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(AS) B3 - Lesson 26: “Always Be On Call."
🕑 Added 2025-07-29 05:27:14 +0000 UTCThe nurse’s footsteps echoed faintly as she guided Dr. Maria down a short, plush-carpeted hallway, the muffled din of the Pavilion’s main lobby fading behind a thick oak door. With a practiced smile and an edge of tiredness, the nurse ushered Maria.
“The doctor will see you shortly. Please, rest while you wait.”
Maria nodded, and the nurse softly shut the door behind her.
As the nurse’s footsteps faded down the corridor, Dr. Maria let herself sink onto the velvet-cushioned sofa, her disguise still wrapped about her like a silk cocoon — a frail, moneyed heiress clutching her shawl, eyes wide and uncertain. She swept her gaze across the waiting room, taking in its gilded sconces and tastefully inlaid tables. There was a tray set out with expensive teas and a single bowl of fresh fruit. Paintings of serene landscapes hung on the walls, each one positioned just so, as if to assure any visitor of the Pavilion’s taste and refinement.
She let her frown deepen, folding her hands in her lap. It was too much. Even in her earliest days, Maria had understood the power of presentation — but this room felt more like a parlor for city council wives than a space to heal the sick. Plush curtains muffled the city’s clamor, shutting out the world beyond the Pavilion’s marble walls. Maria doubted any patient who couldn’t afford a private healer ever saw so much as the edge of this carpet.
She pursed her lips and let her shoulders slump, careful not to betray the growing anger coiling beneath her ribs.
The door opened. A man strode in, the lines of his coat crisp, but his expression thunderous. He paused, fingers flexing by his side as if gripping an invisible scalpel, his jaw set so tight it seemed liable to crack. The hair at his temples, once black as crow feathers, was streaked now with silver. New creases tugged at the corners of his eyes — stress lines from long nights and impossible choices.
For half a heartbeat, he didn’t recognize her. Then he stopped, eyes darting over Maria’s disguise. His anger flickered, replaced by surprise, then a wariness she remembered all too well from his apprenticeship days. Maria offered him a sly, dimpled grin, the sort that had once sent half her students into a panic.
The man’s frown deepened. He closed the door quietly, then turned the lock with deliberate care. When he faced her again, Maria’s disguise had faded, the flesh of her face softening and shifting until she wore the familiar ‘grandmotherly’ mantle she found was so comforting for those under her care. Her back straightened, shoulders broader, hair falling in its customary braid. She watched her former student’s face shift through disbelief, relief, and something like exasperated awe.
“I thought you were dead,” he said, his tone clipped — but beneath it, Maria heard the ache of months spent mourning, worrying, hoping.
She rolled her eyes, smirking. “Really? You thought I’d let some Deep cave-in finish me off? I’m harder to kill than that, boy, and you know it.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head, letting out a breath that might have been a laugh. “If the Pavilion had a coin for every time you turned up alive after a disaster, we could buy out the whole council by now.” He sat, the anger gone, replaced by something heavy and old. “But I have to admit, I’m glad to see you in one piece, Doctor.”
Maria’s gaze sharpened. “What happened here, Radan? This isn’t the Pavilion I left.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let himself sink back against the embroidered cushions, staring up at the ornate ceiling moldings as if they might explain everything. At last, he spoke — voice flat, defeated. “Seeker happened.”
The word sent a jolt of icy rage through Maria. Her jaw clenched. “Seeker,” she spat, and then a sharper curse, barely audible. “Seeker?” she spat, the word curling with venom. “That slimy bastard. We had a deal! My agreeing to join Bosco’s little suicide run was supposed to clear the Pavilion’s debts. Even if I didn’t come back, the deal was ‘payment in full and up front’.”
Radan’s lips twisted in a sneer of bitter resignation. “Oh, it was,” he said quietly. “Officially, the Pavilion’s clean. No more debts to Seeker, no more threats. But that didn’t stop the other doctors from cutting their own deals. As soon as you disappeared, half the old partners started scrambling — currying favor with clans, letting in outside money.”
