We arrived at the Monastery of Records after riding for two days without rest. The journey had worn both us and the horses to the brink.
At the gates, Comforter made sure the horses were well cared for. He asked the local smithy to rinse them down with warm water and massage their legs with peppermint oil. Then, tossing the man three Shields, he added with a wink, "Pay them well, and the work will be done right."
I managed a tired smile as he led me into the Monastery.
"Commence," Comforter ordered sharply once we were inside.
Soaking wet, teeth chattering, and fingers barely able to turn pages, I obeyed. We pulled book after book from the endless shelves, searching desperately for anything that might help us understand the plague.
Hours passed. Still nothing.
"What if we don't—" I started, but stopped at once. The sharp look from Comforter made it clear: there was no room for doubt.
Night fell. A lamplighter moved quietly through the vast chamber, igniting sconces and lanterns so we could continue reading by their flickering light.
Comforter shook his head slowly, a gesture of quiet defeat. I could see it in his shoulders—he was close to surrender.
Then something caught my eye.
On a high shelf, I spotted a dusty old volume stamped with the same symbol I had seen on Gunther's bracelet. Heart pounding, I dragged a wooden stool across the stone floor and climbed up, reaching on tiptoe to grab the book.
"Hurry up, lad," Comforter warned in a hushed voice. "If any Nim catch you standing on a shelf, you'll be whipped."
He stood watch while I carefully pulled the book free, just as a Nim appeared around the corner. I leapt down and we pretended to be calmly browsing as the guard passed.
We opened the book together, our hands moving quickly, our eyes scanning each page with focused urgency.
Halfway through, we found it.
A formula—old, cryptic, but clearly marked. It described symptoms matching the plague: blistering, fever, slow death. At the bottom of the page, an emblem.
"This symbol," I whispered, barely audible. "They say it caused the outbreak?"
Comforter's face darkened. "We must hurry. Rune, if the water supply is the cause... the entire village could already be dead."
His voice was tight with urgency.
We didn't speak again. We ran to the city's edge, mounted our horses, and galloped through the night—back toward Furlin. Toward whatever waited.