up through cracked brickwork and broken gutter pipes, pulling down old awnings and wrapping rusted drainpipes in blankets of moss. Vines crawled up the walls like veins around the skeletal remains of forgotten buildings, and patches of fungus glowed faintly at the base of old lampposts, casting spots of bioluminescence across the damp stones.

The whole neighbourhood was overrun—and thriving. It didn't look like a slum anymore. It looked like a ruin swallowed by a jungle and spat back out as something better.

Maeve adjusted her cloak and inhaled deeply. The air here didn't sting. Not like the rest of Bharncair. Most wards still required full-face gas pipes, especially around mist pulses and gutter runs, but here? The air was clean. Practically sweet. She could feel it brushing past her skin with something almost akin to affection, like the neighborhood itself had grown lungs and learned how to breathe again.

The trees are no Vile Eater, but they're plenty good enough for what they are.

As they walked in silence down the path that curled around the side of the clinic—cobblestones cracked and worn, but softened by velvet moss under their feet—Maeve tucked her hands behind her back and looked around.

Two months ago, this neighborhood had been an abandoned row of buildings. The Heartcord Clinic was a forgotten clinic in a poisoned city, and back then, the land around it had been empty and crumbling.

Then they'd come back from the Fogspire Forest with a ton of stones and a boy in tow.

Back then, Liorin had asked them a simple question: he wanted to plant some trees around the clinic. Gael and Cara had shrugged at the suggestion. Maeve herself had encouraged Liorin to do so, because she remembered most clinics up in Vharnveil were rather teeming with life, so the Heartcord Clinic could use a little bit of that.

But they'd all underestimated how many seeds Liorin would take from the Fogspire Forest, and they'd all definitely underestimated just how fast those special seeds grew once Gael also started lacing the soil with specialized fertilizer compounds.

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Liorin had worked on his own for a full week, digging and planting and whispering to the ground like it could hear him. None of them had stopped him. And by the end of the month, this creeping, vibrant, living sprawl had wrapped itself around the clinic, spreading out three entire blocks in every direction.

Now, a man could be five blocks away and still notice the dense vegetation surrounding the neighborhood of the Heartcord Clinic.

And the resonance stones made it even more apparent.

Maeve had initially planned to place the aero-resonating stone in a tight circle around the clinic's perimeter. Her idea was concentrated vibration, localized effect. Keep the calming frequencies focused where they mattered. But Liorin had tilted his head at her diagrams, mumbled through his mask, and suggested something different.

Then he started burying the stones into the trees one at a time about a month ago. Each one was hidden inside the roots of the thickest trees, spaced throughout the neighborhood like quiet beacons, and… the effect was uncanny. People from ten blocks away would pause mid-step, blink at the strange stillness washing over them, and start drifting toward the soothing feeling. Five blocks in, they'd notice the color. The noise. The life. And then, curious and oddly hopeful, they'd follow the green path until it led them naturally to the clinic.

The plan worked better than any of them could've ever sketched.

Since they finished laying the stones across the neighborhood two weeks ago, the number of patients visiting the clinic had exploded. They weren't crawling through dry days anymore. What used to be ten patients a month now happened in a single day. That meant more income, more recognition, and—most shocking of all—Gael actually started behaving like a doctor.

The Heartcord Clinic still had a long way to go before it could compare to even the dingiest Vharnveil alley clinic. The building still creaked in storms. The statue of Saintess Severin in the prayer hall still had a crooked, lopsided head, and the four giant three-headed hellhounds patrolling the neighborhood as security guards weren't exactly welcoming.

… Even so, Maeve couldn't stop smiling as they rounded the back of the building and found Cara on a ladder, humming cheerfully as she trimmed a tree's upper canopy with long-handled shears.

Someday, people would stop flinching at the sight of the hellhounds. They'd understand the beasts only barked at threats—that they were guardians, not monsters—and maybe, just maybe, her mother would come looking for the pretty lady that was the face of this curious little clinic in the middle of nowhere.

If you're still alive out there, mother…

Come look for me.

I'm here.

As the two of them stopped under the lowest branches of a broad-trunked tree next to Cara, Gael pointed up.

"Whack the tree," he ordered. "The medicinal leaves are up there."

Maeve furrowed her brow. "Why don't you whack it?"

"I don't wanna get close to the tree. I'm in whites," he said, gesturing to his half-bloodstained coat. "The leaves will stain it."

"Then change."

He scowled. "Why are you like this?"

She crossed her arms. "Why are you like this?"

Before the argument could properly begin, something rustled overhead—and a small masked figure wearing only shorts flipped down from the branches, dangling by his knees.

Liorin.

The clinic's gardener twisted once before dropping a loose pile of thick, glossy leaves into Gael's outstretched arms without saying a word. Then he landed on the mossy ground with a thud, straightened his mask, and turned to Maeve with a tongue thick with accent.

"This batch… okay?" he asked. "They fall easy! I help Gael! These leaves… are… medicine!"

While Gael cursed at the leaves staining his coat green and blue, Maeve laughed softly and patted Liorin's head. "You're getting better at speaking. That was nearly a full sentence."

She couldn't tell, but Liorin seemed to be beaming under the mask.

Gael, meanwhile, frowned at the handful of leaves he'd just received.

