Miguel was sitting in his tent, leaning over a map of the region, his eyes tired and his face marked by frustration. The cold winter wind softly blew through the openings of the tent’s canvas, keeping the interior frigid despite the campfire burning a few meters away. The snow, which continued to fall slowly, covered the ground around the camp, creating a white blanket that muffled the sound of the soldiers' footsteps patrolling the area.

  He knew he needed to do something. With each passing day, more people in that village were dying, and the isolation couldn’t last forever. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on his shoulders. He wasn’t a doctor, didn’t have pharmaceutical knowledge, but he couldn’t ignore that this world was far more complex and mysterious than his old one. “This disease... it only affects those without mana,” he murmured to himself, thinking aloud as his fingers drummed on the makeshift wooden table. “So, could it be possible... to induce people to use mana?”

  What he knew so far was that, in this world, people were born with mana. It wasn’t something you could just give someone, like a vaccine. The flow of mana ran through the veins of the inhabitants, except for the unfortunate ones who never developed it. But he kept wondering if there might be a way to get around that. Perhaps, in this world of magic, there was a way to awaken latent mana in someone. Maybe the mage who was coming could help.

  Outside, the wind blew harder, whipping the tents and shaking the ropes. The soldiers' voices, though muffled, echoed through the snow. They were restless, and Miguel knew it. The tension of being so close to the infected village hung in the air, as if the disease itself could escape its invisible bonds and invade the camp at any moment. No one dared to approach more than necessary.

  As his thoughts still revolved around possible solutions, the tent flap was pulled aside, letting the cold rush in. A soldier entered, bowing slightly. His heavy breathing indicated that he had run to deliver the message.

  “Your Majesty,” he began, his voice firm, “the mage you requested has finally arrived.”

  Miguel looked up, his eyes gleaming with a spark of hope. He gestured for the soldier to withdraw and nodded, signaling that the mage should enter.

  “Send him in,” Miguel said, his voice containing a note of urgency.

  The soldier nodded quickly, leaving the tent as the snow fell heavily outside. Miguel took a deep breath, crossing his arms as he looked around the space. He knew time was against them.

  The tent flap opened slowly, letting the biting cold in along with the figure of a tall man, wrapped in a heavy fur cloak, suitable for the harsh winter surrounding them. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of curiosity and intelligence, hidden beneath a well-trimmed beard and dark hair that fell in disheveled strands. He seemed to be in his forties, and despite his calm expression, there was an intense glow in his eyes, as if he were always processing something.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, bowing slightly before fully entering the tent. “I am Alistair, at the service of those who truly seek knowledge. It is an honor to finally meet you, even in these... unfortunate circumstances.”

  Miguel nodded, smiling as he noticed Alistair’s relaxed demeanor, as if the winter cold and the threat of the mana disease didn’t affect him.

  “Alistair,” Miguel said, leaning back in the makeshift wooden chair, “the pleasure is mine. I’ve heard a lot about you. It seems that stories of my accomplishments are also spreading through the baronries that have joined us.”

  Alistair smiled, almost imperceptibly, as he moved closer, sitting in a simple wooden chair in front of Miguel. “Yes, indeed. The stories are plentiful. A bastard king who resists two armies and still creates weapons that rival magic... I must admit, I was intrigued.” He looked around, noting the austere but functional interior of the tent. The fireplace in the corner barely kept the cold at bay but created a slight sense of coziness. “However, those weapons are only part of the reason I’m here, aren’t they?”

  Miguel laughed briefly, adjusting the heavy coat on his shoulders. “The situation is complicated, Alistair. We need more than swords and arrows to deal with what’s happening out there.” He gestured with his head toward the tent’s entrance, where the infected village waited like a dark shadow amidst the snow. “I’ve heard you’re an innovative mage. Someone who, in a way, has already revolutionized how we see magic.”

  Alistair tilted his head, a glint of interest appearing in his eyes. “That’s generous of you, but also dangerous. The church wouldn’t consider me a revolutionary. To them, I’m a threat.”

  Miguel nodded in understanding. He had read enough about what Alistair had gone through at the hands of the church and the kingdom. “The church... always monopolizing everything that can secure power. I know they exiled you for your ideas.” Miguel paused before continuing. “And frankly, Alistair, that’s exactly why I called you here. Your texts on mana, on how it flows and manifests in different people... those texts were crucial for me to better understand what we’re facing.”

  The mage relaxed a bit more in the chair, crossing his legs and observing Miguel with curiosity. “So, you read my works? Few have had that opportunity since I was... cast aside. The church doesn’t usually allow texts like mine to circulate.”

