Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jarilo-VI. Belobog. The Underworld of the white city amidst the snowy expanses. Despite the planet recently overcoming a major crisis, it was still a rather inhospitable place even for the natives. Even more so in the eyes of foreigners. The outsider who was quietly slipping through the alleys knew that very well.

He was tall, but he walked hunched over. His figure was hidden under a heavy black coat, his face concealed behind thick dark glasses. He could have passed for an old man, if it weren't for the long ebony hair escaping from under the warm woolen hat. In a different place, he would have stood out. However, concealing one's appearance wasn't uncommon in the Underworld. That was true before and during the crisis, and not enough time had passed for this to change. The few passersby didn't pay him any mind. Even if they did, they refrained from trying to engage with him in any way. A wise decision, all in all: that would have put them in a very unpleasant situation, to say the least.

Arriving at a secluded area, the man paused for a second. He cast a quick glance around before slipping into the most dilapidated of the alleys. It was a desolate corner even for the Underworld - a few abandoned buildings and a couple of rusty trash cans - but discreet enough for him. The perfect place to make himself scarce.

No longer concerned about controlling the sound of his breath, he leaned back against the wall of the crumbling building. He slid down to sit on the ground, hidden in the shadow of the trash cans.
It wasn't a comfortable position: the alley was too narrow for him to stretch his legs, and the ground was full of annoying wood shavings and pebbles. But he wasn't in a position to be picky. This was his best available option.

With a hiss of pain, he unbuttoned the top of his coat, revealing a bleeding injury right in the center of his chest. It wasn't a superficial wound. It was deep enough that it almost passed through him from side to side, and large enough to reveal bone fragments. Whatever had impaled him had pierced his chest, severely damaging his insides. By looking at it, it was clear that he should have died.

Yet, he didn't.

Compared to its severity, the wound didn't bleed much: there was a big red stain on his clothes, and that was it. But it wasn't all: if someone had examined it closely, they would have noticed that it was healing. With slow, painful, and relentless efficiency, the edges of the gash were drawing together, the bones were fusing, and the chest muscles were reassembling. In fact, most of the work was already done: when it had been inflicted, the hole went through his body from side to side. And now, it was only a matter of time - very little time - before it healed completely. Soon, there would be nothing left but a scar, no different from the many that dotted his body.

Each one a reminder of a battle. Each one a reminder of a missed death, of an end that refused to come.

In its path to reunite with the rest of his ribcage, the edge of a broken rib punctured a muscle, eliciting another painful hiss.

His regenerative ability was immense, but it didn't make him immune to suffering. Every time he was mortally wounded, he felt it all: the pain, the life force draining, the spasms of his body clinging to life. He reached out to the edge of nothingness, so close that he believed he could grasp it. Yet, it always slipped away: just a moment before dying, his body began to heal. Faster than any human being, yet slowly enough not to spare him the agony.

It was his curse. Something to which, despite all the time that had passed, he could never get used to.

This time, it had not been any different. He arrived on Jarilo-VI with Kafka, his colleague in the Stellaron Hunters. She was assigned a mission and decided to drag him along, as she often did. He had no idea why, but it didn't really matter. If their leader, Elio, thought it was necessary, he had no reason to object. He swore to obey him, after all.

But, once they arrived, Kafka decided to split up: she had to look for a contact in the Underworld, while he was supposed to patrol the perimeter of Belobog. Make sure nothing major was happening around there, she said. Again, she didn't explain why.

It was during this 'patrol' that he had been assaulted by a large group of monsters from the Fragmentum. And when he thought 'large', he meant it. He believed they were two different groups that happened to be there at the same time when he arrived. And, of course, they decided that attacking the human was a good idea. As Silver Wolf - one of his other colleague - would have put it, they 'aggroed' on him from the start.

They were enemies well within his reach. And that was the whole problem.

He was an excellent swordsman, and his form was perfect. He had plenty of time to perfect himself in the long years past. On the other hand, being unable to die had made his fighting style... "bold," if one wanted to put it gently. "Reckless" would be more appropriate. He was always focused on offense. He didn't care about getting hit. Being hurt wouldn't stop him. And without Kafka around, his Mara had the bad habit of flaring up, making him even more reckless.

To make it short, the enemies were many, he was distracted and, in the end, one of them managed to impale him from behind.

It didn't end well. For them, mostly.

Since the wound started healing immediately, he continued to fight until they were all dead. As long as he remained focused on the fight, he didn't even feel the pain. Later, though, he had to face the consequences. At that point, he had no choice but to return to the Underworld to reunite with Kafka. Before that, though, he had to shape up a little. He couldn't stroll around a town full of people with a huge, painful, bleeding gaping hole in his chest, could he? It would be inconvenient.

The broken rib resettled itself, returning to its original position with a jolt that made his eyes roll back in their sockets. He bit his lip to hold back a groan, and his body slumped against the wall, his breath short and raspy.

...That was the worst part: the moments before complete healing, when sensitive tissues and bones returned to their places. Luckily, it was also the shortest. After that, it would all be over. At least until his next "death."

He closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing and letting the cold air soothe the pain of the wound. In the dim and silent alley, he could almost pretend to be at peace. He could stop thinking, if only for a few minutes. Perhaps, after being impaled and "killed" once again, he was a bit tired. After all, there was nothing he could do other than wait for news from Kafka.

He was completely relaxed, enjoying the unusual quiet. It was cold, and the pain was terrible, but he didn't mind. It would have been nice to die there, in the sweet sleep of hypothermia, forgotten by everyone.

One less broken blade. One less murderer. One less abomination. Finally.

He was indulging in that macabre fantasy when a sound alerted him.

Footsteps. Energetic and full of life, coming from the other side of the alley. Getting closer.

Instinctively, the man folded his long legs, retreating into the shadow of the trash cans, and hastily covered the wound with the flaps of his coat. He had no idea who the stranger was, but they were coming in his direction. If he stayed still, there was a good chance they wouldn't notice him. If that failed, they would mistake him for a homeless person or a drunk and ignore him. He wasn't wanted yet on Jarilo-VI. The planet had been isolated for so long: he doubted the Interastral Peace Corporation had already forwarded their bounty information to the local government. People wouldn't recognize his face, so there was no reason to harm them. Not without a good reason, at least.

He remained in that position, peering towards the entrance of the alley until the unknown figure became visible.

Based on the energy in their step, he had imagined it was a person in their prime. He wasn't wrong: it was a young woman. She was taller than average, with delicate, youthful features. Her healthy appearance stood in stark contrast to the gloomy atmosphere of the Underworld. Her attire was also different from the locals': no furs to fend off the cold, no rough and heavy fabrics. Just a black and gold jacket and a mini skirt. At her waist, she carried a short metal bat – presumably for self-defense. However, her most striking feature was her long, ash-gray hair, of a shade he had never seen before.

Or he believed he hadn't.

There was a nagging feeling at the back of his head, like a memory that had started to stir from a long slumber, but he couldn't quite point it out. She looked familiar, but he had no idea how he knew her. If he knew her at all, that is. Maybe he knew someone who looked like her?

Hard to tell. His memory was hazy.

Out of curiosity and necessity, he observed her as she stopped a few steps away from him.

"Ah! There you are!" she exclaimed, a dramatic touch in her otherwise calm voice.

For a moment, he thought she had noticed him. Instead – he immediately realized – the girl's attention had been drawn to the trash cans.

"But, as far as I can see, I'm too late," she continued, her expression growing serious. Her gaze shifted from the bin right next to him to the one lying overturned on its side. "I had hoped to convince you to change your mind, but it's over."

The girl's tone turned melodramatic as she addressed the standing bin as if it were a person.

