TravelingDreamer
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B6—Chapter 51: At Least We Found a Flying Zoom
🕑 Added 2025-07-06 21:38:49 +0000 UTCAfter grabbing a few hours of sleep, I made my way back to the central square. A few injured folks were already waiting near my treatment spot. A few more arrived during the day, but it didn’t take long to see that we’d reached the end of the wounded line. I’d already dealt with most of the urgent cases, and those who hadn’t made it out in time probably weren’t coming at all.
I didn’t see Rony anywhere, which was a little disappointing. I’d grown used to the sound of his gravelly voice and the quiet tap of his fingers on wood. Still, one familiar figure remained.
The no-nonsense woman stood like a command post amid the chaos, her sleeves rolled up and her sharp braids pulled back tightly. She barked orders with calm authority, and the surrounding kids obeyed without hesitation.
I stepped up slowly, stopping just outside her circle. “Excuse me,” I said. “Mind if I interrupt?”
She turned toward me, expression unreadable, and gave me a once-over. Her gaze settled on my face. “You’re the healer.”
“That’s me,” I said, offering a smile. “Name’s John.”
Her mouth twitched in almost a smile, but not quite. “Senra,” she replied. “Well met.”
“Likewise. I came back to help. Most of the injured have already been treated, but I also handle illness. If anyone’s sick—fevers, infections, long-term conditions—I can take a look.”
Senra folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head, considering me with a long stare. “Not just wounds, then?”
“Nope,” I said. “Sick kids, coughing elders, lingering pain, whatever you’ve got. I’ve treated worse in worse places.”
She watched me a moment longer, her posture still wary. “And you’re willing to treat them?” she asked. “Even now? It’s not exactly urgent anymore. You treated all the injuries from the attack.”
I nodded.
“But why?” she asked, her tone quieter now. “After everything... this goes beyond emergency help. Most healers would've left already.”
I shrugged, not breaking eye contact. “Because I do.”
Senra’s eyes searched mine, like she was looking for the hidden reason. After a beat, she gave a short nod and turned to two boys stacking crates nearby.
“You heard him. Go spread the word. Tell the families that the healer is still here and treats the sick as well. Anyone too weak to walk, help carry them. Start with the east block.”
The boys didn’t ask questions, just ran off without another word.
She turned back to me and offered a single, firm nod.
“You’ll be busy,” she said.
“I’ve got time,” I said.
She wasn’t exaggerating. I set up the treatment table again, spread out my supplies, and got to work.
At first, it was a slow trickle. A mother arrived cradling a baby too weak to cry. Then came an old man hobbling on a stick, his back covered in boils. A hunched woman limped forward, children clinging to her hands for balance.
Then the line grew.
It spilled out from the square, curling down side streets and narrow alleyways like a slow-moving tide. People came with coughs that rattled in their chests, rashes that had festered for weeks, burning fevers, swollen joints, infected cuts, and eyes clouded by conditions that should’ve been treated years ago. A man who’d gone blind from something he drank. A girl who hadn’t spoken in days. But most of them weren’t dealing with injuries or even disease; they were suffering from the slow, grinding damage of malnutrition and years of neglect. Bone-deep fatigue. Weakened immune systems. Bodies that had simply been worn down by poverty and time.
It was a hard pill to swallow.
I’d seen this before, in the slums of Zindor. There, it made a kind of bitter sense, caught between the cold indifference of the ruling class and the strain of integration. People fell through the cracks. At least I understood the reasons.
But here?
Here, it made no sense at all.
The city was rich, obscenely so. I’d seen spells used to grow food in minutes, homes built with sand and magic. Resources weren’t lacking, and they had the classes for it. These conditions shouldn’t exist. I shook my head and continued healing.
By nightfall, I could barely stand.
The next morning, the line was still there, and growing.
Rue showed up around midday, wagging his tail and trotting straight into the center of the square. The kids mobbed him instantly, climbing over his sides, grabbing at his ears, and squealing every time he made one of his deep, pleased rumbles. Senra had to raise her voice every few minutes just to pry the children off him long enough to get anything done. The solution, eventually, was simple: Rue joined the scout teams. He trotted along with the groups rounding up the sick, nose in the air like a furry general.
In the afternoon, a commotion stirred near the far edge of the square. Heads turned. Whispers spread. Rony walked in, cane forgotten, both legs solid beneath him. He looked taller and younger. Cleaner, too, like the new limb had scrubbed a layer of wear and dirt from his face.
Senra spotted him first and strode over. I didn’t catch what they talked about, but I saw her eyebrows lift and her mouth drop half an inch open before she folded her arms and gave him a long look. He waved a hand like he was brushing off whatever she said. When they moved to the center, I heard the rest of their conversation.
“I thought you’d be gone,” she said.
