She held in her hands a clear glass vial, scientific in its design. Within the stoppered flask could be seen a residue- the coloration a muddy greenish-brown, Silva shook the vial gently to dislodge it, but the guck was caked to the inner layers.

Disoriented, the group exchanged glances, then turned to Viktor in unison.

"Don't bother with the letter," he said, waving it off. "It was a written-up description of the vial's contents, but I can explain it myself."

"Is this... thing an issue?" Silva asked, collecting herself. "What's with all the urgency?"

Viktor took a deep breath before responding, rubbing his bald head absently.

"This particular problem is, indeed, a bit more urgent than the latest tax or tariff. How much do you know about spirit physiology?"

Thrown by the sudden subject change, Basil and Hannah shrugged, but Silva took the bait, misinterpreting the question.

"I know enough to take care of Fela," she said pointedly. "There's a reason I let her stay with me, after all."

Viktor nodded, trying to soothe her. "No, no- what I mean is... well, you built your workshop above a potencia well, correct? You need it to power all manner of your machinations." He paused before nailing his final pont: "but it's also for Fela, isn't it?"

Now, Basil and Hannah nodded along instead. They knew this much. Spirits ate and drank, same as humans, sure. But there was another layer of nourishment they needed- the same ethereal stuff that powered their strider: Potencia was just a fuel source for humans. But for spirits, it was as essential as the air that filled their lungs.

Viktor continued on, but his voice went hard, "something happened recently, unlike anything I've ever seen before. There's a natural potencia spring a few streets over." He waved his hand vaguely. "Nothing unique about it. Just one vein in the Spirit Town network.' He indicated that he wanted to handle the flask, taking it from Silva.

"But yesterday, when the collection made their rounds to draw from the well, there was nothing to collect." He paused here. "The entire spring was dry as bone, except for a horrible poison...." He trailed off with a shudder

"That's definitely odd," Silva mused, at odds with Viktor's clear distress. "But can't you just use a different source? Or dig a well instead?" She shrugged.

"I mean, shoot, I forgot how long it took me to find my own well. Nearly a year of digging. But still, you said it yourself. It's just one of many."

    Viktor stared, shocked at the nonchalance. "You've noticed how our mail couriers can barely get past the outposts? That the merchants who once traveled across the mountains to get here have since been absent? There's a contamination, Silva, and my gut feeling's telling me that is isn't just one." He gathered himself, calming somewhat.

"The truth is, I know just as little when it comes to news outside Valle as you do right now. With no travelers and little mail, though, I'm convinced this is not an isolated episode. You see the connection, don't you? If there's a potencia drought, then the striders stop working too."

Silva blinked. She was rattled by Viktor, unused to the distraught he was showing. She paused, choosing her words carefully.

    "From my perspective, Viktor, we have a potenicia spring on our hands with some sort of contamination. But it seems a little paranoid to panic when that's the only example you've seen. You're using hints and suggestions to assume there's some sort of... drought."

    She nodded to herself in satisfaction, but a cool finger of realization prickled the back of her neck when Viktor shifted, looked away.

"Unless, of course," Silva said slowly, "there's something you're not telling me."

    A beat. Then two.

    "Lord Valle contacted me. He asked me to look into the quality of the potencia produced in Valle- he was the one who sent the sample you're holding in your hands right now. But that's all I left out."

"That's all?"

Viktor nodded. "No other details, no in-person interaction from the estate to explain things further. That was it. I'd decided to send my own messenger, a spirit fast enough to travel there in mere hours. The problem arose when he didn't return. It's been almost two days now with no response, and that's when I turned to you." Viktor looked drawn. "I'm afraid I don't know what the Lord is doing, or what happened to my messenger, but I needed information. I thought to call on you, considering your more... scientific experience with potencia." Here he grimaced. "At least, as a source of fuel."
     Silva shrugged in nonchalance, but the missing messenger had raised alarm bells in her head. "I've never heard of something like this before. Potencia being contaminated? It seems far-fetched-"

    There was a shout, interrupting her. Viktor's aide was the first to react- he was already moving out onto the deck. Following closely behind him was Victor, then soon Fela joined them. They stared, first in confusion, then with worry, as they looked over and found the source of the shout- another one of Viktor's aides, a woman who was pointing at the pond, her finger shaking.

They soon realized something was terribly wrong with the water below their feet. There was a muted patch on the surface, close to the center, that lacked the luster that they'd gotten used to. Almost like a stain, the darkness spread, overtaking the pont. Fela peered at it, trying to pierce the opaque coloration, but the clarity of the liquid was gone. In a matter of minutes, the entire pond was a deep, muddy brown- dark enough to cast their reflections in detail.

Wherever the roiling black-brown sludge came in contact with a plant, there was a distinct hiss as it burned away the delicate cellulose. Reeds collapsed, crumbling in each other. Lilies curdled, brittle and folding.

Viktor's aide, the man. bent down and reached out to touch the surface of the pond. Viktor, who was engrossed in the death of his garden, didn't notice until the man was already out above the liquid.

"No!" He rushed forward to stop him, but the man dipped his hand in.

The resulting screams were horrid.

The aid jerked his arm away backpedaling almost immediately, hollering like he'd been stabbed. It had only been a few moments, but his hand, dark and glistening wet, was quickly forming sores. The skin was turning a furious red, the mottled skin cracked and peeling.

Silva rushed over, pulling a handkerchief out of one of her many pockets. She knelt by the man, attempting to wrap it, but every time she tried to touch the horribly puckered flesh, he turned away and whimpered, throwing her off.

Exasperated, she suddenly gripped his arm with her other hand, and, ignoring his shrieking curses, tightly bound the wound. The moment Silva let go, the aide ran into the house, almost sobbing, his bad hand cradled to his chest. Silva stood to follow him in, but Viktor held her back.

    "You should watch this through," he said simply. And so they did, standing together in silence as the beautiful pond that once surrounded Viktor's home became a strange and awful field of crumbling, dark mass.