"He's dead. I hope this can finally please your thirst for blood, and that you can find peace." She sighed, looking dismayed at the fallen trash can, then back at the other one with tearful eyes. "Unfortunately, this also means that from now on, we'll be enemies. I can't forgive what you've done."

On the other side of the trash can, the man observed the performance with confusion. He had no idea what he was witnessing. Was it... roleplaying?

Silver Wolf was familiar with that kind of thing. At the very least, she enjoyed roleplaying when they played RPGs together. She never asked him to do the same, though: she knew it wasn't his cup of tea and that he was just humoring her. But he imagined that the unknown girl didn't see it the same way: she was right there, weaving a story of crime and revenge.

After a few minutes of observation, he figured out 'the plot' as well. The first can had once been the best friend of the fallen one. But the latter had committed a terrible offense against the former, giving rise to a huge feud. And it all ended with the "death" of the fallen can. And she – the grey-haired girl – was a childhood friend of both. After trying to prevent the first can from killing her former friend, she could do nothing but swear revenge against the murderer.

An endless cycle, with no winners or losers, no honor or satisfaction.

It was so ironic.

"But, before I finish you, talk to me one last time," the girl was saying, dramatically pointing her club at the trash can. "Tell me what you feel, so I can remember you. So this tragedy has at least some semblance of meaning."

She paused, waiting for the can to "respond." Then, her frown turned into a huge smile, and she returned the bat to her waist. She took a step towards the can, apparently intending to open it and rummage inside. She had the same expression as a child about to unwrap a gift. Not even a raccoon could have been happier at the thought of digging through the garbage.

It was such a bizarre, absurd situation that the man had forgotten about his wound. So when another rib snapped back into place, the pain caught him completely off guard, causing a violent spasm. He clenched his fists and bit his lip, releasing only an almost imperceptible gasp.

Unfortunately for him, the girl was very close and had excellent hearing.

At the exact moment the sound escaped his throat, her hand froze in mid-air, about to grasp the lid. Her head whipped around in his direction. Her smile turned into alertness, and she spun around the trash cans until she was facing him.

At that point, there was no way to escape.

Their eyes met and she stared at him, her lips parted in surprise. Then, she turned pale, and let go of the bat's handle, kneeling next to him.

"Are you okay?!"

...That really wasn't what he needed. Not drawing attention was essential for someone in his position. Perhaps he should have killed he. That way, she wouldn't be able to tell anyone she had seen him, when news about the bounty would reach the planet. On the other hand, a murder might attract even more attention. And didn't Kafka say that this time they should avoid unneeded slaughter?

Well then. What to do?

He glared at her from behind the dark lenses, while the girl, unaware of the dangerous course of his thoughts, smiled self-ironically.

"Right. Silly question. Of course you're not okay."

That was an understatement, to say the least. He had a literal hole in his chest.

On impulse, he placed a hand over it, as if to hide the wound from her view.

It was a mistake. Her eyes followed the movement, and a glimmer of understanding crossed them. The following instant, she reached towards his chest, trying to grasp the flaps of his coat.

His instinct took over. His free hand shot towards hers, gripping her wrist.

It was delicate. Fragile. Applying too much pressure could easily break it.

"...It's none of your concern," he said.

His voice betrayed no emotion, a stark contrast to his firm grip. He saw the young woman frown, but he didn't let go. He was aware that he was hurting her, but it didn't matter. In fact, if she left immediately, it would be better for both of them.

Unfortunately, he hadn't accounted for the rest of his body. When he moved, some unidentified part - likely another rib - collided with his lung. For a moment, he couldn't breathe at all. He coughed, his fingers loosening enough to let her wriggle free.

The crisis lasted only a few seconds, but it would have been enough to allow her to leave. Yet, she didn't move, staring at him until the coughing fit subsided into a quiet sigh.

"Well, but it is, isn't it?" she finally declared, crossing her arms defiantly. "What should I do? Leave you here in this state? If you were to die, I wouldn't be able to sleep at night. Not to mention my fingerprints on the trash cans! They've already tried to arrest me once. I don't want it to happen again, thank you very much!"

She had little to worry about, he thought to himself. He wouldn't die. How relieving it would be if he could!

In a few more minutes, he would leave as if nothing had happened, with no danger to her freedom or conscience. That was his reality. And, as always, it made him feel empty. And tired.

He gazed at her without truly seeing her, lost in his thoughts. At that point, he didn't care. She could see his wound or not. It was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things: the solution was quite simple. If she gave him trouble; he would kill her. That was all there was to it.

The grey-haired girl took his sudden passivity as a win. She lifted her chin and before he could change his mind, she reached for his chest again.

The moment her fingers touched the heavy fabric of his coat, she pulled back abruptly. She looked at her hand, then at him, then back at her hand, her fingertips stained with a dark red hue.

The blood from the wound had also soaked into the coat's flaps. It hadn't completely dried yet. Frankly, he didn't mind; it wasn't the first time it had happened, nor would it be the last.
She didn't share the sentiment, though. Her jaw clenched, and she grabbed the coat again, pulling its flaps open to reveal the injured chest.

The man winced at the contact of the cold air, but she paid no attention, her gaze fixed on the gash.

"Who did this to you?" she murmured, an indistinct emotion in her voice.

Was it horror? Disgust? Fear? Those were all feelings he could recognize, and none of them seemed quite right. What, then?

Somewhat intrigued, he looked up at the girl - really seeing her for the first time since she had entered that alley.

 
She couldn't take her eyes off his chest, her eyebrows furrowed, her lips trembling. When she finally managed to lift her gaze, her expression was filled with the same emotion he had heard in her voice. That strange mix of horror, sadness, and something else he struggled to recognize.

Pity? Compassion?

Perplexed, he lowered his gaze to the wounded chest. The gash already looked much better than before: the bones were no longer visible, and the skin and muscle tissue had largely regenerated. However, to an untrained eye, it was still a nasty wound, dangerously close to vital organs. Enough to cause death, if left alone.

"Who did this to you?" the girl repeated, in a more urgent tone. "What happened?"

He didn't answer. He had neither reason nor desire to explain. He just wanted her to leave. She was unaware of the fact that, wounded as he was, he was still capable of killing her. He would do it if necessary.

She didn't leave. Not only that, she also pulled out a clean white handkerchief from her jacket pocket and pressed it against the injury, trying to stop the bleeding.

"No, it doesn't matter," she answered her own question, ignoring his hostile silence. "I must take you to a doctor. My friend has a clinic nearby. She'll know what to do." She gripped his arm with her free hand, trying to pull him to his feet. "Can you stand up? You can lean on me."

Annoyed, he jerked his arm free with such force that she almost stumbled. She looked at him with wide eyes, but soon after, her expression hardened with determination.

She wouldn't give up.

"Look, I get it. You don't trust me because I'm a stranger. But my friend is an excellent doctor! Perhaps you know of her: her name is Natasha, and..."

"It's not necessary," he cut her off, annoyed.

She flinched at the harshness of his voice but didn't back down.

"Of course it is! Do you want to bleed to death?!"

She was so alarmed that, for a moment, he found it almost amusing. Oh, if only dying were that easy!

"...I won't die."

His terse reply earned him a frustrated groan and, to prove he was wrong, she looked back at his chest. With purpose, she shifted the handkerchief to inspect the wound again.

And then, she fell silent.

By examining it closely, she must have noticed it too. The tissues were laboriously healing and the skin around the gash was becoming less pale.

"...It's incredible..." she whispered, her eyebrows so arched they almost blended with her hair. 

He expected horror at the realization. Fear, too. That was what always happened. People stabbed him and then panicked when they realized how fast he healed. It was an all too normal situation.

Instead, she raised her eyes to him again and smiled, relieved.

"You are a Pathstrider, aren't you? Abundance, right? You have healing powers!"

Abundance.

