Compared to Sweetwater's frozen forest, the path to Candlemere felt like walking through a humid city. The horses kept a steady, quiet gallop and Rosa didn't knit this time. Instead, she just furrowed her brow, her hands stiff in her lap.
The horses kept a steady, quiet gallop. Rosa didn't knit this time. Instead, she just furrowed her brow, her hands stiff in her lap. "Not very comfortable with our next assignment?" Lucian offered gently.
Rosa shook her head. "It's a heavy place... and it used to be home." Lucian opened his mouth to comfort her, but Rosa raised a hand—sharp and final.
"It's fine," she said, her tone clipped.
"I just need to get ready for it."
Lucian fell silent, letting the horses' hooves fill the space between them. The road ahead twisted through low mist, where Candlemere waited.
+
Lucian climbed out of the carriage and felt like his heart was in chains. Candlemere was a place of quiet wariness. Wax clung to the bones of buildings and prayers were whispered rather than spoken aloud.
It was a far cry from Nox Levitica's comfortable silence. When he saw people walking around, they were visibly tired or terrified, especially when they walked past a group of candles emitting a dark aura.
He reached into his pocket for a pair of gloves when Rosa shook her head. "Don't touch them. Let the sweepers do their job." He didn't know what she was talking about, until he saw a massive garbage truck drive by, and three corpses wearing long bird-like masks on their faces stepped down from the vehicle.
They tipped their hats to Lucian and Rosa before using a pair of tongs to grab the candles, throwing them in two separate bags. "They're the only ones who can work without being affected," Rosa explained as the truck drove away. "The sweepers are detached from their feelings, so they aren't affected by these cursed items."
+
Lucian walked carefully, wary of any more cursed candles along the way. To his surprise, there was a small, curved garden in between two ruined houses, untouched by wax. A small patch of wildflowers bloomed here—lavender, bluebells, and honeysuckle—and to his surprise, fast asleep in the middle of it was an enormous creature.
It blinked at him.
Lucian froze.
It looked like a cat but was the size and weight of a small bear cub. Its ears twitched and its long tail flicked once as if it was thinking about running away. Instead, it let out a soft "mmmmmrrrrr" and walked to him with heavy, plush paws.
Lucian braced himself for impact, but it never came. Instead, soft fur brushed his coat. The bear-cat bumped its head against his knee and began to purr loudly.
"Oh," Lucian breathed. "Thank the Queen, you're friendly." He crouched and let her sniff his gloves. The bear-cat's golden eyes blinked slowly and yawned. He saw fangs large enough to crush a tombstone. But instead of doing that, she flopped over his feet and rolled over.
"That's a good girl. What's your name?" He hadn't seen a collar on her, but perhaps someone knew who she belonged to.
There was a soft voice behind him. "That's Michael's Mima."
Lucian turned and saw a stout man with a cheerful smile and a baker's apron covered in ash. One side of his face was smooth and full of life. The other side was partially covered with wax, rendering him pale and expressionless. It was like someone poured half a mask over his skin.
Lucian wondered how he died, with an injury like that, but thought against asking him. Insulting a local was not a good first impression.
"Name's Gregory," the main said, tipping his cap. "And you're not from around here."
Lucian stood and offered his gloved hand. "Lucian. Mortician of Atraeum."
Gregory's gaze flicked to the silver coffin pin on his coat. "Ahhh, thought I felt somethin' lighter around you. You've got the blessing, don't you?"
Lucian nodded and held up his pendant. "Lucy's water."
The baker's eyes softened. "Good. You'll need it." He looked toward the end of the road, to a house where wax dripped from signs and windows like tears. "Michael hasn't been the same since Mima died."
Lucian glanced down at the spirit fast asleep on top of his boots. "She's…?"
"A spirit now, sure. Barely weighs as much as she did in life—you wouldn't be able to move a muscle when she laid down on you." Gregory looked fondly at the bear-cat. "Sweetest soul in town. Wouldn't go anywhere without Michael. He'd talk to her like she was the only one who mattered."
Lucian nodded slowly. "A wife or a friend?"
Gregory chuckled—then sobered when he looked again at Lucian's pin. "None of that. Mima was his pet. His only family. We all loved her, but she was his. After she passed…" He trailed off.
"What happened?" Lucian asked.
Gregory scratched his head, eyes flicking back to the wax-sealed houses. "He stopped speaking. Started making candles. Day and night. Wouldn't even sell them—just left 'em in boxes for us to pick up. Said they kept things warm. Kept Mima close."
The baker's voice dipped lower. "But they're… not safe, mortician. Something about them keeps memory alive. Too alive."
Lucian thanked him for the story, and Mima gave one final purr before vanishing like mist.
Lucian made his way toward the edge of town, where wax grew in heavy ridges across stone, and the air smelled faintly of lilac, smoke, and something…off.
+
There was a man scraping congealed wax from a walkway. He was kneeling in a crooked yard. Despite the heat, he wore a hooded cloak the color of old parchment paper. Even from a distance,
Lucian saw the gleam of candlelight flickering from his robe.
The Grimoire inside his satchel hissed softly as it appeared in the air and displayed an entry:
[DEATHBOUND GRIMOIRE - ASSIGNMENT UPDATE]
Target: Tallowman of Candlemere
Classification: Mourning Artisan
Threat Level: Medium-High
Known Affliction: Grief-forged Curse
Current State: Volatile Isolation
Assigned Duty: Deliver peace through release, or reintegration.
Caution:
Depressive aura is contagious. Long exposure may impair mental clarity.
Direct touch may transfer Grief-State.
Use of Holy Water or Elemental Blessing advised.
Note:
Completion of this assignment will unlock a new skill: [Candlelight Vigil] – A ritual that transforms mourning into resolve for spirits ready to rest.