Ironha woke to pale light filtering through the carved stone window of her quarters in the temple.

  The journal she found during initial dwarven colony expedition lay open on her bedside table where she'd left it the night before. The diagrams stared back at her.

  She'd been translating the marginalia. The notes grew stranger the deeper she read.

  Life Transference.

  The author had called it that. A technique for drawing vitality from one body and placing it into another.

  Or into oneself.

  She had been practicing the technique on plants. It worked. Drawing the life from one left it withered, and the other grew stronger in turn. The effect was undeniable. So was the danger. Healing that required harming something else felt too close to a line she wasn’t sure she should cross.

  A knock interrupted her thoughts.

  "Come in."

  The door opened. Jem stood in the corridor, his wooden charm hanging against his tunic. "Ironha—Calen's on the radio. He's trying to reach you."

  Ironha rose immediately, closing the journal. "Where?"

  "Main hall. Edda's holding the line."

  Ironha followed Jem through the corridor, her mind already shifting into healer mode. If Calen was calling, something had gone wrong.

  They reached the main hall. Edda stood near the hearth with the bronze radio unit in hand, her expression neutral but focused.

  Edda looked up when Ironha entered. "Doc needs your expertise."

  Ironha crossed the room and took the radio. "I'm here."

  Static crackled. Then Doc's voice cut through, clear and direct. "Ironha, it's Doc. I need your expertise on an injured fighter. Shoulder wound from undead contact. I sealed the cut with a potion, but he went unconscious shortly after. I'm seeing pale discoloration spreading from the wound, skin temperature dropping, shallow breathing, and a weak but steady pulse. Mazoga identified the attackers as draugr—the wound happened during that fight."

  Necrotic disease.

  Ironha's chest tightened.

  She pressed the transmit button. "Doc, listen carefully. Stop using healing potions."

  Silence on the other end.

  Then: "Repeat that."

  "Stop using potions. They won't help. What you're describing is necrotic disease—mana sickness. The wound carried corrupted energy into his bloodstream. Healing potions only seal the injury. They don't remove the infection."

  Doc's voice came back steady. "Understood. What would you recommend?"

  Ironha exhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus.

  Necrotic disease wasn't rare. Every healer learned to recognize it. But most adventurers survived it with basic supplies—tonics, rest, time.

  It only became dangerous when someone took too much necrotic mana at once.

  Multiple undead wounds. Deep lacerations. Prolonged exposure.

  Or when they had no healer nearby.

  "Fever tonic," Ironha said. "It's not the strongest remedy, but it should fight off the disease if administered early. You caught it in the first stage, which is good. Give him the tonic and make sure he gets rest. His body needs time to flush the necrotic mana from his system."

  "How long until recovery?"

  "If it's early-stage? One to three days with rest and the tonic. If he worsens, contact me immediately."

  "Copy that. Any precautions for the others? Contamination risk?"

  Ironha shook her head even though he couldn't see it. "Necrotic disease isn't contagious between living beings. Only direct exposure to necrotic mana or undead wounds."

  "Acknowledged. We'll administer the tonic and monitor his condition."

  "Good. Keep me updated. And Doc—be careful."

  "Understood. Out."

  The radio crackled into silence.

  Ironha lowered the device slowly.

  Edda watched her. "What is it?"

  Ironha's jaw tightened. "Necrotic disease. Doc sealed the wound with a healing potion, but the sickness spread anyway."

  "How bad?"

  "First stage," Ironha said. "He should recover. But if there were draugr nearby…"

  She didn't finish.

  She didn't need to.

  Edda's expression hardened. "How many?"

  "Unknown. Doc didn't say how many they encountered, but draugr don't move alone. They wander in loose groups."

  She paused, her mind working through the implications.

  "If there's a horde in the area, and someone gets wounded repeatedly..." Ironha's voice trailed off.

  The mathematics of necrotic exposure were unforgiving. One wound could be treated. Multiple wounds, sustained over time, created a cascade of corruption that even her strongest tonics might not counter.

  Ironha set the radio down, her mind already cataloging what she would need.

  Edda watched her carefully. "What are you thinking?"

  "I need to go to the infirmary," Ironha said. "A fever tonic will work for early-stage necrotic sickness, but if the situation escalates, Doc will need something stronger."

  "Do you know what to create?"