“I thought so too,” he replied, voice softer than usual. “But I promised him I’d stay. For now.”
He found me not long after that and gave me a serious look.
“Can you do this for others?” he asked, tapping his leg.
“Yeah,” I said, pausing just long enough to cast Clean on my hands for the thousandth time. “But after I finish with the sick.”
He nodded and walked off without another word, already calling over a few older boys and telling them to start asking around.
On the evening of the second day, Mahya showed up. She looked like she hadn’t slept since the moment we split, bags under her eyes, braids pulled back in a loose tie, and a layer of grime clinging to her face and clothes.
“Where did you disappear to?” I asked and took out another chair for her.
She dropped onto the chair, exhaling hard. “I’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on. Also helped the guild out a bit. One of the bombs took out part of their building.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What did you find out?”
She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand, then leaned back and stared at the sky for a beat. “Not great news. The teleporters are down. The main hub in the capital got flattened. A few others were hit, too. Right now, the whole network’s offline, and they’re too scared to power it up again.”
I frowned. “And the trains?”
“Out of commission,” she said, her voice flat. “They bombed the railway line in multiple places along the route. Not just here. Looks like it was coordinated.”
She didn’t sound panicked. Just tired. Tired and annoyed.
When we got back to the house, Mahya pulled out a bundle wrapped in thick cloth. “This is for Rue,” she said, holding it out with a little smirk. “It cost me two cores, so you officially owe us two dungeons.”
“Hey,” I protested, reaching for it. “First of all, those cores belong to all of us. Shared loot, remember? And second—what the hell did you spend two cores on?”
She just nodded at the bundle. “Open it.”
I pulled the cloth aside, and a sleek contraption came into view. Shaped somewhere between a surfboard and a high-performance skateboard. The underside shimmered with faint mana, but the enchantments were invisible. It had a polished black body with a slight upward curve at the front and four stabilizer fins near the back. I’d seen the fighters use the same gizmo when they launched into the air to meet the flying ships.
Rue jumped up the moment he caught sight of it. He let out an excited bark, bounded over, and slammed into Mahya with the force of a furry boulder. She staggered as he licked her face, tail wagging hard. Slobber everywhere.
Mahya sputtered and laughed, wiping her face with her sleeve. “Okay, okay, you like it, I get it!”
“Why is it so expensive?” I asked, inspecting it.
She brushed her fingers along one fin. “One core for the Skyrush itself. One for payment. That’s the going rate for these. The master didn’t even charge me extra for the urgent order or for asking during wartime.”
I tilted my head, eyes narrowing. “We’re gonna study it later? See how it works?”
Mahya shook her head. “Can’t. There’s a self-destruct enchantment built into the casing. Try to open it up, and boom. He warned me about it three times.”
I rolled my eyes. She laughed and rolled hers right back at me.
I looked at Rue, who was now circling the board, sniffing it like it might turn into a steak. He sat down with a satisfied huff and gave a single, proud tail thump.
“Well,” I said, “guess I’m doing two extra dungeons.”
“Rue do five dungeons!” he announced, brimming with enthusiasm. “Rue pay Mahya back for flying zoom!”
The next day, Rony had a list and a schedule in place for the people missing limbs. I treated sick people for five days. Regrowing limbs kept me busy for another week and a half.
When I finally wrapped up treating the sick and patching up the last of the amputations, I gave myself a full day off. No healing, no spells, no broken bones or festering wounds. Just rest.
Al was in the kitchen when I came down, bent over with his head half inside the kitchen cabinet. One hand rummaged behind a row of spice jars, the other already holding a tin suspiciously shaped like the one the cookies used to live in.
Probably searching for cookies, even though he kept insisting he didn’t eat the ones that kept disappearing. The air around him smelled like a cross between a herb garden and an apothecary fire—bitter, and faintly floral.
“All done with the potions?” I asked, leaning over the counter.
He jumped and smacked his head on the shelf above. The tin clattered to the floor as he spun around, trying to look casual.
“I was not looking for cookies,” he said stiffly, straightening his collar like that would help.
I shook my head, trying not to smile. “Of course not.”
The cookie search felt like an encouraging sign, or at least I hoped it was. He had been down since his friend’s death, and I took this as a sign that he might be returning to his restrained self rather than his morose one.
Mahya returned an hour later, shoulders slumped, looking like a bureaucratic nightmare had kicked her and she barely crawled out alive.
“Where’d you vanish to this time?” I asked, dropping onto the couch beside her.
She let out a sigh that sounded like it came from her soul and rubbed her face with both hands. “Tried to dig up specs on mana bombs. No dice. The Guild stonewalled me. Again.”
“Why?” I asked. “We’ve already got enough explosives to flatten a hill.”
Mahya shook her head and leaned back against the cushions. “That’s fine for low-level monsters and dungeons like the ones in Zindor, but not for the kind of threats we’ve faced here, or the ones we’ll run into in other worlds. I want something with more oomph.”