At that name, a throbbing pain pulsed behind his eyes, and the world around him turned scarlet.

Abundance. 

The cause of all evils. The power that heals, heals, and continues to heal. And while healing, it keeps destroying. The power that makes the body immortal and damns the soul.

The curse of the Xianzhou Alliance and all those who came into contact with it.

Reality became blurred, vague. He was no longer in a decrepit alley in Belobog but in a red inferno, made of poisonous flowers and blood. A world surrounded by shadows.

Shadows of dead people. People who would die. People who had to die.

With a furious roar, he grabbed his head, shaking it so hard that his dark glasses fell from his nose. Free from the black lenses, his vermilion eyes glowed like burning embers. His senses were in turmoil, amplified and obscured at the same time. His emotions were on the verge of bursting out of control. He was furious: a rage so absolute and yet so clear that it was almost enjoyable.

With a violent whip of his arm, he pushed the girl's hand - still pressed against his wound - away from him. She flinched, stumbling backward and falling on the dirty concrete. Her hand reached for the steel bat, but she didn't brandish it immediately, watching him warily. She was on guard, with the trained look of someone accustomed to dangerous situations. Yet, he could feel her surprise and dismay. He could almost sniff it, and it was exhilarating.

The Mara wanted to run free, he realized with a last glint of sanity. It was unexpected. It shouldn't have happened. But Kafka wasn't there, and there was very little he could do now. The shadows had appeared.

"Do y-- rem---ber n--?"

The girl's voice reached his ears like a distant echo, barely audible above the beating of his heart. Her figure was like a shadow in a sea of red. It was changing, contorting. It was turning into a more familiar shape, one he knew very well.

Long, flowy white hair. A face as beautiful as the moonlight. Red eyes as dark as blood.

"Remember the feeling of death and bring it to them."

He hated her.

He hated her.

He hated her.

She ripped him to shreds a thousand times over, until there was almost nothing left, and still didn't kill him. She had already taken the first stab. He felt it. That was what the pain in his chest was.

He gave her a hostile look, his hands twitching, calling for his battered blade, waiting to strike her again, and again, and again. Even if it was useless. Even if he couldn't win.

She wasn't intimidated. She crawled closer to where he was sitting, approaching without breaking eye contact.

"Rise, and let me kill you once more."

She kept approaching. In a few lethal moments, she was in front of him. She was close. Very close. Her face was so close that he could feel her breath, her eyes locking onto his in a silent challenge.

And then he realized.

They were golden. The same color as the full moon. Very different from the ones he expected to see.

...A long time ago - a very long time ago - he knew someone with eyes just as golden. A friend. A calming, reasonable presence. And while these eyes were different from the ones he remembered, both had something in common.

Kindness. Compassion.

"You are going into shock. Stay calm and look at me."

The voice was talking to him quietly, the same tone one would use to approach a frightened animal. It was so different from the shadow, that the illusion shattered.

The woman who tortured him wasn't there. In her place, there was the grey-haired girl. Their forehead almost touched, her hands steadying his shoulders while she forced him to look into her eyes.

She didn't smell like blood.

She smelled nice. 

That moment of awareness was enough. The influence of the Mara, so close to overwhelming him, finally receded.

The rage subsided.

It was over.

He closed his eyes, breaking eye contact with the girl. He let himself fall against the wall, his head tilted back, breathing heavily. As soon as he calmed down, she let him go. Even without seeing her, he sensed her relieved sigh and a rustling noise beside him. He had no idea what she was doing, but at that moment, he didn't have the will to care.

He stayed like that for a while, struggling against the remnants of the Mara and the pain in his chest. The alley was so quiet that he thought the girl had finally left. It would have been sensible after what had just happened. And yet, when he opened his eyes again, she was still there. She was sitting beside him, her back against the wall, hugging her knees to protect herself from the cold.

Noticing that he was looking at her, she smiled.

"Feeling better?"

He didn't respond, turning towards the wall in front of him instead. That girl definitely lacked survival instinct. 

"I'll take that as a yes."

She shrugged, completely unfazed by his reserved attitude.

"You really don't want to tell me what happened, do you?"

Again, no response. Again, she shrugged.

"Alright then. We'll do it your way. But could you at least tell me how long it'll take for your... healing power to take effect? For reference, you know."

He had to give her credit: that woman was tenacious.

"You should leave" he finally replied, turning to look at her. And once again, he met those pair of smiling golden eyes.

"I will, once I'm sure you're alright. Oh, by the way...". With no sign of fear, she leaned towards him and, folding her now bloodstained handkerchief to the clean side, she handed it to him. "Keep it pressed on the wound. Healing powers or not, you should stop the bleeding. Mr. Yang said that blood loss can cause shock, so it might help a little bit."

He had the distinct impression that it was easier to indulge her rather than argue. It was clear she wouldn't give up. Just as it was clear that, at that point, he wouldn't kill her.

Not while she was looking at him with those eyes, at least.

He obeyed without a word. She smiled in triumph and looked away. For a while, she didn't try to converse. Silence enveloped them, interrupted only by his rugged breath and the occasional, slight twinges of pain. The wound was almost healed by now; it would soon be over.

"Hey..."

There she was again. Indomitable, inescapable, and relentless.

"You talk too much."

He interrupted her before she could continue. She stretched her legs in front of her, tapping her chin with her fingertip.

"Not really. You're the one who talks too little."

The man raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"What's with that look?" she asked. "I'm serious! I'm usually the quiet type. You practically have to drag the words out of my mouth with pliers!"

He couldn't help himself.

"...Except when you are role-playing with trash cans?"

Unembarrassed, the girl brightened up.

"Oh, that! It's a little hobby of mine."

"Rummaging through the garbage?"

"Sure! There's no better way to get to know a place or a person than by examining the trash. You discover a lot of interesting things. And people throw away lots of useful stuff, I might add."

The man shook his head and refrained from commenting further. He was sure that in her previous life, that girl was a raccoon. No doubt about it.

"But aside from that," she continued, "I don't want you to go into shock again. You are scary when you panic. I heard that talking helps. And at this point, if something happened to you, it would weigh on my conscience."

He didn't answer her. If she thought that the crisis was actually a shock caused by the wound, and that his murderous intent was actually panic, he wasn't planning to change her mind.

"By the way," she continued, completely forgetting her claim to be 'the quiet type', "I haven't introduced myself. I'm Stelle. And you?"

She extended her hand, smiling. He didn't take it. He didn't even look at it, keeping his vermillion eyes fixed on her face. That simple, spontaneous introduction had stirred something. An instinct, perhaps. A reflex. Something that, for ordinary people, was perfectly normal: responding to a name with a name.
For a moment he thought he could answer her. For one single, fleeting moment, his body prepared to do so, a sound vibrating at the back of his throat.

Yin...

The moment ended before it even began. The sound extinguished and disappeared into the recesses of his memory.

"You don't need to know."

The curt response didn't surprise the girl. By that point, she must have understood that insisting wouldn't get her anywhere. She withdrew her outstretched hand, her fingers flexing as if chasing a ghost.

"Alright. Keep your secrets."

The man looked away again, his focus returning to the wound. He removed the red-stained handkerchief and felt carefully around its edges. The bleeding had stopped, and although it still looked fresh and swollen, it didn't hurt as much. He probably would have felt it for a while, but it was nothing he couldn't ignore.

He had no reason to stay there anymore.

The girl, who had been glancing in his direction the whole time, moved to his side to observe him.

"Is it healed?"

He nodded, firmly closing his coat. The blood that had seeped from the wound was invisible on the dark fabric, as if it weren't there at all. As if nothing had happened.

He felt around the ground beside him, searching for his glasses. They must have fallen somewhere when he almost lost control...

"Here they are."