  Ironha nodded. "My Cross-Disciplinary Synthesis skill should guide me. I've never treated necrotic disease before but I know the principles. I just need to apply them methodically."

  She turned toward the corridor, already mentally reviewing the recipe. Bitterbark for purging. Ironfern for vigor. Hearthbud for warmth. Glowberries for stabilization.

  And graveblossom.

  The critical component.

  It absorbed necrotic mana naturally, binding it so the body could flush it safely.

  Ironha didn’t say anything more. She simply headed out, already thinking through where to source each ingredient

  She passed through the temple corridors, her pace measured. The familiar stone walls felt grounding.

  Outside, the sanctuary grounds stretched before her. Hob's fields rippled faintly in the morning breeze, the crops vibrant despite the season's shift.

  Ironha walked directly toward the medicinal section.

  Hob stood near the far end, adjusting some farm equipment. He looked up when she approached, his expression unreadable.

  "Ironha," he said simply.

  "I need to gather ingredients," she replied. "I'm creating a Necrotic cleanse tonic. Doc might need it."

  Hob didn't ask questions. He gestured toward a row of ash-gray plants with violet undertones. "Graveblossom. Third row. Take what you need."

  Ironha moved to the indicated row, crouching carefully. The blossoms were small but healthy, their petals tinged with the faint shimmer. She selected three mature flowers, cutting them cleanly at the base.

  Next, she gathered bitterbark from a nearby section—stringy inner bark with a sharp, bitter scent. Then ironfern, its dark green fronds lined with faint metallic veining. Hearthbud came from a cluster near the edge, their thick petals radiating warmth even in her palm.

  Finally, she moved to the glowberry bushes. The berries pulsed faintly with internal light, soft and luminous. She picked a handful, their glow casting faint shadows against her fingers.

  Hob watched her work without comment.

  When she finished, Ironha straightened, her gathered materials cradled carefully in a woven cloth. "Thank you."

  "Always here when you need it," Hob said.

  She returned to the temple, her footsteps echoing softly through the stone corridors. The infirmary lay just ahead.

  Ironha pushed open the door.

  The familiar scent of dried herbs and clean stone greeted her. The workshop tools Carl had fabricated for her sat neatly along the counter—the core-heated drying box, the precision grinder, the stirred mixing bowl.

  And Lina.

  The girl stood near the central table, her brow furrowed in concentration. Before her sat the compression tablet press, its rune-guided plates glowing faintly as Lina adjusted the mixture inside.

  The data tablet Carl had lent them sat propped open beside her, its glowing screen displaying instructions in clean, methodical text.

  Lina looked up when Ironha entered, relief flooding her expression. "Ironha—I was trying to get the dosage right. The instructions say the pressure needs to be even, but I keep getting clumps."

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  Ironha set her gathered ingredients on the counter and crossed to the table. She examined the tablet press briefly, then the mixture inside.

  "You're pressing too quickly," Ironha said gently. "The battery stabilizes the pressure, but you need to let it cycle fully before releasing. Watch."

  She adjusted the settings slightly, then activated the press. The rune-guided plates pulsed with steady light, compressing the powder evenly. When she released the mechanism, a perfectly formed tablet emerged.

  Lina's eyes widened. "Oh."

  "You're learning," Ironha said. "But we need to pause this for now. We have something more urgent to prepare."

  Lina's expression shifted immediately. "What's wrong?"

  "Doc called from the trade expedition," Ironha explained, moving to the counter where she'd placed the gathered ingredients. "He's treating someone with necrotic disease. A fever tonic should handle it, but I want to prepare a stronger cleanse tonic in case the situation escalates."

  Lina's face went pale. "Is Doc okay? Are the others—"

  "They're fine," Ironha said firmly, meeting Lina's eyes. "Doc can handle anything that comes his way. And if he can't, Fish is right there beside him."

  The mention of Fish seemed to calm Lina slightly. The phase wolf had become something of a legend among the children—mysterious, protective, and impossibly loyal.

  Lina exhaled slowly, nodding. "What do we need to do?"

  "First," Ironha said, gesturing to the gathered materials, "we prepare the ingredients properly. This tonic requires precision. If we rush it, the graveblossom won't bind the necrotic mana correctly."

