[Null POV] Year 5, Day 71

  The approach was easy.

  Null walked down the mountain path in her black dress—the one she'd arrived in five years ago. Simple. Elegant. Expensive-looking without being ostentatious. Perfect for a wealthy traveler.

  The Twins followed in maid forms. Matching uniforms. Professional posture. Dutiful servants attending their mistress.

  Spy was present but invisible. Observing. Documenting. Recording the festival's final day.

  The valley looked even more beautiful in morning light. Pink trees everywhere, their blossoms catching the sun. The scent of cooking already rising from the central area. Festival preparations reaching completion.

  People moved between buildings. Setting up final touches. Arranging displays. Radiating happiness and anticipation through emotions Null could read clearly.

  [They're excited. This matters to them. Their most sacred day.]

  A checkpoint appeared at the valley entrance. Simple. Informal. Just a friendly local asking about their business.

  "Welcome, travelers!" The man was human. Middle-aged. Cheerful. "Here for the Life Festival?"

  "Yes," Null said. Her language had improved dramatically over five years. Still carried that strange accent, but functional. Clear. "Heard about celebration. Interested in experiencing it. And purchasing Sweetwater drink."

  "Wonderful! Always happy to welcome guests." He gestured at the valley. "Gold donation for festival participation, and we can arrange drink purchases. How much were you thinking?"

  "Several barrels," Null said. "For transport back home. Heard quality is exceptional."

  The man's expression brightened. "Absolutely! I'll connect you with the merchants. How does... let's say fifty gold sound? For entry, participation, and three barrels?"

  Null pulled gold from her item box. Not fifty. Two hundred. Handed it over casually.

  The man stared. "This is... this is too much. I can't—"

  "Keep it," Null said simply. "For hospitality. For sharing your celebration."

  "That's incredibly generous!" He looked genuinely moved. Grateful. "Thank you. Truly. Please, enjoy everything. You're honored guests."

  They passed through. The man still holding the gold like he couldn't quite believe it.

  Behind them, through her life sense, Null detected his thoughts. Surface-level. Unguarded.

  [Fools. Rich fools. Overpaid by four times normal. But I'm not complaining. Festival fund just got very healthy.]

  She found this amusing. [He thinks we're stupid. That's fine. Makes everything easier.]

  The valley opened before them. Beautiful. Alive. Preparations everywhere.

  And then—movement at the far end. Heavy. Mechanical. Wrong.

  Iron wagons rolled down the opposite mountain path. Multiple. Perhaps six total. Each pulled by draft animals. Each carrying cargo that made Null's analytical mind categorize immediately.

  [Slave transport. Professional operation. Large scale.]

  The wagons were cages. Iron bars. No privacy. No dignity. Just containment.

  People—dozens—packed inside each wagon. Multiple races. All conditions. Sitting. Standing. Lying. Pressed together like cargo.

  Because that's what they were. Cargo.

  The wagons rolled into the valley. Heading toward the merchant area being set up. The slaves visible clearly now in morning light.

  [Bad state. Very bad. Malnourished. Injured. Exhausted.]

  But worse than their physical condition: their emotions. Their complete and absolute lack of hope. Empty eyes. Dead expressions. People who'd stopped being people.

  Just... existing. Breathing. Waiting for whatever came next without caring.

  The Twins watched. Both bodies. Curious. Observing how this world worked.

  "Elixir-boosted stock!" One of the slave traders was already shouting. Setting up. Professional pitch. "Extended working life! Higher productivity! Guaranteed quality!"

  Locals approached. Interested. Examining the merchandise.

  "Elixir-boosted?" Null repeated quietly. To Spy. To herself.

  ?Forced life extension,? Spy sent. His voice carried disgust. Rare emotion from him. ?Low-quality elixirs administered regularly. Extends functional working life. Prevents them from dying too quickly from overwork.?

  "But they consider elixirs evil."

  ?For themselves,? Spy clarified. ?For slaves? Just practical efficiency. Tools that last longer are better tools.?

  They moved deeper into the festival grounds. Toward the celebration preparations.

  A dwarf woman approached. Friendly-faced. Cheerful. Wearing festival colors.

  "New arrivals! Welcome, welcome!" She beamed at the Twins. "You two look strong! Athletic! Will you be participating in our games?"