The girl handed them to him. She must have picked them up while he was recovering from his crisis. Without thanking her, he took them. One of the lenses had been damaged in the fall. He would have to replace it. Annoyed, he tucked them into his coat pocket and stood up. Without the weight of the wound, his movements were once again agile and brisk.

The golden-eyed girl watched him as he raised, as if expecting him to stumble at any moment. When it didn't happen, she got up herself, brushing the dust off her skirt.

"Will you be okay now?" she asked gently.

Compassion. Again.

"Yes."

"Alright. Then..."

Her voice trailed off. Seeing her so timid felt strange, after she had been trying to chat him up all that time. In any case, it was irrelevant.

Without a word, he walked past her toward the end of the alley. There were no thanks, no farewells. Not a glance in her direction. As far as he was concerned, she would cease to exist the exact moment he no longer felt her presence.

"Wait!"

His feet halted instantly at her call. A response so decisive that only Kafka could have elicited something similar. He didn't turn around, but he knew from her footsteps that she was approaching. And when the sound stopped, he knew she was just a few steps behind him, close enough that, turning around, he could touch her.

"Do you think I could contact you again in the future?"

Her voice was slightly louder than usual. She wasn't this nervous even when he was one step away from killing her.

He didn't answer, and he felt her fidgeting behind him.

"Well, I don't mean to pry, I can assure you. It's none of my business, and that's fine. It's just... I want to make sure you're okay. After all, I've never been in a situation like this, and I'm really not-"

Her chatter had returned. Maybe she was the type who talked when under pressure. Not that it mattered.

"Stelle."

The sharp sound of her name interrupted her, her words trailing off in a surprised start. An understandable reaction: he was surprised himself. He didn't think he would remember it.

He turned to look at her over his shoulder, contemplating her one last time. Silver hair, a delicate face slightly reddened from the cold, compassionate golden eyes. In a distant time - in another life - he might have found her pretty and kind. He would have wanted to keep talking to her. But the person who would have taken pleasure in that was dead and buried. Only a body and fragments of memories remained.

"I don't know you. Consider it a good thing."

He saw the golden eyes widen, puzzled. Lips parting, as if to say something in response. He didn't give her the time. He turned his gaze forward again and walked away, never looking back. Not a sound came from behind him, no further attempt to stop him. And the image of the kind girl who had tried to help him finally blurred in his mind.

"Stelle! Stelle, can you hear me? I'm talking to you!"

 
The impatient voice of March 7th interrupted her daydreaming.

"I can hear you" Stelle replied vaguely.

In truth, she hadn't heard a word, and judging by her friend's puffed-up cheeks, she didn't believe her either.

"If you can hear me, then why didn't you answer when I asked you if Svarog's coat would look better in pea green or pastel pink?"

Admittedly, Stelle had been quite absent-minded since her adventure in the Underworld.

She had rejoined her two companions in the Administrative District, they said goodbye to their new local friends, concluded all their business, and - as far as she was concerned - claimed everything each trash can had to offer. So the atmosphere of their little group was cheerful and relaxed. It wasn't surprising that March had been talking non-stop during that time.

Stelle liked March: she was adorable, kind, and friendly. She always made her feel appreciated and accepted on the Express.

Unfortunately, she wasn't exactly the deepest person in the universe. Her conversations mostly revolved around the photos she took, the souvenirs to bring to Himeko and Welt, how to incorporate some Belobog fashion into her look without ruining her 'image,' and, in this case, how to make Svarog's appearance more 'cute'. And right now, it was hard to keep Stelle's interest in frivolous topics. Not after what happened.

Walking alongside her on the opposite side from March, Dan Heng cast a sympathetic look at her. If there was anyone who understood the need to distance themselves from her constant chatter, it was him.

"Maybe because she thinks Svarog's coat looks fine as it is," he answered in her place, with the sarcastic impassivity he had become infamous for. "At least, that's what I think. Not to mention Clara. And Svarog himself."

"Svarog never said he didn't want to change his look," March retorted.

"No, he didn't say it. He identified you as a threat and tried to shoot you."

"But he didn't say no! Right, Stelle?"

"...Maybe?" she replied, her mind clearly elsewhere.

And March finally lost her patience.

"Oh, come on! What's with that attitude? You've been like this since you got back!"

Stelle snapped back to attention, realizing she had become the focus of her companions' stares. Aside from March's irritation, Dan Heng also seemed worried.

...Well, it wasn't exactly a secret, so there was no reason not to talk about it.

"I met a beautiful man."

At the very least, that instantly lifted March's mood. From her perspective, having her mind occupied by a handsome man justified not paying attention to her.

"Really?! Where?!"

"In the garbage."

Dan Heng raised an eyebrow.

"In the garbage" he repeated, with a monotone that would put the King of Monotones to shame.

"Yes, in an alley in the Underworld. I was 'exploring' a couple of trash cans, and there he was!"

He rolled his eyes, but didn't comment further. He was used to her quirks, including her unhealthy obsession with trash cans. March, on the other hand, already had her priorities straight.

"Was he really that handsome? More than Dan Heng? Because, you know, I'm doing pretty good business at the Space Station in exchange for his photogr..."

Dan Heng's gaze immediately whipped in her direction and, even in her blissful naivety, she realized that there were troubles incoming. So, she changed the subject.

"ANYWAYS! Tell us more about this man! What did he look like? Did you talk? What did you talk about? What's his name? Did you manage to get his phone number? When is your first date? And the wedding?"

Before March could push her fantasies all the way to children and grandchildren, Stelle interrupted her.

"It's not like that. It was just..."

She paused. Honestly, she wasn't too sure what had happened in that alley. 

The man in black seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, with an almost lethal wound and the most powerful healing ability she had ever seen. Granted, considering her total lack of memory, she hadn't seen all that many, but it was still impressive.

He appeared to be in great pain yet entirely indifferent to his own suffering. He didn't ask for help and declined the one she offered. He went into the worst case of shock she could imagine - to the point of being downright scary! - and then he didn't seem to care about it anymore.

He was very strange, and just as beautiful. That was an undeniable fact.

She couldn't answer March's question about who would win between him and Dan Heng. The latter was undeniably handsome: people turned to look at him when he was passing by. His refined features, clear and calm eyes, and dignified attitude gave him a quiet charm that was hard to ignore.

The mysterious man was different. His features were just as refined, but there was something tormented about him that she couldn't quite pinpoint. Especially when it came to his eyes.

He had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. They were like gems, the same color as flames... and yet most of the time they seemed dull. It was as if he was looking through her, rather than at her. And when he finally acknowledged her presence, they were sad. The last look he gave her before leaving had particularly affected her. It was as if, in dismissing her, he was also saying goodbye to something else.

He was like a tiger. A big, beautiful, wounded tiger, all the more dangerous because of its vulnerability.

Stelle was curious. Her inquisitive nature came from the fact that she had no memories and was rediscovering the world around her. Therefore, she loved mysteries. And the situation with that unknown man couldn't help but intrigue her.

Realizing that the other two were still staring at her, she shrugged.

"He was strange. He seemed... out of place? He didn't look like a native of Belobog. He had long black hair, red eyes, and didn't talk much." She shook her head, realizing her description didn't do him justice. "When I met him, he had a nasty wound, but he healed very quickly. I don't know how exactly."

"Maybe he follows the Path of Abundance, like Natasha," March hypothesized, inadvertently arriving at her same conclusion.

"Yes, that's what I thought too. Although his healing seemed much more powerful than hers. His wound was terrible, but it almost disappeared after a very short time. I don't know if--"

The two girls stopped, realizing that Dan Heng was no longer following them. He had fallen behind a few steps, staring straight ahead. He was pale, as if he had seen a ghost.

"Dan Heng, are you feeling okay?" March asked, puzzled.

