The Imperial Capital continued to function.
That was the strangest thing.
The streets remained crowded.
The merchants continued opening their stalls.
Carriages continued traveling through the avenues.
Children continued running from one place to another, completely ignoring the worries of the adults.
Restaurants continued serving food.
Workshops continued working.
And in the wealthier districts, life even seemed normal.
Too normal.
Because the plague had not stopped the Empire.
Not yet.
It had simply begun to eat away at a part of it.
The part no one was used to looking at too closely.
---
"How many?"
Elara Wyncrest stepped down from the carriage.
The official waiting for her at the entrance to the district quickly checked the documents she was carrying.
"Two hundred and seventeen confirmed cases."
Elara remained still.
"In this district?"
"Yes."
"And how many inhabitants?"
"Approximately eight thousand."
Elara pressed her lips together.
"Deaths?"
The man took a few seconds to answer.
"Forty-three confirmed."
Elara lowered her gaze.
"In how much time?"
"Nine days."
She took a deep breath.
"I understand."
The official looked at her.
"Would you like us to continue?"
Elara raised her eyes.
"Yes."
The man nodded.
"Then you had better prepare yourself."
Elara raised an eyebrow.
"For what?"
"For what you are about to see."
Elara let out a small laugh.
"I've read the reports."
The official didn't smile.
"Reports don't smell."
Elara fell silent.
"Fine."
She looked toward the streets of the district.
"Then let's see reality."
---
It didn't take long for her to understand what he had meant.
The smell came before the images.
Medicine.
Dampness.
Food that had been stored for too long.
Sweat.
Disinfectants.
And something more difficult to identify.
Illness.
Elara walked slowly down the street.
Unlike the noble areas of the capital, the houses there were much closer together.
The buildings were small.
Some had stone walls.
Others were wooden structures.
Clothes hung between the windows.
Children sat in doorways.
Elderly people watched from their doors.
People carried buckets.
People worked.
People who clearly should have been resting.
But couldn't.
A man passed by her carrying a box.
His steps were slow.
Too slow.
Elara watched him.
"Is he sick?"
The official shook his head.
"No."
"Then?"
"His wife is."
Elara continued watching the man until he disappeared around a corner.
"And he's still working?"
"If he doesn't work, they don't eat."
Elara didn't answer.
She continued walking.
---
The first house they visited had two rooms.
One served as a kitchen.
The other as a bedroom.
And, apparently, as an infirmary.
A woman was sitting beside a bed.
Her face was pale.
She had a damp towel on her forehead.
There was a child in the bed.
He couldn't have been more than ten years old.
Elara stopped.
"How long has he been like this?"
The mother raised her eyes.
When she recognized Elara's clothes, she tried to stand.
"My lady..."
"No."
Elara raised a hand.
"Don't get up."
The woman sat back down.
"Three days."
"Does he have a fever?"
"Yes."
"Does he eat?"
The woman hesitated.
"A little."
Elara looked at the official.
"The doctor?"
"He comes twice a day."
The woman lowered her gaze.
"When he can."
Elara looked at her.
"What do you mean?"
The woman clasped her hands.
"There are too many sick people."
Silence.
"Sometimes two days go by without anyone coming."
Elara felt something sink in her chest.
It wasn't fear.
It was something worse.
The feeling of looking at a problem too large to solve with an order.
She approached the child.
She didn't touch him.
She simply observed his breathing.
"What is his name?"
"Ethan."
"And you?"
"Marta."
Elara nodded.
"Marta, do you have other children?"
The woman looked toward the other room.
"Two."
"Where are they?"
"With my sister."
"Are they sick too?"
"No."
A small pause.
"Not yet."
Elara closed her eyes for a moment.
Not yet.
It was a horrible phrase.
Because it implied that everyone was waiting.
---
When they left, Elara remained silent.
The official walked beside her.
"Anything you'd like to add to the report?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"The numbers are wrong."
The man looked at her in surprise.
"Wrong?"
"Yes."
"But the records..."
"I'm not talking about the records."
Elara pointed toward the house.
"There we have a sick child."
She pointed toward another house.
"A mother who stopped working to take care of him."
Then she pointed toward a shop.
"A merchant who will probably have to close because his wife is sick."
Finally, she pointed toward the street.
"And ten people who are afraid to get too close."
She looked at the official.
"That doesn't appear as a 'confirmed case.'"
The man remained silent.
Elara continued walking.
"The plague isn't only affecting those who become sick."
"It is affecting everyone who has to live around them."
---
Further ahead, they found a small clinic.
It was too small.
There were people waiting outside.
Some were sitting.
Others remained standing.
A man was holding a woman.
A little girl was crying.
An old man was arguing with a doctor.
"My son has been waiting for two days!"
"There are people ahead of him!"
"My son is dying!"
The doctor closed his eyes.
"I know."
"Then treat him!"
