"Huh? Where?" Azrean asks.
Vane doesn't answer. She simply walks deeper into the graveyard, boots steady against the mud.
Azrean follows, confused. They should be leaving, heading back toward the city. Instead, she's moving further in.
He quickens his pace and steps in front of her.
"Ms. Vane! I need an antidote for the poison too!" His voice carries a hint of urgency.
"That lizardman blood is still inside me. It'll kill me if it spreads."
Vane nudges him aside with the end of her staff, barely breaking stride.
"Relax. Your wound already closed. The poison won't spread that fast. And it's only lizardman blood. You'll survive."
Azrean stares at her.
"Then you should've brought an antidote too!"
She waves her free hand dismissively.
"Come on. Are you that weak?"
His eyes widen.
"Of course not!"
He hurries after her, refusing to fall behind.
They pass the far end of the graveyard and slip beyond the rows of stones. The land shifts into something wilder. Trees rise ahead, branches tangled overhead. A narrow dirt path cuts through the undergrowth.
They enter the jungle.
Leaves catch most of the rain, though droplets still fall in uneven patterns, tapping against shoulders and soil. The air smells different here—wet bark, crushed grass, something faintly sweet from unseen flowers.
Azrean keeps glancing left and right. Every rustle of leaves tightens his shoulders.
'Where are we even going?'
They walk for a while. Long enough for the graveyard behind them to feel distant. Long enough for the mist to thin.
Eventually, the trees open into a flat clearing.
Green grass stretches across the ground, surprisingly neat. No mist lingers here. The rain has eased to almost nothing.
Ahead stands a massive black gate.
Azrean slows.
At first, he can't make sense of it. The jungle's darkness blends into the structure, its shape swallowed by shadow. The metal bars rise high, arching slightly at the top.
He steps closer behind Vane.
Then he sees it clearly.
It's a cemetery gate. He freezes, and a cold feeling slides down his spine. He looks at Vane, about to ask why she would bring him here.
But his gaze shifts to the side.
A metal board stands beside the gate, rust creeping along its edges.
The words carved into it read:
"Cemetery of Uncarried."
Azrean swallows.
Vane turned to him and asked, "Azrean, do you know what uncarried means?"
He hesitates before answering.
"Children and adults who tried to survive the infection… and died?"
Vane smiles faintly.
Then she turns and walks through the gate.
They step through the gate.
Azrean lifts his head and freezes. The sight in front of him steals the air from his lungs.
Graves.
Endless graves.
They stretch forward in tight rows, then beyond those rows, and beyond that again. Stone after stone after stone. The land rises gently in the distance, but even there, all he can see are more tombstones climbing the slope. No gaps. No empty space. Just names carved into gray and black rock as far as his eyes can reach.
It feels less like a cemetery and more like a sea made of stone.
Azrean's mouth parts slightly.
His gaze drops to the nearest tombstone.
The letters are clean, carefully carved:
John Kurt
975 D.E / Vesperix / 21 – 980 D.E / Polaris / 9
"Son of stars"
Azrean's chest tightens.
He takes a step back, then turns to another grave beside it:
Vareka Ortfol
977 D.E / Sirrith / 11 – 981 D.E / Orphion / 26
"Flower of the Ortfol family"
Vane stands quietly beside him. She grips her staff with both hands, knuckles faintly pale.
"These were all innocent souls," she says softly. "They did nothing wrong, yet they faded."
Her gaze remains fixed ahead.
"All because of the Mother of All's blood."
Azrean doesn't answer.
Just a short while ago, he would have been nothing more than another stone in the graveyard if Vane hadn't arrived.
He lowers his head.
The weight of it presses against him harder than the pain ever did. Vane continues, her voice steady but edged with something heavy.
"And yet there are people who worship her. Support her. They don't know what it feels like to lose someone close."
Her grip tightens around the staff.
"They think worshipping her will make them immune."
Azrean looks at her.
"Maybe it's because she's the creator of existence… at least that's what the books say."
