Nazli Israa

The door shut, and the din outside became muffled. Moving forward, Nazli Israa scarcely noticed the shelves of books she passed. None held the answer she sought. Even now, as the fatigue that had become her constant companion plead for a rest, her mind continued its repetitive cycle of thought.

The first reported case was in Marcleth.

Despite constant mutations, the disease has not spread to any other race.

Yet somehow, it managed to strike every settlement, regardless of the quarantine.

Pausing, Nazli Israa shook her aching head. After two years of studying the plague that had decimated her race, she was still no closer to an answer, let alone a cure.

Stepping forward, she stumbled as flickers of light filled her vision.

Clawed hands caught her, and cool arms drew her in.

“Hush,” smoky breath tickled her ear as the transfigured dragon rested his head on her shoulder. “You need to rest, love.”

“The council is expected my report in an hour.” Nazli Israa replied quietly, but made no move to leave her husband's embrace.

“No change?”

“None,” closing her eyes, Nazli Israa let out a sigh. “They're going to halt my research. They don't think understanding the origins of the plague is important anymore.”
They moved to the near by couch, and Nazli Israa sat with a long sigh. Maintaining a grip on her hand, her husband crouched before her. “Is it?” He asked, dark eyes meeting hers. “Whoever set this in motion is long gone. If it was someone.”

Nazli Israa shook her head. “It must be. This is too precise to be a quirk of nature. And if I can find the source, then we can change this.” Pressing her lips together, Nazli Israa swallowed back the words she couldn't speak.

If we change this, then Aliyah can come home.