  She began separating the components methodically. "The bitterbark and ironfern need to be dried and ground to fine powder. The hearthbud can be crushed fresh. The glowberries will stabilize the mixture once we've steeped the base."

  Lina moved to the core-heated drying box without being asked, placing the bitterbark and ironfern inside. The low heat began its work immediately.

  Ironha watched her move with quiet approval.

  "Why does graveblossom work?" Lina asked as she adjusted the temperature settings. "What makes it different from other herbs?"

  "It grows in soil touched by death," Ironha said, crushing the hearthbud petals between her fingers. The warm, sharp scent filled the air. "It absorbs necrotic mana naturally—almost like a filter. When we brew it into the tonic, it captures the corrupted energy inside the patient's body and releases it harmlessly."

  "Like pulling poison from a wound," Lina said quietly.

  "Exactly."

  They worked in tandem. Lina monitored the drying process while Ironha prepared the graveblossom, hanging the delicate flowers to air-dry in a shaded corner of the room.

  The herbs dried faster than expected. Within minutes, the bitterbark and ironfern were ready.

  Ironha transferred them to the precision grinder, activating the battery-powered vibration. The pestle moved in controlled pulses, reducing the dried material to fine powder without generating heat.

  Lina watched the process intently. "The tablet said too much heat can ruin some plants. Does that happen with magic ones too?"

  “Yes,” Ironha said. “Especially volatile ones. That’s why we use the grinder — the vibration keeps the temperature low while still breaking the material down.”

  When the powder was ready, Ironha sifted it through the fine-mesh frame, separating coarse fibers from the usable material.

  "Now we steep the base," Ironha said, moving to the core-stirred mixing bowl. She added the bitterbark powder, the ironfern powder, and the crushed hearthbud petals, then poured hot water over the mixture.

  The bowl's gentle rotation activated, stirring the ingredients evenly.

  The water began to change color—warm amber at first, deepening gradually to honey-gold.

  Lina leaned closer. "How do you know when it's ready?"

  "The color tells you," Ironha said. "Mild tonics turn light amber. Standard preparations reach honey-gold. Stronger batches go nearly brown-gold."

  She let the mixture steep until it reached deep honey-gold, then deactivated the stirring mechanism.

  "Next, the glowberries."

  Ironha added the mashed berries carefully, watching as they dissolved into the liquid. The mixture lightened slightly, taking on a faint luminescence.

  "This is the stabilization step," she explained. "The glowberries lock in the mana structure. Without them, the tonic would spoil within hours."

  Lina's eyes tracked every movement.

  Finally, Ironha allowed the mixture to cool naturally. When the temperature dropped to warm—not hot—she added the graveblossom powder.

  The liquid shimmered faintly, shifting to a subtle violet undertone.

  Lina watched in quiet awe. "It's working."

  "It is," Ironha said. She stirred gently, allowing the graveblossom to integrate fully. The mixture settled into uniform suspension, glowing faintly in the soft light.

  "Now we sterilize the vials and bottle it."

  Ironha activated the steam sterilizing cup, producing controlled steam to clean the storage vials. Lina handed her each vial as it finished, moving with careful precision.

  Together, they poured the warm tonic into six sealed vials, each one glowing faintly violet-gold.

  Ironha capped the last vial and set it beside the others.

  "Six doses," she said. "Enough for now."

  Lina studied the vials, expression tight. "Do you think Doc will need them?"

  Ironha took a slow breath. "I hope not."

  She looked at the empty mixing bowl, then back at Lina.

  "But we should prepare more. Just in case."

  Hours passed.

  Ironha worked through the afternoon with Lina at her side, repeating the process again and again. Each batch refined their rhythm. Each step became smoother.

  "The bitterbark needs longer this time," Ironha said, adjusting the drying box temperature. "The pieces are thicker. Give it another five minutes."

  Lina nodded, watching the timer carefully.

  They prepared the second batch while the first set of ingredients dried. Ironha guided Lina through crushing the hearthbud petals, demonstrating the right pressure—firm enough to release the oils, gentle enough to preserve the structure.

  "Like this?" Lina pressed carefully, the warm scent rising between her fingers.

  "Exactly."

  The bitterbark finished drying. Lina transferred it to the grinder without prompting, activating the vibration at the lowest setting. The powder formed evenly, no clumps, no waste.

