Alfred knocked on the door, his gloved hand rapping against the worn wood. Without waiting for an invitation, he pushed it open, his usual commanding presence filling the small space. Dancia and I followed behind him, our footsteps muted against the creaky floorboards. The room smelled faintly of herbs and damp fabric, the scent clinging to the stale air.
The girl's parents, startled by the intrusion, scrambled to their feet. The father stepped forward, his expression a mix of surprise and respect, while the mother hovered closer to the bed, her hands wringing nervously. Their words spilled out in hurried tones, the local dialect twisting and turning in ways that left me utterly lost.
"Vice-Captain Alfred," the man said—or at least, that's what I assumed from the way he spoke Alfred's name. His tone was reverent but tinged with desperation. The mother offered a shallow bow, glancing nervously between Alfred and the child on the bed.
Alfred inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. His sharp gaze swept the room, taking in every detail before settling on the girl. She lay propped up by pillows, her frail form swallowed by a thick quilt. Dark hair framed her pale face, and despite the obvious exhaustion in her features, her eyes lit up at the sight of Alfred. Her lips moved, forming words I couldn't understand, but her tone was timid—both hopeful and afraid.
"Mr. and Mrs. Harper," Alfred began, his voice steady and authoritative. I recognized the names even if I couldn't follow the rest of his words. He gestured briefly toward the girl, and the parents immediately responded, their voices overlapping in what sounded like a frantic explanation.
I shifted awkwardly, feeling like an outsider in every sense of the word. The language barrier was one thing, but the dynamic in the room—the way the parents deferred to Alfred, the girl's cautious trust—made it clear that I wasn't supposed to be part of this conversation. I glanced at Dancia, who stood beside me with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
Alfred stepped closer to the bed, crouching slightly to meet the girl's gaze. His tone softened as he addressed her directly, his words flowing in the same unfamiliar dialect. The girl hesitated, then nodded, lifting her trembling hand to point at her bandaged thigh. Her small fingers hovered over the wound as if the memory of the injury was as painful as the injury itself.
Dancia leaned toward me, keeping her voice low as she switched to modern speech. "It seems the one who hurt her is connected to an organization. According to Alfred, their targets are young girls like her."
I blinked, processing the information. "Why young girls?" I asked, my voice equally quiet. The words felt strange on my tongue, as if I were crossing an unspoken boundary. "Are they—?"
"Kidnappers or worse," Dancia muttered, her face darkening. "They either take them or leave them like this. And yeah, her name is Lucy."
I stared at her, my expression clearly asking, Is this some kind of sick pedophile ring?
Dancia caught my look and quickly covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. "No, nothing like that," she whispered, her tone exasperated but amused. "At least, not in the way you're thinking. Focus, will you?"
An organization targeting children in the past? The idea sent a chill down my spine. It was the kind of thing I would've dismissed as a plotline in a dark historical drama or some exaggerated urban legend, but here, it was disturbingly real. Was there something about this time period that allowed such atrocities to flourish unchecked? I wracked my brain for any historical references, but unsurprisingly, I came up blank. History was never my strong suit.
The only history book I'd managed to skim was about the arrival of the Exchaor, and even that had felt more like ancient mythology than anything practical. Dates, names, and events always blended together in my mind, a messy soup of facts that refused to stick no matter how hard I tried. Now, standing in the middle of this unfolding nightmare, I wished I'd paid more attention to those boring textbooks. Maybe then I'd have some idea of what we were dealing with—or how it might all connect to the larger picture.
My thoughts snapped back to the present as Alfred straightened, his conversation with Lucy and her parents drawing to a close. He glanced back at us, his expression unreadable, and gave a small nod before excusing himself from the room. The girl's parents followed him to the door, their hushed voices overlapping with hurried thanks.
I turned to Dancia, raising an eyebrow. "Well?"
She sighed dramatically, as if my impatience were a burden she'd been forced to bear for centuries. "Fine, fine," she said. "Here's the gist of it, Lucy was attacked near the edge of the village. Whoever did it wasn't local—Alfred's certain of that. He thinks the group is part of something larger, some kind of underground network that moves through these smaller settlements."
I frowned, crossing my arms. "And he's just… letting them operate? Shouldn't we be out there hunting them down or something?"
Dancia gave me a look. "Do you think Alfred hasn't already considered that? He's been tracking this group for months. The problem is, they're good at covering their tracks. Every time he gets close, they disappear like smoke."
