The transition from a quiet dawn to the frantic heat of a kitchen was a rhythm Yuriko knew well, though the stakes had shifted from taking lives to sustaining them.
The morning began with the pale, weak light of a Zimil winter filtering through the inn's frosted window. Yuriko shifted under the heavy furs, only to find a stray foot dangerously close to her face. Without even opening her eyes fully, her instincts—honed by years of shadows and steel—reacted. She caught the ankle with a vice-like grip and swung it with practiced force against the sturdy wooden bedpost.
A sharp, undignified yelp echoed through the room.
"Hey! That's my foot!" Yukino hissed, clutching his bruised limb as he bolted upright.
Yuriko blinked slowly, her expression a mask of feigned innocence as she stretched like a cat. "Oh? My apologies. That looked like it might have hurt."
"I know you knew it was my foot," Yukino grumbled, rubbing his ankle. "I can't prove it, but I know."
Yuriko simply whistled a guilty, melodic tune as she slipped out of bed, the cold floorboards biting at her soles. "I'm off to work."
"You actually found a job that quickly?" Yukino asked, his voice softening as he glanced at the sleeping twins.
"A diner," Yuriko replied, pulling a heavy traveling bag over her shoulder and checking the hidden daggers tucked beneath her skirts. "The pay is honest, and more importantly, it means hallelujah—free food. I'll bring back whatever I can scavenge. You stay here and keep an eye on Nyxelle and Solvayne. Don't let them out of your sight."
She offered him a sharp wink and a thumbs-up before slipping out into the biting morning air.
The diner was a chaotic hum of steam and grease. Yuriko moved with a fluidity that made the other kitchen staff look like they were wading through mud. She donned her apron like a set of light armor, her eyes scanning the exits and the layout of the kitchen out of habit.
"Now... time to make some actual money," she whispered to herself.
"You're the new one, right? I'm Sunia," a woman said, sliding a stack of dirty plates onto the counter. She had the tired eyes of someone who had seen too many winters in Zimil.
"Yuriko Asmulda," she replied, her hands never stopping as she began prepping the morning's stock.
Sunia leaned against the table, watching her for a moment. "I can tell you're not from around here. You have that look."
Yuriko's hand drifted instinctively toward the fold of her dress, her fingers inches away from a concealed blade. Her gaze sharpened, the warmth of the "housewife" mask cooling into something far more dangerous. "Oh? And what conclusion did you draw to reach that?"
"Just a hunch," Sunia said calmly, seemingly oblivious to the killing intent radiating off her new coworker. She grabbed a fresh tray of orders and headed back into the fray of the dining room.
Yuriko let out a slow, controlled breath, her hand relaxing. Even if my career as an assassin is over, these reflexes are a curse, she thought. But I'll use every one of those skills if it means keeping those kids safe.
In the Present Day...
Leornars walked down the center of the slush-covered street, his coat billowing in the wind. His eyes, sharp and analytical, traced the architecture of the town, looking for any anomaly that matched the grim reports he had been studying.
"Over four million people vanished in ten years," Leornars muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. "An unprecedented occurrence. It's not just a statistic; it's an erasure of history. Something about this feels fundamentally wrong."
He turned to his companion, his expression unreadable. "Stacian, did your search yield anything substantial?"
Stacian looked visibly unsettled, her gloved hands gripping a leather-bound ledger. "Yes. There was a plague in this nation eight years ago—the Licrini. It was catastrophic, Leornars. It wiped out nearly a quarter of the population in a matter of months. The records are a mess of mass graves and abandoned villages."
"A plague? First mass kidnappings, now ancient contagions?" Leornars reached up and pulled a hairpin from his head, letting his hair drop down in a dark cascade as he rubbed his temples. "The timeline is fractured. Ever since we left the Seraphim Kingdom, nothing adds up. It's as if someone is trying to overwrite the world's misery with even greater horrors."
Eight Years Ago...
Back in the steam-filled kitchen, the "past" was a flurry of activity. Yuriko handed a steaming plate to Sunia, her brow slick with sweat.
"What's the next order?" Yuriko asked, her voice tight with the strain of the lunch rush.
"Turtle tongue soup and a side of flamingo stew," Sunia replied, checking the tickets.
Yuriko made a face of pure disgust. "Yuck. Who actually eats that? Just thinking about the prep makes me tired."
"In this town, someone will call it a delicacy," Sunia joked, dodging a stray spray of water from the sink.
"Yeah, well, only a victim on death row would find that appetizing," Yuriko countered, stirring a much more sensible beef broth. "I wouldn't eat what even a hyena would turn its nose up at."
"By the way," Sunia asked, her tone shifting to something more inquisitive. "Where did you say you came from? Your accent is... hard to pin down."
"A little village a few miles from here," Yuriko lied smoothly, her voice a perfect imitation of a rural local.
Sunia's expression darkened. "Oh. So, where the Licrini plague began."
Yuriko paused, her spoon hovering over the pot. "The... what?"
"That's what the scholars are calling it. Licrini. It means 'The Deep Infection.' It's hellish, Yuriko. I've heard rumors that the Whisperers and even Vampiric beings are starting to investigate the source. But who knows? I don't rely on rumors, I rely on the fact that people are dying."
Yuriko didn't respond. She waited until Sunia was occupied before slipping a large, leather-wrapped bowl out of her bag. With the practiced hands of a thief, she ladled a generous portion of the high-quality beef stew into it, ensuring Yukino would have a meal that didn't consist of rationed bread.
"That should be enough for him," she whispered, taking a quick, secret taste of the broth. "Mmm. Delicious."
She went to close the heavy iron pot, but a stray cloth caught on the rim, dipping into the coals beneath. Within seconds, thick, acrid smoke billowed into the air, filling the small kitchen.
"Shit, shit, shit!" Yuriko hissed, seeing the flame begin to lick toward the wooden shelving.
She didn't reach for water; instead, she placed her hand directly toward the base of the flaring heat. She focused, the mana in her veins responding to a command she hadn't used in months.
"Fireball," she whispered under her breath, not to launch a projectile, but to manipulate the combustion. She sucked the oxygen from the stray flame and redirected the heat back into the stove's main burner.
The smoke cleared as the fire relit itself in an orderly fashion. Yuriko let out a long sigh of relief, smoothing her apron just as Sunia walked back in.
"Everything okay in here?" Sunia asked, sniffing the air.
"Just a bit of grease smoke," Yuriko said, her face regaining its calm, domestic mask. "Nothing I can't handle."
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Yuriko untied her apron, her bag heavy with "liberated" stew and the weight of the new name she had learned: Licrini. It was time to head back to the inn, back to her husband and children, and prepare for the Friday they might not all survive.