The man leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. “Now? Half the doctors are in the clan’s pockets.”
Maria’s brow twitched. “And you just let it happen?” She asked through teeth clenched so hard Radan could hear them creaking like metal.
He threw up his arms. “What were we supposed to do, Doctor?! The rest of us have barely managed to keep our heads down! Anyone who’s stuck their neck out and complained…” he shook his head.
“People… have disappeared, Maria. Not just patients. Doctors, too.”
Maria felt the fury drain from her face, leaving behind a brittle chill. Her hands curled into fists atop her knees. “I see,” she said, her voice calm as a winter dawn — and twice as cold. “Seems everyone’s forgotten who built this place. I suppose this means I’ll have to remind them.” She rose, movements sharp, already halfway to the door.
Radan lurched forward, blocking her path with a frantic shake of his head. “Maria, wait! You can’t just —” he shook his head, “Some dangerous people sank their claws into this place the first chance they got, doctor! If you upset the cart, they’ll kill you!”
She fixed him with a look that would have cowed a rampaging spirit beast. “Watch me.”
He swallowed, caught between admiration and terror, and reached out with a trembling hand. “At least let me—”
She paused, just as her fingers brushed the door. A message from Alpha scrolled across her mind’s eye, silent and unmistakable, threading through the implant at the base of her skull. As she read the text, Dr. Maria grinned a wicked grin.
Radan saw it and shivered. He stepped back, muttering an old healer’s prayer under his breath.
——————————————————
Garrelt nursed his beer at the far end of the guildhall’s tavern, a little oasis of battered wood and battered men tucked beneath the vaulted stone of Halirosa’s Adventurer’s Guild. The air was thick with the scent of hops, old sweat, and spilled spirits. He sat alone, boots up on the rung of a stool, elbows planted on the sticky bar, lost in the amber swirl of his mug. Around him, the low drone of conversation ebbed and flowed, punctuated by the occasional bark of laughter or the metallic ring of a dropped coin.
He didn’t join in. Not tonight. He just watched — the newcomers with hopeful eyes and patched gear, the old hands gathering in their familiar knots, boasting over old scars and fresh bounties. Every so often, he traced the rim of his mug with a thick finger, half-listening to the world move around him.
It was easy to lose track of time like this. He let the hours slip by, letting the sharp tang of the beer anchor him while his thoughts wandered far — to old trails, vanished friends, mistakes that lingered longer than any bruise.
So when the voice called his name, sharp and unfamiliar, Garrelt was already halfway to irritation.
“Garrelt! Garrelt, isn’t it?” The words cut through the lull of the tavern, drawing a few curious glances.
Garrelt turned, slow and careful, his eyes narrowed. Three figures approached through the shifting crowd — a man at their head, tall and clean-shaven, with a slicked-back mane of chestnut hair and a smile pitched halfway between charm and mockery. Two companions trailed at his back, muscle and shadow, their eyes quick and predatory.
Garrelt eyed the lead man, face blank as a shield. “Do I know you?” he asked, his voice flat, tired.
The man’s smile widened, glinting in the tavern light. “No, but I know you. Or at least, your reputation. Garrelt ‘the Hound,’ master huntsman, legendary trapper — the tales go on and on.” He offered a little bow, theatrical, just shy of ridicule. “It’s an honor. I always wondered if I’d get to meet you in the flesh.”
Garrelt raised his mug in a slow, deliberate salute, his eyes cold. “Well, now you have,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my drink. Not in the mood for small talk.”
The stranger held up his hands, all easy acquiescence. “Of course, of course.” He started to turn away, then paused, tapping a finger to his chin as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Ah! That’s right — before I go, I meant to ask you something.” He leaned in, voice just a little too loud, just a little too casual. “I heard you landed a spot on some secret expedition. New caverns, that sort of thing. Tell me, how’d that work out for you? Find anything… interesting down there in the Deep?”
Garrelt’s grip tightened on his mug. “And where would you have heard something like that, now?” he growled.