  The Twins tilted their heads in synchronization. "Games?" they asked together.

  "Oh yes! We have competitions all day! Strength contests, agility challenges, archery, racing—everything! And there's a scoreboard!" She pointed toward a large board being set up. "Points for each event. Whoever accumulates the most across all competitions wins the grand prize at the ceremony tonight!"

  "What's the prize?" the Twins asked, genuinely curious.

  "Ah, that's the surprise! Changes every year. Always something special from our community. Last year it was a masterwork weapon. Year before, a set of enchanted tools. This year..." She smiled mysteriously. "You'll have to win to find out!"

  "That sounds fun!" The Twins bounced slightly. Excited.

  "Wonderful! Registration is over there. Anyone can participate—locals, guests, merchants. We love seeing outsiders join. Makes it more interesting!" She laughed warmly. "I'll probably try a few events myself later. Though I'm getting too old to win anything serious."

  "Thank you!" the Twins said together. Both bodies bowing politely. Good manners.

  The dwarf woman's expression brightened. Pleased. "Well-trained servants! Your mistress has done excellent work with them." She smiled at Null. Approval clear. "Enjoy the festival!"

  She waved and walked away. Heading toward the merchant area. Toward where the slave wagons had parked.

  Null watched. Tracking her movement with mild curiosity.

  The woman approached the wagons. Examined the merchandise. Professional. Experienced. Checking teeth. Muscle tone. Responsiveness. Like evaluating livestock.

  She selected three. Negotiated briefly. Paid. The transaction completed smoothly.

  Then she pulled out a knife.

  Null observed as the woman cut tongues. Methodical. Professional. All three slaves. One after another. Blood. The slaves unable to scream properly with hands clamped over their mouths. Quick. Efficient.

  "Can't have them talking too much," she explained to another buyer nearby. Casual. Friendly. Like discussing crop maintenance. "Gets annoying. This way they can still work but stay quiet."

  She walked away. Slaves stumbling behind her. Bleeding. Following because there was nothing else to do.

  Null found herself... surprised. Slightly. That nice lady who'd complimented the Twins' manners. Who'd smiled warmly. Who'd radiated friendliness.

  She'd done that like nothing. Like routine. Clearly done it many times before. No hesitation. No discomfort. Just casual brutality between friendly conversations.

  "They're very friendly," Null murmured. Soft. Barely audible. Thinking aloud more than speaking. "To us. To each other. To guests. But slaves... animals. Less than animals."

  ?Hypocrisy,? Spy sent flatly. ?Elixirs are evil corruption that destroy the soul. Unless they make slaves more productive—then they're fine. Purity matters for the sect. Not for property.?

  "Practical," Null agreed. Understanding completely. "Beliefs apply selectively. Based on utility."

  ?Those elixirs they're using. The 'boosted' product. Worst quality I've ever seen,? Spy's tone turned academic. Observational. ?I've been studying this—magical theory, alchemical composition. What they're giving those slaves isn't life extension. It's... life stretching. Pulling limited time thinner. Making it last longer but worse. Pain management removed to save cost. Organ damage accumulating but suppressed. They're not living longer. They're dying slower.?

  "Efficient," Null repeated. "From the owners' perspective."

  ?Monstrous,? Spy corrected. ?From any other perspective.?

  But Null didn't judge. Didn't feel moral outrage. Just observed. Catalogued. Understood the logic even if she didn't share the values.

  [This world does terrible things. Always has. This is just another example.]

  They moved on. Toward the central area.

  The central area was impressive. Large. Organized. Professional setup despite the rural location.

  Competition fields marked clearly. Food stations arranged in rows. Merchant stalls everywhere. And at the very center—a massive pot.

  Ceremonial. Important. Tended by an old woman who looked exactly like every "witch" from children's stories. Hunched. Weathered. Wearing robes covered in strange symbols. Stirring the pot with a staff taller than she was.

  The pot itself was huge. About two meters across. Filled with dark pink liquid that steamed gently. The scent was... interesting. Herbal. Medicinal. Complex.

  [The festival drug. Their sacred substance.]

  The old woman looked up as they approached. Eyes sharp despite her apparent age. Assessing them. Reading them somehow.