Vane gives a faint smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"Who knows if that's true. That's just what history claims. People read old books and accept every word."
"It might just be another game of the government."
She exhales slowly.
"When others suffer from infection, they do nothing. But when someone survives it and gains power… they come and take them away."
Azrean blinks. He thinks for a moment, staring at the sea of graves.
Then he says something that makes Vane turn sharply toward him.
"Ms. Vane… if I survive the five symptoms and gain powers… will I be able to remove this infection from the world?"
Her eyes widen. For a second, she just looks at him. Then a small smile forms.
"Sometimes you act mature and strong. Other times you sound very childish."
She tilts her head slightly.
"Well, you are still a child."
"Huh? What! I'm serious." He frowns. "Didn't you tell me long ago that once someone survives the five symptoms, they gain superpowers?"
Vane turns and begins walking deeper along the path between the graves.
"That's what I heard from your dad."
Azrean stops walking. The mention of his father hits him without warning. He stands there for a few seconds, unmoving, before quietly following her again.
She glances back at him.
"The government collects those who survive the five symptoms. Keeps them under their control."
She looks upward, thinking.
"Maybe that's how they instantly know when someone survives. They probably use people with supernatural abilities to detect it."
She sighs.
"But I've never actually seen someone with true superpowers. Only those fused with elegy bugs… and people who know blood type combat."
Azrean gives her a sideways look.
"You really love calling blood type combat a superpower."
Vane shoots him a sharp glance.
"Of course I do. Look at me. Do you think an ordinary person can take down a failed fuse that easily? That's the power of blood type combat."
She lifts one arm slightly, flexing as if to show off.
Azrean can't help smiling.
"Yes, yes. I wish I knew blood type combat like you."
"It's not something a kid can learn," she replies without hesitation.
Azrean scowls.
"Just wait. One day I'll learn it. And I'll surpass you."
Vane closes her eyes briefly as she keeps walking.
"We'll see."
Her voice carries lightly over the rows of graves.
"I'll be waiting for that day."
After some time, they leave the last row of graves behind and follow a narrow road that curves beside a small pond. The water is still, faint ripples spreading where raindrops fall. The sky has grown quieter, the storm now little more than a damp breath in the air.
Azrean glances at Vane as they walk. He gathers a bit of courage and speaks.
"Ms. Vane."
She looks over her shoulder.
"Hm?"
He lowers his eyes to the dirt path, walking a little slower. His boots scrape lightly against small stones. After a moment, he lifts his head again.
"My dad… he was one of the people who worshiped the Mother of All, right?"
Vane faces forward again.
"That's right. Why do you ask?"
Azrean hesitates.
"Ms. Vane hates the Mother of All. So you and he should've been enemies."
He swallows.
"But you still raised me. I've always wondered… why?"
Vane stops walking. Azrean nearly bumps into her back before stopping as well.
A sudden chill runs through him.
'I shouldn't have asked that…'
But the words are already out. Vane turns slowly to face him.
"If you keep asking too many questions," she says evenly, "you won't get the antidote."
Azrean's eyes go wide.
"What?! No! Please don't do that—I'm sorry!"
She holds his panicked expression for a second. Then she smiles.
"Azrean. Always remember this."
He blinks.
"No matter who you are, it doesn't hurt to help others."
He stares at her, trying to make sense of it. The answer feels incomplete, yet firm.
Before he can ask anything else, Vane suddenly points past him.
"Oh look. A car!"
Azrean turns.
From down the road, a vehicle approaches, engine rumbling softly. As it comes closer, its shape becomes clear—a boxy black steel body with a flat vertical grille and rounded fenders. A foldable canvas roof sits over the top. Large round brass headlights flank the radiator, catching what little light remains. Spoked wheels roll over the damp road on thin rubber tires. Running boards line the sides, and the door hinges are exposed, metal gleaming faintly. A man sits behind the split vertical windshield, hands firm on the wheel.
Vane steps directly into the middle of the road.
"Let's hitch a ride!"
Azrean stares at her, stunned. Then he sighs and turns fully toward the approaching car.