  Ironha smiled faintly. "You're learning quickly."

  "You're a good teacher," Lina said simply.

  They moved to the mixing bowl. Ironha let Lina measure the water this time, watching as the girl poured slowly, her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration.

  The stir rotation activated. The mixture steeped.

  Amber to honey-gold.

  "How do you know when to stop?" Lina asked, watching the color deepen.

  "Experience," Ironha said. "But also instinct. You'll feel when it's right."

  Lina frowned slightly. "I don't feel anything yet."

  "You will." Ironha gestured to the bowl. "Watch the way the light catches the surface. See how it shifts? That's the energy stabilizing. When it stops shifting, it's ready."

  Lina watched.

  Minutes passed.

  The light steadied.

  "Now," Lina said quietly.

  "Now," Ironha agreed.

  They added the glowberries together, their hands moving in tandem. The mixture lightened, taking on its characteristic glow.

  While the second batch cooled, Ironha sterilized more vials. Lina handed them over one by one, her movements precise and deliberate.

  "The graveblossom is tricky," Ironha said as they prepared the final step. "Too much and it binds everything—even healthy mana. Too little and it won't capture the necrotic energy."

  "How do you measure it?" Lina asked.

  "By weight first. By feel second." Ironha demonstrated, sprinkling the powder slowly into the cooled mixture. "You're looking for the moment the liquid takes on the violet shimmer. That's when you stop."

  Lina leaned closer, watching the powder dissolve.

  The shimmer appeared.

  Ironha stopped immediately.

  "See?"

  Lina nodded slowly. "I see."

  They bottled the second batch. Six more vials joined the first set.

  Twelve doses total.

  "Again?" Lina asked.

  Ironha checked their remaining supplies. "We have enough for one more round. Let's make it count."

  The third batch moved faster. Lina handled the drying box on her own, adjusting the temperature without being asked. She ground the bitterbark and ironfern with steady confidence, sifting the powder through the mesh frame until only the finest grains remained.

  Ironha prepared the graveblossom while Lina steeped the base. The girl's hands moved with growing certainty, no hesitation, no wasted motion.

  "You're close," Ironha said quietly.

  "Close to what?"

  "Understanding."

  The mixture reached honey-gold. Lina added the glowberries herself this time, watching as they dissolved into luminous suspension.

  When the mixture cooled, Ironha handed Lina the graveblossom powder.

  "Your turn."

  Lina's eyes widened. "By myself?"

  "I'll watch. But you know what to do."

  Lina took the powder carefully. She sprinkled it slowly, her gaze locked on the liquid's surface.

  The shimmer appeared.

  Lina stopped.

  Perfect.

  Ironha felt warmth spread through her chest—pride, relief, satisfaction all at once.

  "Well done."

  Lina didn’t move at first. Her hands stayed poised over the bowl, her posture suddenly still. A small, sharp breath left her, almost inaudible, and her eyes unfocused for the briefest heartbeat.

  Ironha noticed.

  A shift—quiet and inward.

  Like the moment someone understood a lesson not with their mind, but with their whole body.

  “Are you alright?” Ironha asked quietly.

  Lina blinked, the motion slow—almost reverent. “Yes,” she murmured. “I just… learned something.”

  Her fingers brushed the rim of the bowl, thoughtful. A quiet breath left her, steadying from somewhere deeper than before.

  “I understand the mixture now,” she said softly. “Why it settled the way it did. Why the others didn’t. It all just… clicked.”

  Ironha watched her closely.

  There was a shift in the girl—small, but unmistakable. Her posture held a new steadiness, grounded and sure.

  A healer growing.

  Ironha felt warmth rise in her chest. “Good,” she said gently. “Clarity means your instincts are maturing.”

  Lina’s smile was small, but sure. Ironha set the tools aside, and together they bottled the final batch.

  Eighteen vials total.

  Ironha lined them up on the counter, their violet-gold glow soft in the afternoon light.

  "This should be enough," she said quietly.

  Lina stared at the vials, her expression tight. "Do you really think they'll need all of this?"

  Ironha didn't answer immediately.

  She thought of Doc's voice on the radio. Steady. Controlled. Concerned.

  She thought of draugr wandering in loose groups. Of necrotic mana spreading through wounds. Of how quickly things could escalate.