  "Travelers," she said. Voice raspy but strong. "Welcome to our Life Festival. I am the Keeper. I prepare the sacred drink."

  "It's beautiful," Null said. Honest observation. The setup was impressive. The pot ornate. The ceremony clear.

  "Thank you." The Keeper smiled. Genuine warmth. "It is my honor. My family has kept this tradition for generations. We understand the pink trees. Their gift. Their purpose."

  She gestured at the pot. "This will be distributed tonight. During the ceremony. All who partake will be renewed. The strong made stronger. The weak..." She paused. "The weak return to the cycle. As it should be."

  "We heard," Null said carefully. "About your beliefs. About rejecting elixirs."

  "Corruption," the Keeper said immediately. Absolute certainty. "Elixirs are poison. They trap the soul. Prevent rebirth. Our way is natural. Pure. Connected to the world itself."

  She leaned closer. Conspiratorial. Warning. "Be careful around the sacred drink. If you've tasted elixirs—ever—don't drink this. It will kill you. Painfully. Your body becomes... incompatible. The purity rejects the corruption."

  "We understand," Null said. "Thank you for the warning."

  "Good." The Keeper returned to stirring. Content. Proud of her work.

  Null studied the pot. The liquid. The setup.

  [Perfect opportunity. Right here. Center of the village. Completely exposed.]

  She pulled two bottles from her item box. Smoothly. Casually. Hidden by her body positioning. Elixirs from 22's supplies. Powerful ones. Concentrated life extension worth fortunes each.

  The ability gap was absurd. The Keeper was strong—for a normal person. Competent mage probably. Local expert.

  Null was something else entirely. Five years of evolution. Combat against peers. Power that made stealth trivial against someone this weak.

  The bottles emptied into the pot. Silent. Invisible. Perfect execution.

  The dark pink liquid barely changed color. Maybe slightly darker? But the pink tones masked everything. Made the addition completely invisible.

  [Done. That simple. She's standing right here and didn't notice. Can't notice. The gap is too extreme.]

  Null returned the empty bottles to her item box. Stepped back. Professional. Natural.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "Thank you for explaining," she said to the Keeper. Polite. Respectful.

  "Of course! Enjoy the festival, travelers. Experience our celebration. See what life looks like when lived purely." The old woman beamed. Happy to share. Proud of her culture.

  They walked away.

  Behind them, the Keeper continued stirring. Humming softly. Preparing her community's sacred substance.

  Now laced with exactly what they considered ultimate evil.

  The Twins broadcast amusement through their emotional channel. Delight. They found it super funny—the lady explaining about their pure ways, talking about rejecting corruption, and now she's preparing to give everyone the poisoned drink. So silly! She doesn't even know!

  The irony was perfect.

  Spy said nothing. Just observing. Recording. Documenting the casual poisoning of an entire community by beings who saw it as practical joke and efficiency combined.

  The day was perfect.

  Genuinely, absolutely perfect.

  Null had expected... she wasn't sure what. But not this. Not actual enjoyment. Not real fun.

  But it was.

  The festival was alive. Vibrant. Welcoming. Every corner offered something new. Something interesting. Something worth experiencing.

  Food everywhere. Dozens of stations. Every station offering samples freely. "Try this! Taste that! Welcome, honored guests!"

  Null tried everything. Systematically. Methodically. Recording each taste. Each texture. Each combination.

  [This world has good food. Better than expected when I arrived. These people know their craft.]

  The Twins tried everything too. Moving between stations. Tasting. Comparing. Broadcasting joy at discoveries.

  "Big sis! This one is sweet!"

  "And this one is spicy! So good!"

  They'd forgotten the hunt completely. Forgotten what would happen at the end of the day. Just... having fun. Playing with big sis. Experiencing new things together.

  Merchants sold goods. Displayed crafts. Demonstrated skills. All friendly. All welcoming. Conversations flowing easily.

  "Where are you from?"

  "Beyond the western sea," Null said smoothly. Vague. Untraceable. "Small trading family. Long journey to see the continent."

  "Ah! Very long journey indeed! Here, try this. Our specialty. On the house for travelers who came so far."

  Generosity everywhere. Genuine hospitality. These people were proud of their culture. Happy to share. Eager to show guests what made Sweetwater special.