He jolted, her call awakening him from a trance. His gaze shifted from March to Stelle, lingering on her longer. His expression was calm, but his eyes were not. They pierced through her, as if trying to break directly into her brain. She was taken aback to realize that, for the first time since she had known him, he seemed genuinely scared.

It didn't last more than a moment. After a beat, he looked away and shook his head.

"Yes, I'm fine. I was lost in thought."

"Oh. Okay," March relented after a brief moment of perplexity. She had grown used to her companion by now, and his mysterious demeanor was the norm for her.

"Rather, we should head back to the Express. They must be waiting for us by now, and it's not a good idea to linger any longer."

With that, he quickened his pace, surpassing both of them and forcing them to adopt a faster pace to keep up.

March tried to persuade Stelle to tell her something more about the mysterious man, but she realized her friend had little more to add other than what she had already recounted. In the end, she lost interest and turned to lighter topics. Stelle barely listened to her. Dan Heng's reaction had completely captured her attention, and as they moved on, she couldn't take her eyes off the back of his head.

He seemed to be in a hurry, which was peculiar. Until a moment ago, he didn't mind lingering a bit. Was it related to the mysterious man? Did he know him? Or perhaps his story had reminded him of something else?

It was hard to say. She considered Dan Heng a friend, but she knew very little about his past, and she didn't want to invade his privacy by forcing him to share it with her. She only knew that his behavior wasn't normal.

She sighed, feeling suddenly very tired and disappointed. She hated having a mystery in front of her and not being able to solve it. But the time to go had come, and there was little to be done. Perhaps, she would never encounter the mysterious man again, and it would become a simple semi-forgotten anecdote in the midst of her list of adventures.

'I don't know you. Consider it a good thing.'

With a last, quick glance at her back, Stelle shook her head and kept marching on her way to the Express.

Who knows? Maybe he was right. It would be for the best if she never saw him ever again. He could be a dangerous criminal, as far as she knew. Whatever the case, she had no way of knowing. And her trip amongst the stars had to continue forward.
One way or another.

The man absentmindedly turned the blood-stained handkerchief between his fingers. When he left the alley, he still had it clenched in his hand. Yet, in his hurry to get away, he had completely forgotten about it. Perhaps it was the same for its owner, since she didn't say anything. The fact remained that he had basically stolen it.

Not that it made him feel guilty. The bounty on his head was for much more serious crimes than the theft of a handkerchief. It wasn't even the expensive kind: a plain piece of white cotton, with no value except for its utility. The only thing that distinguished it was a small embroidery in one corner, depicting a strange rabbit dressed as a train conductor.

Utterly insignificant.

He only realized he still had it when he reached the passage to the Overworld, where he would meet Kafka, and by that time, his wound had completely healed. He didn't need it anymore, and most likely, it would be more practical to throw it away. In fact, he was surprised he hadn't done it already! Perhaps he had grown so accustomed to having it in his hand that the touch of the fabric provided some comfort. Just like those soft plastic toys Silver Wolf would bring back from the arcade. They were useless, but squeezing them relieved the stress. Or at least, that's what she claimed.

...Well, there was no point in thinking about it anyway. The handkerchief had served its purpose, and he certainly wouldn't go back to find its owner. He didn't want to remember her either. So, he had to get rid of it. Coincidently, there was a convenient trash can a few meters away.

And maybe, said a faintly amused voice in his head, if she enjoys digging through the trash so much, she might end up retrieving it herself.

...What the hell was he thinking, now?

With an irritated snort, he clenched the piece of fabric in his fist, detached himself from the railing he was leaning on, and headed toward the trash can.

"Oh, there you are, Bladie! Punctual as always."

He hadn't even taken a step when Kafka's voice interrupted him. Without thinking, he tucked the handkerchief into his coat pocket alongside the broken glasses and turned just in time to see his companion—impeccably graceful as always—walk down the passage, her eyes pleasantly half-lidded.

Kafka was the only person who called him 'Bladie,' and he had given her his consent to do so. It was a sort of 'special privilege' for the person who, with her abilities, helped him keep the Mara under control. Given the nature of those abilities, it also meant she could potentially make him do whatever she wanted. But he had agreed to this, and as such, there was no resentment on his part. He was a practical person, and if this served Elio's purpose, then it was fine to be 'Kafka's dog' and endure a silly nickname.

As for the rest of the world, he was generally called 'Blade.' It wasn't his real name, but what did it matter? To function, a blade didn't need a name. It only needed to be able to cut.

"Kafka," he greeted her with a slight nod. "Have you completed your assignment?"

"Everything is as it should be," she replied with an enigmatic smile.

She joined him, her refined perfume filling the air between them. Her violet eyes were fixed on him, her eyebrows relaxed in an almost affectionate expression. Delicate fingers rested on his shoulder in a familiar gesture.

"But enough of this. I know you had an interesting encounter."

Blade didn't ask her how she knew. He was used to Kafka knowing everything. There was nothing to be surprised about.

"...Irrelevant," he replied, his voice flat.

She chuckled softly, covering her lips with her fingers.

"Don't be so sullen, Bladie. You should smile more, or you'll never be popular. Come on, don't tell me you didn't find her even a little bit cute!"

The only response she got was an impassive look, but that didn't faze her in the slightest. If anything, her cat-like smile widened even more.

"You're always so difficult. But at least try to be kind when you'll meet her again. She's special, after all."

If Kafka had expected a reaction, she wasn't disappointed. Blade's shoulders twitched under her hand, his vermilion eyes flashing in her direction.

The girl from the alley had some connection with Kafka? Was it part of the 'big plan' that Elio had mentioned? The plan still in the works and that, according to him, 'required some special preparations'?

For a moment, just a moment, the face of the girl—already half-buried in the deepest recesses of his memories—came back to him in the most minute details. He saw her kneeling in front of him, her face close to his, looking straight into his eyes in the midst of a Mara spike. He heard her soft voice, somehow bringing him back to awareness. Then the memory overlapped with another one, something from a half-forgotten corner of his mind: the image of an unknown grey-haired young girl following Kafka. He never interacted with her, but he remembered crossing her path, and her blank stare as their eyes met briefly in a corridor. A stark contrast to the person he met in the alley. And she didn't appear to remember him either.

As the memory became more vivid, he felt a knot of annoyance tightening in his gut. Even the handkerchief in his pocket felt as heavy as lead.

He didn't know all of the details of Elio's plans. He doubted Kafka herself knew everything. However, he had been a Hunter long enough to be familiar with their methods. If that girl—Stelle—was part of a scheme, she would be used, manipulated, and thrown repeatedly into the eye of a cyclone. And she didn't deserve that. He was sure of it. Someone so kind as to offer help to a total stranger, without any negative judgment or hesitation, deserved a peaceful and happy life. Someone capable of staring death in the face without flinching deserved respect. And most likely, she would find neither.

"Does something bother you, Bladie?" Kafka asked, as languid as a cat.

He closed his eyes, a sigh vibrating in his chest. The answer was simple, and even without uttering it, he was sure she understood. However, Blade was aware of how important Elio's objectives were. And, more importantly, if they were not achieved, the same would be true for his own. If Elio failed, he wouldn't get what he wanted: the thing he craved more than anything else in the world. This was more important—thousands of times more important—than a vague sense of justice toward a stranger.

"No," he replied, the emotions once again trapped in a remote corner of his soul.

He would continue to be the relentless and unstoppable weapon they wanted him to be—the weapon he wanted to be.

"Very well," Kafka said, giving him a fraternal pat on the shoulder. Again, she didn't seem surprised by his response, but she was pleased nonetheless. "Since you met her, I believe an explanation is in order. I will tell you everything you need to know. After all, I think you will like the next phase of the plan."

She paused for effect, relishing in the vague curiosity of her companion. She licked her lower lip, a little bit chapped due to Belobog's intense cold, and smiled at him. The same smile a parent has when presenting their child with their most coveted gift.

