Zeven's footsteps felt incredibly heavy as he climbed the fragile wooden stairs toward the upper section of that isolated old building. The stillness of the night immediately welcomed them as they stepped into a shabby loft room belonging to a mysterious girl, a place filled with herbal medicine bottles and the scent of wet earth. Dim light from an old oil lamp in the corner of the room cast faint shadows upon the wooden walls, which were decaying with age and damp air. Zeven cast off his soaking wet protective cloak, revealing burns from the pure liquid silver poison that had begun to ravage the outer layer of skin around his upper arm. The silvery fluid, mingled with thick black blood, was still dripping slowly, causing an excruciating sting that seared through his entire nervous system.
