Inside Kaelmart Industries, the clatter of barrels, the scraping of herbs, and the occasional whistle of boiling fat echoed through the open hall.
Kael was helping a group of workers grind dried herbs. Renn was giving instructions at the mixing station, and Seris had gone back to the shop to keep business running in town.
Today was training day two. Real soap production would begin in three more days.
Kael wiped sweat from his brow. Just then a young boy burst in through the factory doors.
"Lord Kael! The mayor’s here—in a carriage!"
Kael blinked, surprised.
He looked up from the workstation. He wasn’t near the front doors, and with the warehouse’s layout, he couldn’t see much from where he stood. He gave a nod to Renn.
"You’ve got the floor. Keep ’em steady."
He made his way through the hall, passing curing racks and drying trays. The heavy front doors were already propped open. Outside, in the dusty yard where carts unloaded supplies, a modest black carriage stood waiting, trimd in dull brass. Two city guards flanked it—only two, but ard.
The mayor stepped down with practiced ease, adjusting the pale-blue cloak over her shoulders.
Kael stepped out to et her, wiping his hands on a cloth.
"Mayor Lysandra," he greeted her with a polite nod. "Didn’t expect you so early."
She returned his smile. "I heard your workers had started. I wanted to see it for myself."
"You’re always welco," Kael said. "We’re still in training, but everything’s on track. In a week, we’ll be producing between 800 to 1,000 bars of soap per month."
Lysandra blinked. "That much?" She glanced at the factory, clearly impressed. "That’s more than the city needs."
Kael nodded. "Exactly. I plan to export. The nobles will want it, rchants too. Even soldiers in the field need proper hygiene. The more we make, the cheaper it gets."
She smiled, her eyes glinting. "You’ll make a lot of people happy. My friends in the capital will definitely want a few crates."
"Consider it done. And this is just the beginning. I plan to build more factories in the future—maybe candles, clean water barrels, even simple dicines. Ginip could beco sothing bigger."
That seed to please her greatly. But then her expression shifted—subtle, but serious.
"Actually," she said, her voice lowering, "I ca here to speak with you about sothing important. I’d like you to co with . Now."
"Of course. Let just—"
"Put soone in charge," she interrupted, already turning. "It’s urgent. I’ll explain on the way. Ride with ."
Kael hesitated only a second. Then he turned to a nearby worker.
"Tell Renn I’ve gone with the mayor. He’s to manage until I’m back."
---
The carriage rolled out of the factory yard, creaking slightly as it took a narrow path leading away from Ginip.
Kael watched the changing landscape through the small glass window.
"Where are we going exactly?" he asked.
Lysandra folded her hands in her lap. "A village called Dustrim. It’s near the border—only two kiloters from the Wasteland."
"That’s... close," Kael muttered.
"Yes. Too close. The soil there is thin and gray—nothing grows. The villagers hunt to survive. They don’t expect much from the city, and we rarely send help."
Kael waited, sensing the weight behind her words.
Lysandra continued, more quietly. "Three weeks ago, a windstorm blew in from the Wasteland. Stronger than usual. It tore roofs, killed livestock. We thought they’d recover. But since then... people have been falling ill."
"What kind of illness?"
She turned to face him fully now. "It starts with fever. Then shaking. Vomiting. Headaches. Weakness so bad they can’t walk."
Kael’s brows drew together.
"We sent priests and a few physickers. The priests said there was no trace of a curse. The physicians thought it might be bad water or spoiled at," she added. "Two priests are sick now. One of the physickers collapsed yesterday."
Physicians. That’s what dieval doctors were usually called in this world—though many used herbs, charms, and holy water more than real science.
"I think it’s a dangerous disease. But here’s the thing," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I’ve heard you sell sothing in your store. An oil. So kind of burning coil. People say it drives away those biting blood-flies—what your clerk called militant mosquitoes."
Kael nodded slowly. "Yeah. I still sell them. They’re pretty common where I co from. And yes... they’re dangerous. In my holand, those insects are known to spread disease."
Her gaze locked on his. "Exactly. I don’t care how far your country is. You’ve brought things here that our healers can’t even understand. So I’m asking you—not as a healer, but as soone who might know what we’re dealing with."
Kael looked out the window.
Malaria, he thought. Or at least sothing close.
He rembered what he’d read back in college—how it had once been called Roman fever, or marsh sickness. In so cultures, they blad it on bad air—mal aria.
He looked back at the mayor.
"I’m no physician, but... back in my holand, we had sothing like this. It ca after storms. Mosquitoes carried it. People would get fevers, chills, and start vomiting. Sotis they died. We called it malaria."
"Ma-lah-ria?" she echoed, testing the word.
"But in your world," Kael said carefully, "it would probably be called... wasting fever. Or marsh lung. Sothing like that."
Lysandra sat back. "That sounds like what the villagers are calling it. ’The Wasting.’"
Kael nodded. "If it’s the sa thing, I may not have a full cure. But I can help keep it from spreading."
---
The land grew harsher the farther they rode. Scraggly trees gave way to dry plains. The sky here looked dusty, like it had forgotten how to be blue.
The village of Dustrim was small—no more than twenty huts made of packed mud and straw. A few wooden buildings leaned wearily into the wind. There was no proper well, only rain barrels and shallow ground-pits.
The people here looked gaunt. Pale. Many had cloth tied over their mouths. Children stared at the mayor’s carriage but didn’t approach.
Kael followed Lysandra as she stepped down.
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