"The world tilted."

That was definitely the poetic version.

The less poetic—and far more accurate—version was:

Luther's brain felt like it slid off the shelf and hit the floor.

He groaned as he pushed himself upright. One eye refused to open, the other blinked like it was trying to argue with reality. His hand drifted up and gently patted his skull, flinching with every touch as if afraid his head might detach.

"Why…" he croaked, "…does my head feel like a hammer had unresolved emotional trauma and chose me as its therapist?"

A tiny cough answered him.

Liliana.

She knelt before him, lowering herself to match his eye level. Her fingers brushed debris off his shoulder with delicate precision.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly.

"No," he groaned. "Yes. Maybe? My head hurts. I think someone hit me."

He glared at his own chest.

"Probably the sword. It has a pattern."

The demonic sword necklace gave an offended tch.

Liliana didn't laugh—her worry was too sharp. She lifted a hand, reached behind his head, and froze.

Her fingers came back crimson.

"…Luther," she whispered tightly. "You're bleeding."

He blinked.

"Oh. So THAT'S where the breeze was coming from."

"Luther."

Her tone could have peeled paint.

"Okay, fine, sheesh."

He raised his hand, silver-gold light shimmering and sealing the wound instantly.

But the headache?

Worse.

And spreading.

He tried to stand. His knees buckled like overcooked noodles.

"…Standing was a mistake," he muttered.

"Obviously," Liliana snapped, gripping his arm.

Around them, the ruined house was a skeleton of charred wood and drifting smoke. Villagers clustered nearby—some being treated by Alina, while Eldric moved methodically among them.

Aithur stood at the center, scanning everything like a hawk—until his eyes landed on Luther wobbling like a drunk scarecrow.

His expression dropped.

"Luther!"

In two strides Aithur was beside him, arms steadying him before he toppled.

"I'm fine," Luther said, swatting half-heartedly. "Stop looking at me like I'm fragile."

"You are wobbling," Aithur said.

"It's called style."

"Almost falling face-first isn't style," Liliana muttered.

"That would ALSO be style."

The sword groaned loudly.

"Your style is called stupidity."

Luther frowned.

"…You're talking again?"

"I never STOPPED," the sword snapped. "YOU were too concussed to listen."

Aithur stiffened. "Why is the sword… talking?"

"It does that," Liliana replied. "A lot."

"Too much," Luther added. "Painfully too much."

The sword huffed.

"Oh, wonderful. He can hear again. Should I applaud? Or will that strain the delicate saint?"

Luther rubbed his forehead.

"Shut up."

A guard nearby actually snorted.

Another tried to hide his laugh.

The sword wasn't done.

"You drained your magic like you were bleeding out your SOUL, fool! Then you used MORE magic to stop an explosion, and THEN those emerald shards started drinking your power like thirsty leeches—"

Liliana stiffened.

Aithur's jaw tightened.

"…Leeches?" they echoed.

"Yes, parasites," the sword snapped. "If he wasn't overstuffed with magic like a holiday goose, he'd be dead."

"Thank you," Luther said dryly.

"I wasn't encouraging you."

"I know."

Liliana threw her hands up.

"We need to get him somewhere to rest."

"No," Luther denied instantly. "Later. Questions first."

Alina approached, her expression sharpening as she eyed him up and down.

"Sit," she ordered.

"No."

"Sit."

"NO."

Aithur leaned down.

"Luther. Sit."

"No."

Liliana sighed.

"If you faint, I'm telling Your master Mariana."

Luther froze.

Everyone watched the exact moment his courage fled his body.

"…Fine," he muttered. "But ONLY a LITTLE sitting."

He sat.

The ground tilted again.

He gripped his knees so he wouldn't slide off the world.

Elrin, the village leader, approached hesitantly. Her face was drawn with exhaustion, gratitude, and lingering fear.

She bowed deeply.

"Thank you… truly, for saving my people."

Luther waved a hand.

"You can repay me by answering questions before I pass out."

Liliana elbowed him.

"Luther—"

"No, no, it's fine," he said stubbornly. "If I faint later, I'll do it DRAMATICALLY."

Aithur sighed.

"That is not how fainting works."

"Shush."

Even the sword muttered, "I hope you faint face first."

Luther ignored it.

He pointed at the shattered emerald crystal shards scattered across the ground—still emitting faint flickers of corrupted light.

"First question," Luther said. "These emerald crystals. Where did they come from? And how long have you been using them?"

Elrin's shoulders stiffened.

"The crystals have been with our village for over a hundred years," she said quietly. "They were… an heirloom. Passed down. We didn't know they were dangerous."

"That wasn't my question," Luther said, voice sharper. "I asked where your ancestors FOUND them."

Elrin hesitated.

Her hands twisted in her skirt.

Liliana noticed.

Aithur noticed.

The sword hummed maliciously.

"Elrin," Luther said quietly. "This is important. Where did they come from?"

She bit her lip.

"If I tell you… you may not believe me."

Luther snorted.

"Try me. Today alone I got knocked unconscious, argued with a sword, healed thirty villagers, and learned that divine magic feels like someone is microwaving my brain. I'm past being surprised."