  Games happened throughout the day. Competitions. Skill demonstrations. Strength contests. Agility challenges. Archery. Wrestling. Races.

  The Twins participated. Carefully. Very carefully.

  They knew how to limit themselves. How to appear skilled but not superhuman. How to compete without breaking the game. Control learned over centuries. Ealdred's training from long before Null had even arrived. Training that had shaped them completely before they'd ever met their "big sis."

  They lost sometimes. Won sometimes. Played honestly within human parameters.

  Null watched. Proud. Happy. Rare emotions but genuine.

  The Twins convinced her to try one. Just one.

  Apple-balancing contest. Stand still. Apple on head. Last person to drop it wins.

  Null stood. Perfectly still. Could stand like this for days. Weeks. Literally forever.

  After an hour, the organizer gave up. "You win. Please. You can stop now. Everyone else dropped theirs ages ago."

  The prize: a ribbon with small apple decoration. Simple. Handmade. Local craft.

  Null handed it to the Twins. Gift. They'd wanted her to play. They deserved the prize.

  They took it. Then hesitated. Confused. Which body should wear it? Both wanted it. Same consciousness. Both wrists. Only one ribbon.

  The organizer noticed. Smiled. "Wait a moment."

  He called out. Sharp. "You! Fetch the prize box! Now!"

  A slave ran over. Tongueless. Wound healed—old cut, not fresh. They ran off immediately. Came back quickly carrying a box. Large. Filled with ribbons. Dozens of them. Different decorations. Different colors. All handmade. Local craft prepared for festival prizes.

  The organizer took the box. "Here." He offered another ribbon to the Twins. Similar apple decoration. "Your maids are delightful. They both deserve prizes."

  Both Twins beamed. Tying ribbons around their wrists. Synchronized happiness. Pure joy over simple gifts.

  As Null moved away with the Twins, she felt it. Sudden spike of fear. Pain. Sharp emotion cutting through the festival atmosphere.

  She glanced back.

  The organizer whipping the slave. Quick strike. Casual correction. "Slow. You made the client wait."

  The slave stood there. Frozen. Silent. Unable to apologize. Unable to speak.

  Through her life sense, Null read the slave's mind. Surface thoughts. Terror mixed with hate. [Don't move. Don't react. Movement makes it worse. Stay still. Accept. Please let it end.] And underneath: [I hope you die. I hope you die horribly. I hope you suffer like you make me suffer.]

  Just... accepting. Because any reaction would bring more punishment. But the hate was there. Absolute. Pure. Impotent but real.

  [Wise to accept,] Null thought. Clinical. [And I'll remember your wish. If he survives the poisoning... I'll make his end special. Suffering like he made you suffer. Your wish granted.]

  The locals loved the Twins. "Your maids are wonderful! So skilled! Where did you find them?"

  "They found me," Null said. Truth that sounded like modesty.

  Conversations flowed. People shared stories. Explained traditions. Showed off their valley. Their pink trees. Their community.

  "We're different here," one explained. An elf—unusual in itself, seeing elves integrated so completely. "No segregation. No hierarchy beyond skill and contribution. We judge by character. By dedication to our beliefs. Not by race or birth."

  "It's beautiful," Null said. Meaning it. "I've never seen this elsewhere."

  "We're proud of it. Outsiders think we're strange. Isolated. Extreme in our beliefs. But we're happy. We're free. We live and die by our choices. No one else's."

  [They mean it. They genuinely believe this. And they've built something unique. Rare. Valuable.]

  [And it's dying. Right now. While they celebrate. While they smile and share food and welcome strangers.]

  [The poison is already working. Everyone who drinks tonight dies. Or most of them. The strong might survive. Might. But the community itself? Doomed.]

  But that thought was distant. Clinical. Not affecting her enjoyment. Just... fact. Observation. Reality.

  The day continued. Music played. Dancing happened. Demonstrations of craft. Displays of art. Everything the community valued, shared freely.

  Including their casual treatment of slaves. Public. Open. Unashamed. Whippings visible between merchant stalls. Tongue cuttings performed in broad daylight. Beatings administered while discussing festival schedules.

  Null had seen people do horrible things to slaves before. But never like this. Never so publicly. Never so casually integrated into celebration. Never while smiling and offering food samples to guests.