"I'm trying!"
Elara stopped.
No one seemed to have noticed who she was.
And, for the first time since she had arrived, that seemed convenient to her.
She wanted to see.
Not to be received.
She didn't want someone cleaning a street five minutes before her arrival.
She didn't want speeches prepared for her.
She wanted to see what happened when no one was trying to impress a member of the government.
And what she was seeing was horrible.
A woman sitting against a wall.
A child sleeping on her legs.
A man with an improvised bandage around his arm.
A family sharing a bottle of water.
An old man coughing behind a cloth.
Elara looked at the doctor.
"How many people can you attend to per day?"
The man recognized her then.
His expression immediately changed.
"My lady."
"No."
Elara raised a hand.
"Answer me."
The doctor swallowed.
"Fifty."
"How many people need medical attention?"
The doctor looked around.
"More than two hundred."
Elara said nothing.
The doctor continued:
"And tomorrow there will be more."
---
The visit continued for hours.
And the more Elara walked, the more she understood something that the reports had never managed to show her.
The plague wasn't only destroying bodies.
It was destroying routines.
A mother who stopped working.
A father who spent his savings on medicine.
A merchant who closed his business.
A farmer who couldn't go out into the fields.
A teacher who could no longer teach.
A mason who couldn't build a wall.
A soldier who abandoned his post because his family was sick.
Every sick person dragged other people down with them.
And those people dragged others with them.
It was a chain.
And it was beginning to grow.
---
As evening fell, Elara stopped in front of a small plaza.
Several workers had gathered there.
One of them recognized her.
"Is it true?"
Elara looked at him.
"What?"
"That the government is looking for a solution."
Elara remained silent.
"Yes."
The man let out a bitter laugh.
"Then tell me when it will arrive."
Elara didn't answer.
"Because we've been hearing for days that you're looking for a solution."
Another man spoke.
"They say nobles don't get sick."
Silence.
Elara felt the atmosphere change.
"Who said that?"
"Everyone."
A woman spoke from behind them.
"No one from the upper districts has died."
Elara didn't answer immediately.
She couldn't deny it.
Because it was true.
The disease was affecting the commoners.
Not the nobles.
Not the Imperial Blood.
And that had begun to feed something much more dangerous than fear.
Resentment.
"And what will you do when you find out why?" someone asked.
Elara raised her eyes.
"We don't know."
"Then you don't know how to stop it either?"
"No."
Her honesty caused murmurs.
The official accompanying her became nervous.
"My lady..."
Elara raised a hand.
"Let them speak."
A woman stepped forward.
She was young.
Too young to have that expression.
"My brother died yesterday."
Elara looked at her.
"I'm sorry."
"I don't need you to be sorry."
The sentence was direct.
Some of the people present fell silent.
"I need you to do something."
Elara wasn't offended.
She had no right to be.
"We will."
The woman shook her head.
"That's what everyone says."
Elara watched her.
And for the first time during the entire visit, she had no political answer.
She had no decree.
No budget.
No number.
No solution.
She only had a promise.
"Then I'll make sure that the next time I come here, I can tell you something different."
The woman looked at her.
"What?"
Elara held her gaze.
"That we're making progress."
It wasn't a promise of a cure.
It wasn't a lie.
But it was all she could offer.
---
When she finally returned to the carriage, it was already dark.
The official closed the door behind her.
Elara remained seated.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she looked out the window.
The streets were still crowded.
But now she saw them differently.
Every person was a number that still hadn't appeared in any report.
Every house could become a new outbreak.
Every sick worker could become a family without income.
And every death could become five more.
The official climbed into the carriage.
"Would you like to return to the palace?"
Elara took a few seconds.
"Yes."
"Will you prepare the report tonight?"
Elara looked at the documents she was carrying.
She opened them.
Then closed them.
"No."
The official looked surprised.
"No?"
"First, I'm going to destroy these reports."
"What?"
Elara looked at him.
"Not literally."
"Oh."
"Although I'm tempted."
The official didn't know whether to laugh.
He decided it was better not to.
Elara looked out the window again.
"I want them rewritten."
"With what information?"
She thought of Marta.
Of Ethan.
Of the doctor.
Of the woman who had lost her brother.
"With reality."
The carriage began to move.
And as the capital disappeared behind them, Elara understood something she had been unwilling to admit.
The plague was no longer a medical problem.
It was no longer only a health crisis.
It was economic.
It was social.
It was political.
And if it continued to grow...
eventually, it would become an imperial crisis.
Somewhere in the palace, the seven members of the Council were probably still discussing what to do.
Elara already knew what she was going to tell them.
But before she could arrive...
the carriage passed by a small house.
There was a family gathered by the window.
They were all healthy.
For now.
Elara looked away.
Because for the first time, she understood that the most terrifying word in that entire disease wasn't death.
It was:
not yet.