"Not good," he muttered, glancing over at Liorin. "These are too pale. Low compound-B saturation."

Liorin's posture deflated. "I know. I… I try. Is maybe—"

"It's the water," a soft voice cut in.

Maeve looked up.

The clinic's courier glided down from the canopy, her flower mask catching a glint of moonlight, and she landed beside them as lightly as a cat as she crossed her arms.

"They're not gettin' the right water," Evelyn said simply. "Them roots are too dry. They're dehydratin' over here."

Liorin stiffened the moment Evelyn arrived, and his hands clenched at his sides. Evelyn, for her part, didn't even glance at him. She just stood there, arms folded like she'd said something obvious and wasn't about to take it back.

The air between them went brittle.

Two twelve-year-olds. Two masks. Two pairs of hidden narrowed eyes doing the shouting their mouths wouldn't.

Maeve had no idea why the two weren't friends. They lived in adjacent bedrooms, saw each other every day, and had more in common than either of them probably realized, but yet—somehow—they were always at odds.

Evelyn didn't like it whenever Liorin spoke to Gael, and Liorin didn't like it whenever Evelyn spoke to Maeve.

Maeve had tried to make sense of it more than once, but she still hadn't found the thread. She just didn't get it.

Kids are confusing.

Maybe if I teach Liorin how to speak the local tongue better, he'd be able to get along with Evelyn bette—

"Evelyn's right. It is the water."

Maeve was still trying to piece together why Evelyn and Liorin refused to get along when Cara's voice floated down like birdsong from her perch on the ladder beside all of them.

"The fresh water we're using doesn't cut it in Bharncair, you see," Cara explained casually, not even looking down as she snipped a high branch. "It'll work just fine for the Fogspire Forest, but in Bharncair, fresh water is too clean, and not rich enough. Gulch water is what they need."

Maeve blinked. "Gulch water?"

Cara hummed. "Mhm. Gulch water from the Gulch Pipelines that run all across Bharncair's underground has rejuvenating traces. It's not safe to drink raw, but it's perfect for alchemical growth and root saturation. If we had easy access to Gulch water, we could boost the healing compounds in the trees and make them grow more potent herbs. Maybe we can even start extracting viable bloodlotus from the trees."

Gael let out a whistle. "Now that's a bloody good idea. Where's the nearest access point for this neighborhood's Gulch Pipes?"

"The pipes are quite literally everywhere—there are definitely some beneath our feet right now—but the access points are well-guarded secrets by the Gulchers. Besides, even if there are pipes, the Gulchers control which pipes have Gulch water flooding through them, and Asphodel Lane hasn't had Gulch water in decades."

Then Gael turned to Maeve, his face already alight with a dangerous, eager grin.

That particular grin usually meant he was about to do something mildly illegal, highly reckless, or both.

"Well then," he said, slapping his gloves together as he tossed his armful of leaves away. "Time to pry open some pipes, then—

"Do you even know where Fergal is?" Cara suddenly asked.

"Hm?" Gael paused. "Why're you asking about that bitch?"

Maeve turned too, surprised. Cara rarely brought him up, but she simply shrugged and clipped another leaf cluster. "We haven't seen him in over a month. Neither have we seen his Repossessors. It's strange." She leaned over and plucked another branch, humming to herself with that usual soft tune she always used when trimming trees. "I was hoping he and his goons could help out with some of the heavier gardening work. There's a tree I need uprooted and shifted closer to the canopy column. It's starting to wilt where it is."

She seemed almost happy saying that, and Maeve had to admit, there was something different about Cara lately. It was obvious Cara really, really liked the trees Liorin had brought to the clinic. No longer was Cara just the caretaker of a mad Plagueplain Doctor and the accountant of an unbusy clinic. Now, she had pretty trees to take care of, and she seemed all the happier for it.

For just a moment, Maeve's thoughts wandered back to the dream she'd had.

That strange, golden-haired girl who'd stood behind the man who adopted younger Gael… that had to be Cara. It had to be.

Which meant Cara wasn't a local slum girl like Maeve had assumed when they first met.

She's a Vharnish.

She was a Vharnish.

Like Maeve.

So what was she doing down here in the lowest, dirtiest ward of Bharncair, playing older sister with Gael and his once-rotting clinic?

…

Maeve wanted to know. She wanted to dream the rest of that memory. She wanted to see how it ended—how they got from that sunlit hill to this mist-drenched street—but Gael clicked his tongue and interrupted her thoughts.

"Well, I've got no clue where Fergal is either, and frankly, I prefer it that way," he said, gesturing vaguely around him. "The Repossessors scare people. They strut around in their fancy spider arms and weird leather coats, and the moment they open their mouths, half the patients piss themselves and go back home. They're bad for business."

Cara shrugged to that. "I suppose. It is a little strange, though, that they've all but disappeared from the surface of Blightmarch these past few—"

"Who cares? Come with me, Exorcist."

Then he turned sharply on his heel, and Maeve felt her chain tug as he started walking away.

"Hey!" she protested, stumbling after him. "Where are we going?"

"If we're heading to the Gulch Pipelines," he said without glancing back, "we're gonna need to bulk up first. Time to check on the mountain of Myrmur carcasses we haven't so much as touched since we came back from the forest."

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