  [Different. Very different. Usually people hide this. Do it privately. Pretend shame. Here? Just... normal. Part of life. Nothing to hide.]

  Spy documented it all. Recording. Preserving. The final perfect day of a culture about to end.

  The sun tracked across the sky. Afternoon became evening. Shadows lengthened.

  And then—the ceremony began.

  The wood piles ignited as sun touched the horizon.

  Massive bonfires. Multiple. Arranged in pattern around the central area. The flames roared upward immediately. Professional setup. Oil-soaked. Designed for dramatic effect.

  People gathered. The entire community. Every local. Every merchant. Every guest. Hundreds.

  The Keeper stepped forward. Staff raised. Voice carrying across the assembly.

  She began chanting. Words in a language Null didn't recognize. Ancient probably. Ritual language preserved without translation.

  Others joined. Not everyone—many didn't know the words. But enough. The faithful. Those who remembered. Those who cared about traditions.

  The chant rose. Echoing. Creating atmosphere.

  Most treated it as background music. Pleasant. Traditional. Part of the festival but not central to it. Just... normal. Expected. The way things were done.

  But Spy's voice came through. Quiet. Analytical.

  ?Those bonfires. The arrangement. It's almost a magical circle. Crude. Incomplete. But the structure is there. Purpose unclear. Maybe just ceremonial. Maybe something more. Hard to say.?

  Null observed. The pattern was visible from her vantage point. Six bonfires. Arranged in hexagon. The ceremonial pot at the center. The Keeper conducting. The chant maintaining rhythm.

  [Magical purpose or just tradition? Does it matter?]

  Then—movement. Older people mostly. Scattered throughout the crowd. Collapsing.

  Some. Not many. But visible. Obvious.

  People around them reacted immediately. Caring. Professional. Lifting them. Carrying them away from the crowd. Toward buildings. Toward care.

  No panic. No shock. Just... routine. Expected. Normal.

  "It happens every year," one local explained to a concerned merchant. "The weak return to the cycle. The festival drug tests us. Those who can't continue... they're honored. Celebrated. Released peacefully."

  "They're dying," the merchant said. Uncomfortable.

  "They're returning," the local corrected. Gently. Patiently. "To be reborn. Clean. Pure. Free from the burden of a failing body. It's a gift."

  [They believe it. They're not lying. Not hiding horror behind pretty words. They genuinely think this is good. Natural. Right.]

  But Null knew differently. Her life sense read clearly. Those collapsing weren't the normally "weak" ones. They were older, yes. But stronger than they should be. Fighting harder than expected.

  [The poison. Working faster on those already vulnerable. Not peaceful release. Painful death from corrupted magic fighting their modified biology.]

  More collapsed during the ceremony. More carried away. The chanting continued. The bonfires burned. The community celebrated life while death moved among them.

  And then—the display.

  Tables rolled out. Dozens of them. Each covered with bottles. Barrels. Containers of every size. All filled with liquid in various shades of pink. Some light. Some dark. Some clear. Some cloudy.

  "Our production!" the Keeper announced. Pride clear in her voice. "Everything Sweetwater creates! The fruits of our labor! Our gift to the world!"

  Approximately fifty varieties. Each unique. Each crafted carefully. Each representing skill and tradition.

  The locals barely noticed. They'd seen this a thousand times. Annual tradition. Routine. Expected.

  But for outsiders? For guests? Impressive. Educational. Marketing.

  "Try anything!" Merchants encouraged. "Find what speaks to you! Purchase what calls! Support our community!"

  Null approached. Systematic. Methodical. Starting from one end. Working across.

  She tried each variety. Small sips. Careful assessment. Recording taste. Texture. Quality.

  Some were interesting. Some were pleasant. Some were forgettable. Standard range of craft beverage quality.

  Then—third table. Seventh bottle.

  She poured. Sipped.

  And stopped.

  [This. This taste.]

  Memory. Strong. Powerful. From before. From the life before this one. The one she couldn't quite remember but knew existed.

  [Coca-Cola. That's... that's what this is. Exactly this. The same. Perfect.]

  The taste was exact. Precise. Not similar. Not close. Identical. Like someone had taken the recipe from her old world and translated it perfectly into this one's ingredients.

  Sweet. Slightly bitter. Carbonated. Complex. That specific combination that couldn't be mistaken for anything else.