  "I hope not," Ironha said finally. "But if they do, we'll be ready."

  The infirmary's radio crackled softly.

  Ironha recognized the sound immediately—the distinct rhythm of an incoming transmission. She'd grown familiar with it over the past days, ever since Carl had insisted she keep one of the bronze-cased devices on her workbench.

  "Just in case," he'd said, adjusting the antenna with nervous precision. "If anyone needs to reach you in case of emergencies."

  She'd agreed. Kept it powered. Checked it twice daily.

  Now it was calling.

  Ironha crossed to the counter, wiping herb residue from her hands. She pressed the activation switch—a small bronze toggle on the device's side.

  Static hissed for a heartbeat. Then cleared.

  "This is Ironha," she said.

  A pause. Faint noise in the background—wind, distant voices, movement.

  Then Doc's voice came through.

  "This is Doc."

  Ironha let out a controlled breath. “You sound tired.”

  She listened for a moment, letting the silence settle.

  “What happened?”

  Doc's voice carried the weight of someone who'd been moving for hours without rest. "We encountered a draugr horde. A hundred, maybe more. Led by a Greater."

  Ironha's breath caught.

  A hundred draugr. A Greater at their head.

  That should have been a massacre.

  “We defeated it,” Doc continued, steady and controlled. “Completely. But we have wounded.”

  Ironha grounded herself with a quiet exhale. “How bad?”

  “Their local healer—” The transmission crackled. “—says a few people are showing early signs of necrotic disease.”

  Another pause as something shifted on Doc’s end.

  “Marron worked out a trade deal with the village. They’re providing supplies. In exchange, they want fever tonics.”

  Ironha’s mind shifted immediately into assessment. Multiple wounds. Early necrotic exposure. Limited treatment out there.

  “How many wounded?”

  “Twelve with cuts that need monitoring. Seven serious cases.” Doc stayed even. “The tonics you prepared should be enough for now.”

  He drew a quiet breath. “Tanna, Marron, and I are preparing to travel back to the Settlement to pick up more. We’re two days out.”

  Ironha glanced at the eighteen violet-gold vials arranged neatly on the counter. “I’ll have everything ready.”

  “I’ll call Edda next,” Doc said. “Just wanted to update you first.”

  Ironha heard the strain beneath his control. “How are you holding up?”

  A soft, tired chuckle came through. “I’m fine.”

  Her expression softened. “Don’t overwork yourself. And please be careful.”

  “I will.”

  The transmission held for a moment longer.

  “See you soon.”

  The radio clicked off.

  Ironha stood alone in the infirmary, one hand still resting on the bronze casing. The vials glowed softly on the counter. Lina was nearby, arranging tools and supplies with quiet focus.

  Ironha turned back to her workbench.

  Twelve minor cases. Seven serious.

  Eighteen tonics prepared.

  Enough to handle what was coming.

  She pulled a wooden crate from beneath the counter and began packing the vials carefully, wrapping each one in cloth to prevent breakage.

  Lina stepped beside her, hands already moving to help.

  “Doc’s alright?” the girl asked.

  Ironha nodded. “He is.”

  Lina’s shoulders eased. Together, they packed the medicines in steady, purposeful silence.

  When they finished, the infirmary felt different—fuller somehow. Not from the vials, but from the quiet certainty settling between them.

  Ironha closed the crate with a soft click. The work was done. Now came the part that required steadiness—not hands, but heart.

  Lina lingered beside her, fingers brushing the crate’s edge. “Do you think it’ll be enough?”

  “It will,” Ironha said, gentle but sure.

  Lina nodded, though worry still flickered in her eyes. Ironha rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  “You did good work today,” she said. “Real healer’s work.”

  Lina’s breath hitched—small, but full of meaning. She straightened, tension easing from her posture.

  “I just… wanted to help,” she murmured.

  “And you did,” Ironha said. “More than you know.”

  For a moment, the infirmary held a quiet warmth—mentor and student standing amid the tools and herbs that defined their craft. Outside, afternoon light softened across the stone.

  Ironha lifted the crate. Lina stepped beside her, steadying the side without being asked.

  “Come on,” Ironha said. “Edda will want this ready.”

  Together, they stepped into the corridor—two healers moving with purpose, prepared for whatever news the next days would bring.

  Thank you for reading!