"We're going to the Xianzhou Luofu."

Blade flinched, his vermilion eyes widening in surprise. His gaze sought Kafka's, finding confirmation of everything he wanted to know. And then, for the first time in a long while, his lips curved into a ruthless smile, devoid of both warmth and joy. A low laugh vibrated in his chest, burying any trace of reason and consciousness in the exhilaration of the moment.

Xianzhou Luofu.

Finally, it had begun.

Chapter Text

For Stelle, the advantage of having amnesia was that her memory was still quite spacious. If something left an impression, she would not forget it. Of course, she could push it to the back of her mind, if there were more important things to think about. However, it would remain there.

When Kafka redirected them toward the Xianzhou Alliance, she wasn't thinking about the mysterious stranger from Belobog. After all, there were more pressing concerns. During their conversation, her thoughts were of a completely different nature. She was pondering the motivations of the Stellaron Hunters and the possibility of visiting the Alliance fleet — Dan Heng's homeland. Not to mention the chance to extract some answers from the enigmatic woman, if the opportunity arose.

Yet, it took very little to resurrect his memory.

While explaining the reason for her request, Kafka claimed that her group was not responsible for the presence of a Stellaron on the Luofu. The Alliance believed otherwise, however, and one of their comrades had been captured.

His name was Blade, she said while displaying a hologram of him. She wanted them to help prove his innocence by resolving the Stellaron issue.

It was at that point that Stelle recognized him. The 3D image failed to do justice to the eyes of ember she remembered, but the rest was exactly the same.  Beautiful features, a sullen expression, the long black hair that partially covered his left eye. Unless her memory was failing her, he was the same person she had encountered in that alley.

Blade.

An unparalleled swordsman. An extremely dangerous individual, with a mind-boggling bounty of 8.13 billion credits — dead or alive — hanging on his head.

Stelle couldn't believe that she had, by pure coincidence, come across a Stellaron Hunter. Not only that, she found him when he was alone, injured, and vulnerable. How many bounty hunters would give an arm for such an opportunity?

The first thing she felt was astonishment, followed by panic. What should she do now? Should she tell someone? 

That would be the sensible thing to do. She didn't know anything about the Stellaron Hunters and their motivations yet, but they were criminals. Warning everyone else was reasonable and justified.

And yet, she didn't, even if she knew it was a mistake. Probably because a part of her hoped she was wrong. That her memory was failing her. She didn't want to think that the wounded man she tried to help was a dangerous criminal. Or that during the time she spent with him, she had been in danger.

In fact, the information had caught her so off guard that she struggled to process it!

So, she decided to remain silent, at least for the moment. Her memory was good, but not perfect. She could very well be mistaken.  Waiting until she was sure wasn't that outlandish, right?

And that's exactly what she did. After all, they had to deal with more pressing matters.

During their investigation to resolve the Stellaron issue on the Luofu, their path crossed Kafka's again. They pursued her, tracked her down, and eventually caught her.

In theory, at least. Because no matter how you looked at it, Kafka let herself be captured. She wasn't the least bit upset when brought before the Master Diviner Fu Xuan. Nor had she shown any distress when the latter used divination to uncover her intentions. They talked, and she mentioned many things, starting with their current situation. They didn't bring the Stellaron onto the Luofu, but they knew about it. The whole issue, starting with Blade's capture, had been orchestrated to lead the Express's crew to resolve that crisis. Then, she went over the fate that - according to their leader - awaited them all: confronting the Aeon of Destruction, Nanook.

And now, after dropping such a bomb on her, she even had the gull to smile serenely, as if it was nothing important.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Stelle crossed her arms, never taking her eyes off the woman.

Kafka, always composed and refined despite being a prisoner, didn't answer. Her violet eyes shifted from Stelle to the starry sky behind her.

"...Hold on. Any minute now..."

"What do you mean?"

She was starting to lose her patience. Was she ever going to get some coherent answers out of her?!

Kafka ignored her, continuing to scrutinize the cityscape around them. Then she burst into laughter.

"It's begun!"

Stelle didn't have the time to wonder what she was talking about. There was no warning, no way to prepare for what happened next.

The massive stump at the center of the ship — a tree that had seemed dead until that moment — began to grow. The black wood was coming to life, the trunk adorned with shimmering lights. The 'foliage' erupted from the twisted branches, like flames.

A collective cry rose from every corner of the ship, as the lives of its inhabitants were brutally disrupted. The usual placid hum of the Luofu turned into wide-scale panic as the world around them went haywire.

Stelle didn't know what it all meant. She only knew that that thing wasn't supposed to be there. That tree couldn't be alive, and its resurgence could only mean trouble.

But there was someone, at least, who would gain from the chaos. Stelle heard the click of Kafka's restraints breaking, the soft thud of her feet touching the ground. She turned just in time to see her leaving the center of the platform, completely free.

"Wait!"

She sprinted after her out of instinct. She knew Kafka was dangerous and perfectly capable of killing her, if she so desired. But at that moment, she didn't care. She wanted to stop her, prevent her from leaving, and force her to explain the reason for all this.

But before she could even get close to her, a figure swooped between them. Stelle hadn't seen it coming. She had no idea where it had appeared from. She simply saw it land in front of her, a whirl of black, red, and gold blocking her path.

Surprised, she halted just in time, before a blade was pointed directly at her. Cold sweat ran down her spine as she followed the outline of the weapon: a precious sword, beautifully crafted. It would have been magnificent, if only its black blade wasn't cracked, as if it might shatter at any moment. 

And inevitably, her eyes fell on the person holding it. 

Her heart skipped a beat. Any doubt, any uncertainty about his identity was swept away in an instant.

The last time she saw him, he looked like a wounded animal. Hurt, pale, his strength hidden by the injury, his beauty marred by pain and blood. But now, there were no more simple, worn-out clothes. No more deadly pallor. No more suffering. The man before her was tall and proud, clad in a silky tailcoat, the black fabric adorned with red and gold embroidery. He was as graceful as a feline, as cold and measured as a warrior.

Blade.

Her lips moved to form his name, but no sound escaped her.

He didn't flinch, didn't even show a hint of recognition. He stood still, the weapon pointed at her, fiery eyes locked onto hers.  It seemed he wasn't planning on attacking her, only on keeping her at bay. And Stelle didn't move, time slowing down as the platform shook under their feet.

"Let's go, Bladie. Two more places to visit."

Kafka's voice shattered the moment, leaving her disoriented. The woman had reached the edge of the platform, looking back at her companion over her shoulder.

Blade's eyes narrowed, still firmly fixed on Stelle. For a moment, it even seemed like he wouldn't listen to her. But it didn't last. He lowered the sword and, with one last impassive glance, turned his back to reach his companion.

The two Hunters jumped off the platform. As Stelle rushed to the edge, all she saw were their silhouettes disappearing downwards in the general chaos. She stood there, searching for them, her mind so cluttered that she didn't know how to react. Everything Kafka said had confused her, and Blade's appearance was the final blow.

She met and helped a Stellaron Hunter. A criminal. A murderer. She couldn't make up excuses anymore: it was undeniable.

What kind of situation had she gotten herself into?!

"Stelle!"

Right at that moment, March's voice snapped her out of that vicious flood of thoughts. She was out of breath and in a panic, but her presence itself was a blessing.

"Kafka escaped?!"

Stelle nodded, forcing herself to tear her gaze away from the platform's edge. March facepalmed, frustrated.

"Oh, no! How do we explain this to the Master Diviner?"

So typical of her to worry about what would Fu Xuan think, when there was a cursed tree right in the middle of the Luofu! In some way, seeing her fret over the lesser issue managed to pull her out of her confusion.