  [How? How is this possible? Did someone else arrive here? Another isekai? Did they teach the recipe? Did—]

  It didn't matter. The how was irrelevant.

  [This exists. Here. Now. In this valley. Made by these people.]

  She drank the rest. Savoring. Remembering. Feeling something she rarely felt.

  [Want. Strong want. Need this. More of this. Much more.]

  "Twins," she said. Voice controlled but urgent. "Try this."

  They approached. Both bodies. Curious. She poured for them.

  They drank. Both faces scrunched. Thinking. Then—recognition. Not the same as hers. But they recognized that Null cared about this. That it mattered.

  "It's good!" they said together. Supporting. "Big sis likes it!"

  "Very much," Null confirmed. "Very, very much."

  She turned to the merchant managing this table. A young lizardman. Friendly. Casual.

  "This variety. How much do you have?"

  "That one?" He looked surprised. "Not much. It's... honestly, it's one of our less popular varieties. Most people think it's too bitter. Too strange. We make it because the recipe is traditional. Been passed down for generations. But we usually end up throwing most of it away."

  "I want to buy it. All of it."

  He blinked. "All of it? It's not... I mean, if you like it, that's wonderful! But we have maybe seven or eight barrels total? Across all our storage? Most are old stock. Been sitting for years because no one wants it."

  "Seven or eight barrels. I'll take them all. How much?"

  "Uh..." He calculated. "Normally we'd charge maybe five gold per barrel for fresh premium varieties. But this stuff? Old stock nobody wants? Two gold per barrel seems fair. Call it fifteen or sixteen gold total?"

  Null pulled gold from her item box. Not twenty. Two hundred. Handed it over.

  The lizardman stared. "This is... I can't... that's ten times—"

  "Go get the barrels. Now. I want them immediately. Bring everything you have. Everything related to this variety. I'm buying it all."

  "Y-yes! Right away!" He ran. Calling for help. Excited. Confused. Delighted.

  Word spread quickly. The crazy rich traveler wanted to buy the unsellable stock. The stuff they usually threw away. The traditional recipe nobody liked.

  More merchants appeared. "I have two barrels! Old stuff! You want?"

  "Yes."

  "I have one! Took up storage space for three years!"

  "Yes."

  "I have three! Thought about dumping them last month!"

  "Yes."

  Gold flowed. Barrels accumulated. Locals watched in amazement.

  "She's buying the throwaway stock! Paying premium prices! Is she insane?"

  [They think I'm crazy. That's fine. I don't care. This matters more than they understand.]

  The Twins helped. Both bodies working. Moving barrels. Organizing. Storing everything in Null's item box as it arrived.

  Thirteen total. Six more than the first merchant had. Everyone who had any brought it. Emptied their storage. Took the gold. Celebrated the windfall.

  Spy manifested. Visible. Looking at the pile of barrels. At Null's expression. At the organized chaos.

  ?You're losing it over soda,? he observed. Dry. Amused. ?Finding Coca-Cola in a fantasy world and going absolutely feral over it.?

  "It's good," Null said. Defensive. "It's perfect. It's... it's from before. It reminds me."

  ?I know.? His tone softened slightly. ?I recognize it too. From your memories. From what you were. But Host... this is a lot.?

  "I need more," Null said. Matter-of-fact. "This isn't enough. Thirteen barrels might last... what? Months? A year? Then it's gone. I need sustainable supply."

  ?There's a slight problem with sustainable supply,? Spy said. Careful. Measured.

  "What?"

  ?You poisoned everyone who knows how to make it.?

  Null froze. The realization hitting.

  [Oh.]

  [Oh no.]

  She looked at the valley. The celebration. The people. The community.

  [Everyone who drank the festival drug is dying. Or might die. The old already are. The young and strong might survive. Might. But the makers—the skilled ones, the experienced crafters—they're adults. They drank. They're affected.]

  [If they die, the recipe dies. The technique dies. The sustainable supply... dies.]

  [I have thirteen barrels. Finite. Limited. Then never again.]

  [Unless...]

  Through the network: ?Spy. How many survive? What's your estimate??

  ?Unknown. The poison's interaction with their modified biology is complex. Age matters. Health matters. Baseline strength matters. My guess?? He paused. ?Maybe thirty to forty percent of adults survive. Maybe. Children who didn't drink are safe. But adults? Most are doomed.?