"That's convenient," I muttered. "Too convenient."
"Exactly," Dancia said. She glanced toward the door, lowering her voice even further. "That's why he's asking for outside help. There's talk of a scout from another kingdom arriving soon—someone with a reputation for uncovering the untraceable."
"Do we know who?" I asked, curious despite myself.
Dancia shook her head. "Not yet. But whoever it is, they'll need to work fast. If this group keeps targeting children, it's only a matter of time before the village turns into a ghost town. No one wants to raise a family under constant threat."
The weight of her words settled over me like a heavy blanket. This wasn't just about Lucy anymore; it was about every child in this region. And yet, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was more to this than anyone was letting on.
"What about Lucy?" I asked, gesturing toward the bed where the girl now rested, her parents fussing over her with quiet murmurs.
Dancia followed my gaze. "She's lucky to be alive," she said softly. "But she's also terrified. If we can't stop this group, she might not be so lucky next time."
I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Then we stop them," I said firmly. "We find out who they are, what they want, and we shut them down."
Dancia smirked, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "I like the fire, but you might want to slow down there, tiger. This isn't some straightforward villain-hunting quest. We're dealing with an organization that operates in shadows, and we don't even have the full picture yet."
"Then let's get it," I shot back. "You said Alfred's been tracking them, right? He must have leads, contacts, something we can work with."
Dancia hesitated, her playful demeanor fading into something more serious. "It's not just about finding them," she said quietly. "It's about what happens when we do. If this group is connected to something bigger—something that even Alfred doesn't understand—then we're walking into a storm we might not be ready for."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning, but before I could respond, Alfred turned toward the door, ready to leave. His hand hovered over the handle as he hesitated, his sharp gaze darting back to us. He said something in the local dialect, his tone firm and commanding.
Dancia straightened, listening carefully before nodding. "He says we're coming with him," she translated, her tone matter-of-fact. "You too, Ophelia. He wants you there."
"What?" I blurted, startled. "Why me?"
"Because you treated Lucy," Dancia explained. "If anything like this happens again, he'll need your skills."
I opened my mouth to argue but froze as I caught sight of myself in the faint reflection of a nearby mirror. My dress was an absolute mess—ripped at the hem and sleeves, stained with dried blood from when I'd pressed against Lucy's wound to stop the bleeding. The makeshift bandages I'd torn from the fabric earlier had left jagged edges, and the entire thing hung awkwardly on my frame. I looked like I'd crawled through a battlefield.
"I can't go like this," I said, gesturing helplessly at myself. "Look at me! I'm covered in blood and dirt, and my dress is practically falling apart. People will think I'm the one who needs help."
Dancia looked me over and winced. "Okay, fair point. You look…" She hesitated, as if searching for the right word. "Rough."
"That's putting it mildly," I muttered. "Do you have anything I can wear? Anything remotely clean?"
Dancia glanced at Alfred, who was standing near the door with a look of growing impatience. He said something else, his tone sharper this time.
"He wants us to hurry," Dancia said, sighing. "Stay here. I'll find you something."
She slipped out of the room without waiting for a response, leaving me standing awkwardly under Alfred's scrutinizing gaze. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the way his eyes flicked over my ruined dress before he turned away, muttering something under his breath.
A few minutes later, Dancia returned, holding a plain but clean dress in her arms. "Here," she said, handing it to me. "Not fancy, but it's better than what you've got on."
I took the dress with a grateful nod. The fabric was coarse and simple, but it was intact and free of bloodstains. "Thanks. I'll be quick."
"Make it very quick," Dancia said, casting a glance at Alfred. "He's not the most patient man in the world."
I ducked into a small adjoining room and quickly peeled off the ruined dress, wincing at the sight of the blood and tears up close. The new dress felt heavier and stiffer than I was used to, but at least I didn't look like a disaster anymore. It fit snugly enough, the plain material giving me an oddly utilitarian appearance.
When I stepped back into the room, Dancia gave me a once-over and smirked. "Much better. Now you look like you belong here."
"I'll take that as a compliment," I muttered.
Alfred glanced at me, then nodded curtly before gesturing toward the door. He said something briskly, his tone brooking no argument.
"He says we're leaving. Now," Dancia translated, already moving to follow him.
I swallowed the knot of nerves in my throat and nodded. Without another word, I fell into step behind Alfred and Dancia, leaving the inn—and the small comfort it had offered—behind.