She had to stay calm. There were far more important things to take care of, such as the mayhem happening all around.

"If what Kafka told me is true, we won't need to explain anything..."

March looked at her as if she had gone completely mad, but Stelle didn't pay it any mind.

"Let's go. We need to assess the situation."

Her friend agreed and started ahead. Stelle gave one last look at the platform's edge as if it could provide her with some kind of answer. When it didn't, she turned away and hurried to follow March.

First things first, she had to deal with the ongoing problems. She would think about the rest later.

"Let me go, Kafka! He must pay! Now!"

His voice was hoarse, guttural, like the growl of an animal on the brink of attacking. His gaze was feverish, ablaze with fanatic fervor. His fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white.

He was dangerous. Even in his madness, he was aware of it. The fact that he could still recognize the figure of his companion was a small miracle. The rest was a hellscape of shadows.

"Bladie, you know as much as I do that it would be a terrible idea" Kafka retorted, standing in front of the door of the study. She had locked him there when the spike began, but keeping him in the room had proven a real challenge.

Frustrated, Blade hurled an unlucky chair across the room with such force that it broke.

Several days had passed since he encountered him, and he had been in that state ever since.

After facing Jing Yuan's young lackey, Kafka used her Spirit Whisper to stop the fight, preventing their plan from going awry. At that moment, when he felt the Mara's grip loosen, he was grateful. After all, sabotaging the mission wasn't an option. They needed him to be alive for the Express crew to solve the crisis. When he was sane enough to realize it, he understood that it was their only choice. He could also convince himself that, after waiting for an eternity, a few days, months, or even years wouldn't make a difference. Forcing him to reveal himself once and for all was a victory in itself.

He knew it. But the Mara didn't care.

After obtaining permission to leave from Jing Yuan, Kafka brought him to their safe house, waiting for him to recover. Space travel in his condition was out of the question, so staying there was safer. 

The problem was that the situation, far from improving, was deteriorating.

The Mara inside him continued to flare up at random intervals, taking him from periods of clarity to moments of homicidal fury. Dan Feng's face — finally identical to how he remembered it — kept appearing in his mind. And every single time, he felt the need to seek him out, hunt him down, and end his life. It didn't help that everything on that cursed ship reeked of his existence.

Why couldn't he kill him? Why did Kafka keep stopping him? It was only right that he paid. There was no alternative. It was the only way. He knew his end wouldn't bring him peace — only death could, and he was immortal — but at least it would be a form of justice.

Instead, he was forced to watch, just as he did for all those years. Watch as Dan Feng changed his name and appearance to escape their sins, as he built a new life surrounded by companions who respected him. And if the golden-eyed girl was any indication, they were kind people who would make him feel appreciated. Loved, even.

In the meantime, he remained there, in his immortal limbo. His mind eroded by Mara, his sense of self on the brink of disappearing, paying for a crime he hadn't committed alone.

No chance of redemption. No second opportunity. No one, except those who wanted to use him, would ever want him around, because he was a dangerous abomination!

No.

No, there could be no redemption, not for himself, not for him, not for her.

Of five people, three must pay the price. 

That would never change. After all, if it did...

"Let me through!" he roared, raising his sword against his companion.

Kafka didn't bat an eye. She wasn't afraid of him. She wasn't afraid of anything.

"You know I can't do that. Don't force me to take drastic measures, Bladie. You know I'd rather not do it," she warned in her usual composed tone.

The warning made perfect sense, but he wasn't listening anymore.

His blade gleamed between them. A clean, lethal strike that even the most skilled warrior would have struggled to parry. A blow that would have been deadly to almost anyone.

Except Kafka.

His fighting style was known to her, and it wasn't the first time she had to deal with him when he was in that state. Her katana rose, intercepting the sword with a precise parry. She pushed him back, but couldn't stop him completely. Blade backed down by half a step before launching another attack, a mad smile forming on his lips. In the confined space of the studio, the furnishing became easy victims of his fury, while the two Hunters continued their deadly dance.

Blade's strikes, usually measured and meticulous, were violent and heavy. Kafka parried three more, but in the end, her hand trembled, a trickle of sweat running down her forehead.

She was an excellent fighter but, if purely accounting for martial technique, Blade surpassed her. She was a skilled assassin, but he was a warrior. Not to mention that, unlike her, he aimed to kill.

...Of course, this didn't mean she didn't have other cards up her sleeve.

"Let's call it quits, shall we?" she declared with a cheeky smile. "You'll thank me later."

A shot, followed by an explosive pain in his stomach.

Blade lowered his gaze in time to see the smoking gun in Kafka's hand, aimed straight at his abdomen. Then, like in slow motion, he noticed the spreading bloodstain on his clothes.

It wasn't a mortal wound, not even for an ordinary person —  if treated immediately, that is — and he had fought in much worse conditions. But the surprise and pain were enough to shake him. For a moment, The Mara's grip loosened, and he was once again lucid enough to realize what he was doing.

He lowered his sword, disoriented, and Kafka saw her opportunity.

"Listen," she whispered, leaning closer so she could speak into his ear. "Now you'll calm down and behave until you are under control again."

Like a spider's web, Kafka's words ensnared his mind. He was conscious and the Mara's grip was still firm among his thoughts. His body, however, lost all its will to fight. He left the combat stance and slumped against the wall, slowly sliding to the ground.

Kafka exhaled, running a hand through her hair. Then, with a compassionate smile that could easily pass for genuine, she knelt in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Bladie. I wish I didn't have to do that."

She sounded sincere, and perhaps, in that particular case, she truly was. It was hard to tell when it came to her.

The part of him still consumed by homicidal madness shot her a hostile glare. Still, he was regaining enough control to realize that, overall, she had done him a favor.

"...Thank you," he muttered, entirely sincere and yet completely reluctant.

"No problem, dear. I know you'll pay me back when the time comes". Regaining her usual good mood, Kafka looked down at his wound. "Patching it up will be a problem. With all the spikes you've been having lately, we're running low on bandages. Do you have anything on you?"

Without waiting for his answer, she rummaged in one of his pockets. Given his tendency to get injured, Blade often had something useful for emergency bandaging. Unfortunately, all she found this time was a plain white handkerchief.

"This will do," she declared with a shrug.

She pulled it out of his pocket, but before she could do anything else, a hand closed around her wrist. Blade, who was starting to space out under the influence of the Spirit Whisper, was alert once again. When she raised an eyebrow, he responded by shaking his head.

"You'll lose blood and feel like a rag afterward," she warned.

"Let it be."

And with that, the discussion ended. The wound wasn't serious by his standards. It would heal completely in no more than ten minutes anyway, so it wasn't worth getting worked up over.

...Besides, that handkerchief wasn't his. So he shouldn't use it. And that was that.

Kafka contemplated the pristine piece of cloth for a moment, her violet eyes lingering on the embroidery of the weird rabbit dressed as a conductor. When she turned back to him, she suddenly seemed amused.

"Fine," she concluded and, without pressing further, placed the handkerchief on his hand. Then, she stood up, stretching voluptuously. "Stay here and recover. I need to report to Elio on our progress so far."

He didn't respond, and taking it as agreement, she left the room, the sound of her footsteps fading beyond the door to the sitting room.

Once alone, Blade let his mind wander again, while the new wound healed. Various images passed through his mind. Fragments of memories from many lives before —  familiar faces, half-forgotten events — mixed with more recent ones. 

Dan Feng revealing his true form in front of him. 

Jing Yuan intervening in the altercation to let them go.

And finally, a pair of golden eyes staring at him in astonishment on the Divination Commission platform.

His fingers curled instinctively around the handkerchief.

...He imagined that, if she had known who he was when they met in Belobog, she wouldn't have been so kind to him.