The man shrugged, all innocence. “Here and there, you know how it is.” His gaze swept the room, voice pitching up just enough to catch a few more ears. “Now that I think of it, I don’t see any of the others I heard were on that the expedition around. There were some pretty big names on that list. Think I could meet a few?” He leaned in and grinned. “Or are you ahead? Hells, must be nice being a scout — get to leave the others behind and grab a drink before anyone else can drag you back out.”
The man’s eyes widened suddenly, as if inspiration had struck. “Unless… Don’t tell me… You ran away?!” He clucked his tongue, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “Was it really that bad, legend? Had to leave the others behind to save your own skin? I’ve got to say, I expected more.”
The words landed with a dull thud. Around them, conversation thinned. A few regulars glanced up, whispers snaking out across the room. Garrelt felt heat bloom up his neck, anger quickening his breath.
He stood abruptly, the stool screeching on the boards. “Careful with your tongue, boy,” he snapped, voice low and dangerous.
The stranger only grinned, stepping back with his hands raised in mock surrender. “No need to get defensive. I just figured, since we’ll all hear the Guild’s polished version soon, it’d be nice to know the truth from the man himself.”
Garrelt jabbed a finger at the man, an insult ready on his tongue — but a sudden buzz cut through the tension. He froze, glancing down at his belt. The communicator Alpha had given him vibrated against his hip, a tiny, insistent pulse. Garrelt fumbled it free, cursing the unfamiliar device as he squinted at the glowing symbols. He thumbed it open, half-expecting it to bite.
A line of text scrolled across the tiny slate. He frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Celestials above. What now…” he muttered.
The strangers watched, amused. Garrelt pocketed the device with a snarl, then spat at the stranger’s boot, the glob landing square on worn leather. “You wanted your meeting. Now you’ve got it. Hope you choke on it.”
He turned and strode toward the door, fury pounding in his veins.
Behind him, the stranger called after, “What’s this? Running off so soon, Garrelt?” He turned to his friends with a flourish. “I guess it’s true what they say — Never meet your heroes.”
The three of them broke into laughter, shoving each other as they claimed Garrelt’s vacated table, mugs clattering in their hands.
Garrelt paused at the threshold, jaw set. He snapped his fingers.
Lightning ripped through the tavern — a sharp, blue crackle, bright and sudden as a summer storm. The three men seized, convulsing in their chairs as current surged up through their mugs, their laughter cut short by shouts and curses. The MUD tokens beneath the mugs flared, then disintegrated, leaving only curls of dust and the sharp tang of ozone.
The tavern erupted into chaos — patrons ducking, ale sloshing, a few old-timers cackling with delight. The three troublemakers slumped in their chairs, hair standing on end, smoke wisping from their collars.
Garrelt didn’t look back. He let the door swing closed behind him and vanished into the night, the scent of burnt hair and old grudges swirling in his wake.
——————————————————
In front of the Halirosa Western Temple of the Prima, a quiet standoff had taken shape. Facing the quiet street, a stern yet striking woman stood with arms folded across her chest, the morning light painting her chocolate-brown skin in warm tones. Her eyes, a piercing icy blue, swept over the small crowd with a cool authority that brooked no argument. She wore a simple but impeccably tailored charcoal dress, each fold inscribed with the symbols of her order — clear marks of service to the Aspect of the Earth Prima known as the Hearthmother. Her raven hair was braided neatly and draped forward over her shoulder, and a pair of tiny reading glasses perched low on her nose, lending her the air of a scholar who suffered few distractions.
She held her ground, lips pressed into a thin frown as she regarded the figures across from her.
At the foot of the temple steps stood Thomas. Since his promotion to caporegime by Icefinger — taking over the territory and responsibilities that once belonged to Bosco — the young man had changed almost beyond recognition. Gone was the awkward youth, the hungry look of a boy clawing his way up from the gutter. In his place stood a man who wore authority as easily as his coat, shoulders squared and posture unyielding.
In just a few months, Thomas had grown into the role handsomely. A surge in cultivation and newfound wealth had transformed his frame from lean and wary to powerful, his confidence radiating in every easy gesture. The charm in his grin carried an edge now — no longer the brash cheerfulness of a survivor, but the measured assurance of a proper capo. He stood with hands clasped behind his back, surveying the woman and her temple with a calm authority Bosco had never quite managed.