  ?Thirty to forty percent.? Null processed this through the bond. ?That's... that might include makers. Crafters. People with knowledge.?

  ?Might,? Spy agreed. ?Or might not. You don't know who knows what. Who has the skills. The recipes. The tree knowledge. All of it might die tonight. Or some might survive. You're gambling.?

  Null looked at the Keeper. The old witch lady. Still conducting ceremony. Still chanting. Still alive.

  [Did she not drink? I saw her warnings. Saw her tell guests not to drink if they'd tasted elixirs. Did she take her own advice? Does she know something?]

  Through her life sense, Null read the Keeper carefully. Life force. Health. Stability.

  [Strong. Stable. Unaffected. She didn't drink. Or she's naturally resistant. Or something else.]

  ?The Keeper,? Null sent. ?She knows. She prepares it. She understands the trees. The process. The purpose.?

  ?So kidnap her?? Spy suggested. Clinical. ?Force the knowledge. Seed her for loyalty. Make her produce indefinitely.?

  ?That's... one option,? Null replied.

  ?Or kill everyone else and spare the makers. Somehow identify them first. Filter the survivors.? Spy continued.

  ?Complicated,? Null said.

  ?Or just accept the thirteen barrels and move on. Finite supply. Enjoy it while it lasts. Accept that recreating Coca-Cola isn't worth saving a community.? Spy paused. ?Or...?

  ?Or??

  ?Just leave. Don't feed here. Don't hunt here. Take the barrels and go. Let the poison work naturally. Hope the ones who matter survive. The makers. The knowledge keepers. Then come back later. See who's left. Recruit survivors if possible.? Spy offered the final option.

  Null was quiet. Processing. Calculating. Running scenarios.

  [I could spare everyone. Just leave. Take the barrels. Let them discover the poisoning. Let them handle it. Not my problem.]

  [But we came here to feed. To hunt. The plan was set. And the fear—when they realize what they drank—will be incredible. Better feeding. Higher quality.]

  [But the coca...]

  [I could try to force information. Interrogate. Extract recipes. Take the Keeper. Seed her. Make her produce elsewhere.]

  [But trees. She mentioned tree knowledge. Family expertise. You can't just replicate that instantly. Even with seed loyalty. Even with forced cooperation.]

  [I could...]

  The options spiraled. Each had problems. Each had costs. Each had uncertainties.

  For the first time in five years of systematic hunting, Null hesitated.

  Not from moral concern. Not from empathy. Not from guilt.

  From pure practical crisis. She'd found something valuable. Something she wanted. Something that mattered to her specifically.

  And her own plan threatened it.

  Around her, the festival continued. The ceremony proceeded. More people collapsed. More were carried away.

  The community celebrated life while death spread through them.

  And Null stood frozen. Crisis mode. Unable to decide.

  Thirteen barrels. Finite. Limited. Never enough.

  Or preserve production. Somehow. Maybe. With uncertain methods and unreliable outcomes.

  The Twins watched her. Confused. Big sis was upset. Worried. This wasn't normal. This didn't happen.

  Spy observed. Amused despite everything. ?Never thought I'd see this. The monster who destroyed a cardinal's domain without hesitation. Paralyzed by beverage logistics.?

  "It's important," Null said quietly. Defensive. Genuine.

  ?I know,? Spy replied. Less mockery now. More understanding. ?It connects you to before. To what you were. That's valuable. Rare. Worth protecting.?

  "So what do I do?"

  ?That,? Spy said, ?is entirely up to you.?

  The bonfires burned. The ceremony continued. The community celebrated their last perfect day.

  And Null stood in the middle of it all. Thirteen barrels secured. Unknown survivors threatened. Impossible decisions looming.

  The massacre plan unchanged. Efficient. Optimal. Beneficial.

  The coca supply at risk. Finite. Irreplaceable. Precious.

  Both wants conflicting. Both important. Both demanding resolution.

  No answer. No clear path. No obvious solution.

  Just crisis. Real crisis. The kind that mattered.

  The kind that made her hesitate for the first time in five years.

  The sun set completely. Night fell. The ceremony reached its conclusion.

  And Null still didn't know what to do.