“The Archive?” Al suggested, his tone hesitant.
Mahya and I looked at him like he had grown a second head.
“Do not look at me in this manner. On one of the rare occasions I searched for information in the general Archive, I came across mentions of mana bombs.” He stuck his nose up a bit higher. “At the time, I was not interested in the subject, so I did not register the location or the relevant post. But I am certain I saw it.”
Mahya groaned. “The Archive is a war crime.” She slumped deeper into the couch, then straightened up and squared her shoulders like she was about to charge a battlefield. “I’m not a coward. I can do this.”
“I have a question,” I said.
Both looked at me expectantly.
“I arranged all the food in my Storage and moved stuff around. I still have some things from Earth that I’m not going to use, and meat without mana that none of you want to touch. Would you mind if I give it to the people here?”
“Of course not,” Al said immediately.
Mahya nodded. “Sure.”
I headed to the square. A few kids were playing, kicking around something that didn’t look like a ball. I stopped beside them and asked, “Hey, do you know where Rony lives?”
They looked up, blinking at me with wide eyes. One of them, a boy with a missing front tooth, pointed toward an alley.
“Third house on the left,” he said. “The door’s blue.”
“Thanks,” I said, tossing some candies to him and the others. They grinned and darted off.
Rony’s house was easy enough to find. The blue door leaned slightly to one side, and half the roof was patched with tarp. I knocked, and a familiar voice called from inside.
“It’s open.”
I stepped in. Rony sat at a low table, scribbling notes. He looked up and gave me a nod. “John.”
“I’ve got something for you,” I said. “Do you have a place where you can store supplies?”
He blinked at me, then slowly stood. “We can find one. Come.”
He led me down a narrow path behind the row of houses, past a garden of half-dead herbs and a chicken coop that hadn’t seen a chicken in years. At the end stood a barn. Half-collapsed, beams bowed and leaning, but still standing.
Rony pushed open the creaking door, and sunlight spilled across the dusty floor. “It’s not much, but it’s dry. Mostly.”
“It’ll do.”
First came the food. Crates of sealed rations from army supply stores, frozen beef and chicken, sacks of legumes and rice, and a few other odds and ends. Then I laid out the tools: hammers, nails, a box of basic hand tools, and several coils of wire. After that, I placed a few spell scrolls on top.
Rony raised an eyebrow. “What are those?”
“Building spells,” I said. “Two full sets of everything I’ve got. They should help with fixing things around here. I’m sure you know that already, but just in case, only someone who can use mana will be able to learn and cast them.”
He exhaled slowly. “Spirits... that’s a gift.”
I nodded and took out the last item, ten thick rolls of coarse fabric I’d picked up in China. Good for making tents, clothes, blankets, or any other items they needed.
Rony stared at the pile, then looked back at me. “This is more than we could’ve hoped for.”
“You’ll need to do something with the meat soon,” I said. “It won’t stay good forever.”
He gave a short nod. “We’ve got people. Smokehouses, salt. Don’t worry, nothing’ll go to waste.”
“I also wanted to let you know,” I added, pausing. “I’m leaving soon. Probably tomorrow.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he clapped a hand on my shoulder and gave a tight squeeze. “Come with me.”
We walked back to the square in silence. The morning crowd had started to form. Kids carrying buckets, a few elders giving out instructions.
Rony led me to the overturned crate at the center, where the other two elders sat.
Rony nodded to both of them, then turned to the gathering crowd. He clapped his hands until everybody around quieted down, then pointed at me. “This man brought us healing when we had none, and just now gave us food and tools to rebuild.”
I shifted awkwardly, wishing Mahya were around to bail me out with a sarcastic comment.
Senra stood up and stepped closer. “You didn’t have to help us. But you did. Thank you.”
The other elder grunted in agreement, then gave me a short, respectful bow.
Rony looked me in the eye. “Thank you, John. You’ll be remembered here.”
I gave a small nod, unsure what to say.
“Travel safe,” Senra added. “And if you ever come back, you’ll have a place.”
I didn’t say much. Just smiled, nodded again, and turned to go, the sound of quiet thanks trailing behind me.
Mahya and Al spent the entire day in the Archive, and by evening, they looked like they’d been dragged across dungeon bureaucracy, still grumbling, faces caught between outrage and existential fatigue.
For dinner, I made crab cakes with a crispy golden crust, served alongside a chilled salad piled high with the fruits and vegetables I’d picked up at the local markets. I’d hoped it would lift their mood. At first, I thought it worked.
Well, it definitely lifted Rue’s mood. Not the salad, of course. He devoured ten crab cakes in under five minutes, then licked the plate just in case it had more to offer.
