Arthur waited for the right moment.
He couldn’t ask anyone in the family.
He couldn’t even seem too interested.
So, in the early afternoon, he invented a simple excuse: he had to deliver a small order of nails to a customer on the other side of the city and, while he was at it, he would take a walk.
Brandt grunted an assent without lifting his eyes from the forge.
Tessa looked at him a little too long, but said nothing.
As soon as he was out of the shop, Arthur slowed his pace and tried to think clearly.
Where could he find information about an ancient goddess and a curse without drawing attention?
The great temple in the center of Valenford was too crowded and too official.
There they would ask questions.
He needed something more discreet.
He remembered a place he had heard about a few times: a small bookstore-antiquarian shop near the old quarter, run by an elderly man who collected forgotten texts and legends.
It wasn’t a famous place.
Perfect.
It took him almost half an hour to get there.
The shop was narrow, dark, and full of crooked shelves.
The air smelled of old paper and dust.
Behind the counter was a thin man with a white beard and tired eyes.
Arthur entered trying to look like just a curious boy.
“Good afternoon,” he said quietly.
“I’m looking for… information on old deities.
Things that aren’t too well known.”
The man raised his gaze and studied him for a moment.
“What kind of deities?”
Arthur hesitated.
He had to be careful.
“One linked… to change.
To the cycle.
Something that has to do with the transformation of the body.”
The old man remained silent for a few seconds, then slowly stood up and went toward a shelf at the back.
He returned with a thin, worn volume with a dark cover.
“Lysara,” he murmured.
“Few still remember her.
Goddess of the Mutable Cycle.
She was never much loved by the official temples.
Too unstable, they say.
Too tied to things people prefer not to name.”
Arthur felt his heart speed up.
“What exactly did she do?”
The man opened the book to a yellowed page.
“It was said that she could change the form of things.
And of people.
There are those who tell that her blood, even diluted after generations, could still awaken in certain individuals.
When it happened… the body began to mutate.
Sometimes toward the feminine, sometimes toward something else.
It depended on the ‘cycle’ the goddess had chosen for that person.”
Arthur swallowed.
“And could it be stopped?”
The old man slowly shook his head.
“In the texts almost nothing is written about how to interrupt it.
Only that once it began, the transformation followed its course.
And that the more the person… reacted emotionally or physically, the faster the blood activated.”
He closed the book.
“Why are you interested?
Did you find some old artifact?”
Arthur shook his head too quickly.
“No.
Just curiosity.
A customer mentioned the name and I wanted to know what it was about.”
The man did not seem entirely convinced, but he did not insist.
Arthur thanked him, left a few coins for the trouble, and left the shop with slightly weak legs.
He walked without a precise direction for several minutes.
The words buzzed in his head.
Once it began, the transformation followed its course.
The more one reacted emotionally or physically, the more it accelerated.
In the end he stopped in a small side square, little frequented at that hour.
He sat on a stone bench near an old tree and stared into space.
He opened the Status almost without realizing it.
text
[Curse: Gender Transformation – Blood of Lysara] Phase: 1/4 Progress: 9%]
It had risen by another two points.
Just from the stress and the fear.
Arthur ran a hand over his face.
The skin was smooth.
Too smooth.
And the sweet scent, light but now constant, seemed more present than before.
He closed his eyes and still smelled it.
Like a reminder he could not ignore.
The part of him that was twenty-two tried to stay rational.
You’ve discovered something.
It’s not enough, but it’s a start.
Don’t do anything stupid.
Don’t draw attention.
The part that was Arthur, the shy one used to staying silent, felt only the weight of a secret that was becoming harder to carry every day.
How much time did he have left before someone noticed for real?
How much time before Phase 1 ended and the changes became impossible to hide?
He remained seated there, hands clenched on his knees, lost in those thoughts.
He did not notice her until she came close.
“Arthur.”
The voice was calm, almost neutral.
He raised his gaze.
Talia Greaves was standing a few steps from him.
Dark brown hair carefully gathered, grey eyes that observed him without haste, composed expression as always.
She wore a simple but well-made dress, in the dark tones she usually preferred.
He had known her for years.
Her family did business with the forge.
They had exchanged greetings and a few words, never much more.
And yet, in that moment, her presence suddenly seemed heavier than usual.
Talia looked at him in silence for a second, as if she were evaluating something.
Then she spoke again, with the same quiet and hard-to-interpret tone:
“You’ve gotten lost in your thoughts.”