A guard choked back laughter.

Elrin took a shaky breath.

"Very well," she said. "The crystals come from the forest north of here."

Luther blinked.

"That forest is dead."

"Yes," Elrin said. "NOW it is. But long ago… it was alive. Beautiful. Sacred."

Aithur and Liliana exchanged looks.

Elrin continued:

"Our ancestors discovered a grove deep within it. The trees were enormous—larger than anything described in books. Their bark shimmered with green veins like light beneath the surface."

Luther leaned forward despite the dizziness.

"The trees were glowing?"

Elrin nodded.

"And hanging from the branches… were the emeralds."

Silence.

Luther stared.

"…Like fruit?"

"Yes."

The sword hovered lower in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, WHAT?"

Elrin swallowed.

"The crystals were grown on the trees. Like blossoms. Like fruit."

Luther rubbed his temples.

Because that was NOT normal.

Aithur frowned deeply.

"I've never heard of such a thing."

Liliana shook her head.

"It shouldn't be possible."

"EXACTLY," the sword barked. "Those aren't crystals. They're something ELSE. Something that eats magic. Something that nearly drained him dry!"

Luther winced at the volume.

"Stop yelling… my soul hurts."

Elrin continued nervously.

"The early villagers harvested them carefully, believing they were gifts from the spirits of the forest. But then the trees withered. The forest died. Everything changed."

"Changed how?" Luther asked.

Elrin wrapped her arms around herself.

"Our records say the forest began… screaming."

Aithur went still.

Liliana's breath caught.

Even the sword quieted.

Luther blinked slowly.

"…Screaming?"

Elrin nodded shakily.

"Animals fled. Birds died in midair. Plants rotted overnight. The trees that grew the crystals turned black and collapsed inward as if something was eating them from the inside."

Aithur whispered, "Corruption…"

Elrin continued.

"We fled the forest. But the crystals we had already harvested remained with us for generations. Their glow faded slowly over time. We didn't think they were still active."

Luther pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Of course they were still active. Why wouldn't cursed demon-fruit stay active?"

"That's not helpful," Liliana said.

"I'm not TRYING to be helpful," Luther said. "I'm TRYING to stay conscious. My standards are low."

The sword floated beside him.

"You are one headache away from death."

"Thank you."

"That was an insult."

"I'LL TAKE IT."

Everyone Grows Worried

Aithur knelt beside him.

"You shouldn't have pushed yourself. You used too much magic."

"I'm fine."

"You're trembling."

"I'm cold."

"It's 30 degrees."

"I'm fashionably trembling."

Liliana crossed her arms.

"You nearly collapsed."

"I nearly collapse all the time," Luther said. "It's tradition."

Alina checked his pulse.

"This is not good. You need rest."

"Rest is for the responsible."

The sword snorted.

"Rest is for the living."

"I AM living—barely."

Eldric arrived too, eyes narrowed and a little confused.

"You used magic beyond your limit? Again?."

"Again is a strong word," Luther said. "I call it Tuesday."

Half the guards laughed.

Aithur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You are insufferable."

"Thank you."

"That was not—"

"I know."

Elrin continued, voice trembling.

"Our ancestors recorded the forest's change as a curse. But the last elder before my time said it wasn't a curse at all."

Luther's head lifted.

"Then what was it?"

Elrin swallowed hard.

"A calling."

The sword froze.

"A what?"

Elrin nodded.

"A calling. The tree—before it died—released a sound. A long, low hum that made the ground shake. They believed… it was summoning something."

"Summoning WHAT?" Liliana asked.

Elrin shook her head.

"We don't know. Whatever answered… killed the forest."

Luther felt the headache spike.

"Oh perfect. Fantastic. Wonderful. So the crystals weren't cursed—they were invitations."

Aithur stiffened.

"You think something created those crystals?"

"I think," Luther said dryly, "that SOMETHING is growing magic-eating fruit on trees, killing forests, and blowing up villages. AND I think I'd like to take a nap before dealing with it."

The sword's tone darkened.

"Those crystals are part of something bigger… something ancient. Something hungry."

"Great," Luther muttered. "Let's add that to my list of problems."

Liliana frowned.

"Your list is already full."

"And growing."

He pushed himself to his feet—slowly, wobbling again.

Aithur caught him instantly.

"Stop. Sit down."

"No. I'm done sitting."

Liliana glared.

"You can't even stand!"

"I CAN," Luther insisted. "Watch."

He let go of Aithur.

He immediately swayed sideways.

A guard dived to catch him.

Luther blinked.

"I meant to do that."

The guard laughed.

"Sure you did, Saint Luther."

"Don't call me that. I'll bite you."

Elrin bowed her head low.

"We never knew the crystals could kill. We thought they were… blessings."

"They WERE blessings," the sword muttered. "Just not from who you think."

Luther sighed.

"Well, congratulations. You have magical tree fruit that drains souls. Wonderful heritage."

Liliana elbowed him again.

"Be nice."

"I AM nice. I haven't screamed yet."

Aithur steadied him again.

"Luther… you should rest."

"No—"

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