We sat around the table, plates half empty, the room filled with the quiet clink of forks and chewing, when Mahya suddenly flung her fork down and pointed it at no one in particular.
“I swear, the Archive is actively trying to kill my brain. I opened a promising entry labeled ‘Mana Uses in Explosions’, and it turned out to be an angry rant about someone’s ex who stole their spell formulas and ran off with their friend, and their wish to blow them up.”
Al didn’t even glance up from his plate. “I encountered one entry that commenced with a technical discussion on mana compression, only to shift abruptly, without any logical transition, into a recipe for some kind of fruit pastry. One moment it was magical theory, the next it was flour, eggs, and sweetened cream.”
Mahya stabbed her salad with grim determination. “The Archive is worse than I remembered. Still full of useless garbage, and somehow getting worse by the day. And that ‘what he said’ guy is still alive and kicking, adding his unique gems to every other thread.”
Al raised his fork. “The Archive is not a repository of knowledge. It is an ancient form of punishment masquerading as useful documentation. I only wish it resembled my family’s archives, but alas, it does not.”
I set down my fork and held up both hands. “Okay. I get it. The Archive is terrible. When are we leaving?”
Mahya froze mid-rant. Her eyes narrowed with a sly gleam. “That depends. Want to help me steal the mana bomb schematics from the guild?”
Al choked on his bread.
“No,” I said flatly.
“Oh, come on,” she said, leaning across the table with a grin. “Help me get it, copy it, and put it back. It’s not even stealing if we return it.”
I shook my head. “I have no problem acquiring things from people who’ve screwed us over. That’s called payback. But taking from the guild? That’s just stealing. We've talked about it already."
She leaned back with a skeptical look, arms crossed. “You draw the line there?”
“Yep,” I said, popping the p. “Punishing someone who deserves it is one thing. Stealing to gain something? That doesn’t sit right.”
Mahya huffed and stuck her tongue out at me. “Killjoy.” She followed it with a half-hearted glare, then finally sighed and waved a hand. “Fine, fine. I get it.”
With that settled, the mood shifted. Mahya leaned forward, elbows on the table, and popped out the Map screen. “We need to figure out how to get out of here.”
I scratched my jaw, glancing at the map. “What about the jeep?”
Al gave me a look. “You intend to drive a high-value vehicle through territory we know nothing about, while the Empire is in the midst of internal collapse?”
“I’m not thrilled about it,” I admitted. “But I’m not seeing better options.”
“Same goes for motorcycles and ATVs,” Mahya added. “Too flashy. We’d be moving targets.” She tapped her fingers on the table, thinking. “What about the balloon?”
“With flying ships dropping bombs?” I said. “No way.”
Al leaned in and pointed to the map, his finger following the winding blue line of a river cutting through the city. “Observe this route. The river flows northward for several hundred miles before it splits. One branch continues east, the other curves north again. Eventually, it merges with a third river that flows westward. This one leads directly to the forest where our Gate is located.”
Mahya frowned. “Wait... isn’t that the bridge we crossed? The one between the desert and the forest?”
“Precisely,” Al said. “That river connects all the way to the Gate.”
We stared at the map in silence.
“It’s a long shot,” I said. “But if the rivers are clear…”
Mahya nodded. “Best shot we’ve got.”
We started tossing around rough estimates. None of us knew the exact distance, the condition of the river, or the situation with the fighting, so most of our calculations were based on generous guesswork. In the end, we settled on a range somewhere between three and five weeks of sailing.
It had been a long time since we sailed, and I realized how much I missed it. The thought of being back on the water stirred something in me. A feeling of eagerness mixed with calm. I was excited. Not just for the journey, but for the rhythm of it. The quiet drift, the shared meals, the sights along the banks. I just hoped we wouldn’t get bombed halfway there. Human conflicts had a way of ruining a perfectly good travel plan. I was having so much fun before everything turned into a mess. Peaceful wandering didn’t mix well with civil wars.
Comments
TravelingDreamer
The one before it: B6—Chapter 50: The Only Thing That Matters
Rocketman
50?
Obran
They can go to the other kingdom and steal the plans from there. After all the other kingdom dropped bombs on their head, so less moral quandry
Danielle Warvel
“Peaceful wandering didn’t mix well with civil wars.” Oh man, he couldn’t be more right. I don’t even know how many horror stories I’ve heard about clueless tourists from first world countries minding their own business abroad in 2nd or third world ones for the first time suddenly getting robbed, kidnapped and held for ransom, killed, or their teeth kicked in by some sudden outbreak of civil unrest or war or increase in hostilities between territories because they were just a little too trusting or oblivious to the political climate of cultural mores. Unfortunately, tourists are always seen as big, fat cash cows by locals looking to raise funds for their newest revolution or easy targets of xenophobic hatred and discrimination. A lot. A whole, whole lot.