Thomas broke the tense silence, his tone soft and respectful, but threaded with the kind of frustration that only comes after too many failed negotiations. It was clear from the set of his jaw that this was not their first exchange.
“Come on, Sister Audrea, don’t be like this,” he said, forcing a disarming smile. “Are you really going to stop me from visiting my childhood home after all these years?”
Audrea’s gaze hardened, blue eyes narrowing as she looked down from the temple steps. “All my children are welcome home, Thomas. Even your brother finds time to visit — when he isn’t gallivanting Celestials know where with that party of his.” Her lips thinned, disappointment sharpening her features. “But you? Five years since you graduated from this orphanage, and you haven’t set foot on these steps once. And now, when you finally show up, you bring a pack of thugs.”
She gestured toward the half-dozen rough-looking men and women lounging behind Thomas, each of them radiating menace and barely restrained violence.
“So forgive me,” she finished, her voice cold as marble, “if I’m… suspicious.”
Before Thomas could reply, one of the thugs called out, voice loud and impatient. “Oy, Thomas! Why’re we bothering with this bitch? Let’s just push in and grab who we came for.”
Thomas spun, his face twisting into a snarl. “Quiet, you fool!” His voice cracked through the air, shutting the thug up instantly. When he turned back, Audrea was already sneering, her disdain clear. Thomas let out a long, tired breath, running a hand over his face. The ruse was over, and both of them knew it.
“I thought it was strange you turned up so soon after Maggy paid a visit,” Audrea said, her tone laced with knowing amusement. She cocked her head, the ghost of a smirk curling her lips. “What, still not over your little crush?”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you a thousand times, I don’t like the little nerd.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. “Look, Sister Audrea, I just want to talk to Maggy. That’s all. My boss just has a couple of questions for her. I promise — she won’t be hurt, as long as she cooperates.”
The smirk vanished from Audrea’s face, replaced by a cold, deep anger. Her next words landed like a slap. “I’m disappointed in you, Thomas. I don’t know what kind of crowd you’ve fallen in with, but I expected better than to see you willing to sell out your own sister.”
“SHE’S NOT MY SISTER!” Thomas exploded, his calm mask shattering as the words echoed down the temple steps. He slashed an arm through the air, voice ragged with anger. “We’re not a family! No matter how many times you try to force us to be one!”
Audrea flinched at the outburst, but held her ground, lips pressed in a tight line. Thomas pressed on, voice low and raw. “Only Bartholomew is my blood... and even he chose you over me…”
For the first time since his arrival, Audrea’s gaze softened, a flicker of old warmth struggling to break through her stern composure. She started to reply, but Thomas cut her off with a sharp gesture. He dragged a trembling hand down his face, drawing a slow, unsteady breath before continuing, his tone now forced into a brittle calm.
“Look, Sister Audrea, I’m trying to do you a favor here. My boss is a very dangerous man. If I don’t bring him Maggy, he’ll come here himself and take her. I don’t want that to happen to you, or the kids. So please, just let me speak to her.”
Something hard and cold snapped back into Audrea’s eyes. White spiritual energy ignited in her gaze, and a wave of peak [Golden Spirit] pressure flooded the air, turning it thick and heavy.
“Are you threatening me, boy?” Her power surged outward, sending the thugs behind Thomas stumbling back, their bravado wilting in the sudden onslaught. Even Thomas had to brace himself, but he rallied, answering her with a shield of his own Mid-[Golden Spirit] aura, pushing against her presence.
Audrea’s surprise flickered across her face — just for an instant — but then her features hardened. She stepped forward, every stride stirring the earth beneath her feet until the flagstones twisted and writhed like living clay.
Before either could move further, a voice rang out from inside the temple. “Wait!”
Thomas and Audrea both froze, heads snapping toward the doorway as Maggy stepped into the light, her expression caught between wariness and resolve.
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Osamaru Ta
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