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  “I am not the church,” Miguel replied with a slight smile. “And more importantly, I’m not bound by their backward mentality. We need new solutions, and you’re the mage who can help us with that. The situation here, Alistair, is worse than you can imagine. This mana disease... it kills anyone without mana. And if it spreads, it could mean the end of thousands of lives.”

  Alistair nodded, growing serious as he listened to the gravity of the problem. “Indeed, something like this can’t be dealt with using conventional methods.” He rubbed his hands to shake off the cold that still clung to him. “And I’m sure the church wouldn’t be quick to act. They like to control everything, including who lives and who dies.”

  The tent fell silent for a moment as both men reflected on the weight of what was to come. The campfire crackled softly in the background, casting shadows on the tent’s canvas walls. Outside, the snow continued to fall, as if the world itself was trapped in a cycle of isolation and silence.

  Miguel leaned forward, breaking the silence. “Alistair, we need to find a way to contain this disease. We need a solution that doesn’t involve killing innocents. If there’s anyone who can think outside the box, it’s you.”

  The mage looked intently at Miguel, recognizing the gravity of the request. “I’m here to help. But I can already tell you that the solution won’t be simple.”

  Miguel and Alistair left the tent, feeling the icy wind hit their faces. The camp around them was in full activity, with dozens of tents scattered across the snow. Soldiers came and went, carrying supplies, building fires, and reinforcing the camp’s perimeter. The metallic sound of armor mixed with the crunch of boots on freshly fallen snow, while the smoke from the fires rose in slow spirals, trying to warm the freezing air.

  Alistair observed the movement carefully, adjusting the fur cloak around him to fend off the cold. “This place is starting to feel like a war zone,” he commented, his voice laden with reflection.

  Miguel, beside him, looked around, nodding slightly in agreement. “Indeed, it is a war. But not against men this time. It’s against the cruel nature of this world,” he replied, his expression serious as he gazed at the snow-covered horizon. The relentless white stretched for miles, as if winter had decided to test their endurance.

  The mage smiled slightly, impressed by Miguel’s vision. “I like how you see the world, even though you’re young and we’ve only known each other for a few hours. Your perspective is... unique, to say the least.”

  Miguel gave a brief smile, crossing his arms to keep warm as the wind blew stronger. “I believe the world can and should be tamed. Not to control everything, but to ensure that we can live well. No one deserves to die when we have the capacity to help, to improve everyone’s lives. Humanity... in fact, every thinking being deserves to live without fear of death, whether by nature’s forces or by the hands of their own kind—or another.”

  Alistair nodded in agreement, appreciating the depth of Miguel’s philosophy. His words resonated with the mage’s own thoughts, having spent years questioning the laws and beliefs imposed by the kingdom and the church.

  At that moment, Ricardo approached, mounted on his horse, with his heavy coat covering his armor. The firm expression on Ricardo’s face indicated that he was focused on what he was about to say. “Your Majesty,” Ricardo greeted, nodding briefly at the mage beside him. “We already have enough men to start hunting the beasts that might be spreading this plague in the region. Only one detail remains,” he paused for a moment, looking from Miguel to Alistair, “knowing what they look like.”

  The mage stepped forward, his expression thoughtful. “When a beast of nature is infected, its original color changes. They become completely purple, from their fur to their skin and blood. And don’t worry, they will come to you,” Alistair said in a somber tone. “It’s in the instinct of these infected creatures to seek out people without mana. "They go search the most vulnerable." Ricardo nodded, absorbing the information. "Understood," he said, his voice filled with determination. "We will hunt down these creatures and put an end to this." Miguel approached Ricardo's horse, placing a hand on his commander's shoulder. "Be careful, Ricardo. These creatures are not like the ones we are used to facing." Ricardo gave a slight smile, lifting his chin. "Don't worry. We'll return in one piece." He looked at his men, who were also ready to depart. Ten well-armed soldiers awaited his orders, and without further delay, Ricardo tugged the reins of his horse, followed by his retinue.

  Miguel watched as they moved away down the snow-covered path, the sound of hooves blending with the biting wind. The hunting mission was underway, but deep in Miguel's mind, the concern for the village and the spreading plague weighed heavier than ever. He knew that much more was at stake than just the fate of a small village.

  The surroundings were silent, except for the occasional sound of boots crunching through the snow or the crackling of the campfires. The light snowfall continued, slowly covering the camp in a white blanket. Miguel looked out towards the horizon and sighed, feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, as Alistair stood by his side, watching what would come next.