He closed his eyes, banishing those thoughts completely, as his mind became clearer once more. At that point, the sounds of the surrounding reality overpowered those of his contorted mind. Kafka's voice reached him from the next room.

She was talking to someone. Nothing surprising: she said she was going to report to Elio, after all.

Though the other voice definitely wasn't him.

"And how is Blade?"

...Silver Wolf?

He would recognize that bored tone from a mile away. After all, he was her tutor when she was first recruited into the Stellaron Hunters. The reason being that Kafka, to whom the task had originally fallen, had handed her off to him without much ceremony.

In the end, it worked out better than expected. Even now that Silver Wolf didn't need him anymore, he often found her hanging around him, usually asking him to play video games or accompany her to the arcade. He wasn't sure why she did it, but he had the impression that she felt lonely pretty often. After all, genius hacker or not, there weren't many people willing to indulge her. And if playing with her every now and then could prevent her from getting into trouble, it was all the better.

And he never considered her a burden.

Now, it wasn't at all surprising that those two were communicating. It was Silver Wolf's job to ensure their transmissions were always untraceable. However, he didn't appreciate his former student asking about him. He didn't want her to worry.

"You mean to tell me that you weren't watching everything just now?" Kafka teased her with a chuckle.

"Of course I did. I hacked into the security system of the safe house. That's why I'm asking you: after all, I'm not there. You can see things I don't."

Kafka sighed.

"He's not okay, but that was to be expected. Bringing him along was necessary to drag the pretty little dragon out of his hidy-hole, but we were aware of the risks. Bladie knew, too. There are too many familiar places and faces, and Mara is directly affected by them. It's been in a state of fluctuation since we arrived."

"So?"

"So, using my Spirit Whisper as usual isn't working as well as it should. We'll need to do a bit of 'cleaning up' before we leave."

At that word, Blade's stomach twisted.

He knew what 'cleaning up' Kafka was referring to. She had done it on him several times: she would use the Spirit Whisper to its maximum capacity to obscure a good chunk of his memories. It was effective against the Mara, and he agreed that, in his current state, it was a necessary evil.

But could he be blamed if a part of him was reluctant? A person's life was made up of memories, after all.

...Not that there was a better choice. As he was now, forcing him to give up his memory was a cruel mercy.

Silver Wolf hummed.

"Well, okay. Don't overdo it and erase too much."

"Don't worry, Wolfie. I won't erase memories involving you. He'll remember perfectly well how far you've gotten in that RPG you're playing together," Kafka teased.

"I never said anything like that," the younger girl quickly replied. "It's just that it would be annoying if Blade forgot how to use the restroom. Or worse, how to fight. Can you imagine him without his sword? It's part of his body, at this point. Oh, and I'd have to rename all of his avatars, as 'Blade' wouldn't work anymore. I could call them Broody. I kind of like this one, actually."

Kafka laughed, but after a moment, her voice returned to its usual tone.

"Before we proceed, though, there's something I want to check."

"Which is?"

"Oh, right now, it's just a theory. That's why I want to know what Elio thinks before I go any further. By the way, Wolfie, do you mind creating an encrypted communication channel for me?"

Silver Wolf huffed.

"Okay, okay. As you wish."

There was a pause, while she fulfilled the request. After a few moments, she announced:

"Done. You can use it as you like. Just...". Another pause. "Don't treat him too much like a guinea pig. I can't finish the game without him."

From his listening point, Blade shook his head, the corners of his lips quivering.

...Well, at that point, he had to do his best to go back and finish the game with her, didn't he?

Kafka agreed playfully, and silence fell in the room next door. At this point, Blade had no idea what she was up to, and even if he had, his mind was starting to wander again.

He absentmindedly passed a hand over his stomach to check the status of the wound: it had healed, leaving behind only a small bump.

Exhaling slowly, he tilted his head back and let weariness wash over him. There was no need to worry about anything right now. And as the Mara receded into an indistinct whisper at the back of his mind, sleep claimed him.

Finally, he was at peace.

After eavesdropping on her conversation, Blade was certain that Kafka was up to something. Which wasn't anything new: she was always scheming. In this case, she wasn't even being subtle about it.

When he dragged himself out of the studio after shaping up, she greeted him with an unsettling smile. Then she proceeded to stare smugly at him for the entire time. It was hard to say what pleased her so much, but it seemed she was positively gloating!

However, perhaps to allow him to fully recover — or just to increase the suspense — she didn't say a word about it. At least, not until the next day.

Blade was sitting quietly on an armchair in the living room of the safe house, trying to avoid anything that might trigger a Mara spike, when she stood before him with that same unsettling grin.

"You know, Bladie, I was thinking...". She sounded calm and seductive as always, but there was a dangerous glint in her eyes.

"What?" he asked, instinctively scanning for the nearest escape route.

Better safe than sorry. The last time Kafka started a conversation that way, she had the brilliant idea to blow up an IPC cruiser while they were still infiltrating on board. The whole thing ended with their hasty retreat aboard two escape shuttles, and an unlucky landing on a volcanic planet. Or, in his specific case, inside one of the volcanoes. The burns took a week to completely disappear, and it was an excruciating process all the while. Besides confirming that lava couldn't kill him, it wasn't worth it at all.

If Kafka noticed his reluctance, she didn't show it.

"I think staying cooped up in here is getting you down. For your own good, you should go out and take a walk."

At first, Blade didn't react. He was so convinced she was joking that he expected her to burst into laughter and tease him at any moment.

It didn't happen. In fact, she seemed serious. And suddenly, the idea of taking another swim into a volcano didn't seem so terrible.

"...A walk?"

"Exactly!" She snapped her fingers, satisfied. "Get some fresh air, see a little light, touch some grass..."

A walk. Among people. On a ship where even street signs could trigger a Mara spike. With a huge bounty hanging over his head.

"You are joking."

"I've never been more serious in my life."

Blade raised an eyebrow, too taken aback to even get annoyed.

"Have you forgotten that Jing Yuan only granted amnesty to you?"

"Don't tell me you're afraid of getting caught, darling."

She smiled. The kind of smile that didn't bode well for him.

Blade snorted. 

"That's not the point, and you know it."

Getting caught wasn't a concern. Even if they found him in a state where he couldn't defend himself, he wouldn't have much trouble escaping. The options were endless when there was no risk of being killed. The problem was the time wasted and the headaches it would cause. He liked his missions to go smoothly.

Kafka sat on the armrest and began tapping absentmindedly on his shoulder.

"The point is, Bladie dear, that I have some preparations to take care of, and having you here might cause a certain amount of... inconvenience, shall we say? You understand, don't you?"

For a moment, he wondered if she noticed that he overheard her conversation with Silver Wolf, but quickly dismissed any worry. If she didn't want to be heard, she wouldn't have spoken where his ears could reach.

By preparations, did she mean the 'cleaning up'? He couldn't think of anything else. He didn't remember it needing any specific preparations, but she also mentioned wanting to test something. Maybe a system to make the process more efficient?

He sighed, defeated. He had no desire to wander around the Luofu, but if she put it in those terms...

"...Fine."

"Splendid!" Kafka stood up from the armrest, her eyes narrowing mischievously. "Since you're worried about causing problems among people, why not go to a rarely visited place? Like... Scalegorge Waterscape, for instance."

Blade tensed up, his hands clenching into fists. Hearing that name had disturbed the Mara. He could feel it boiling deep within his mind. It was still under control, but it was there. Omnipresent. Inescapable.

"No."

A corner of Kafka's mouth curled upwards as she noted his protest and chose to ignore it.

"Are you afraid, by any chance? Does that place scare you that much?"

Blade jumped to his feet, towering over her at full height.

"Say it again," he challenged, his voice a low growl, his eyes flashing.

Kafka didn't show the slightest trace of fear, but she didn't take the bait either. As their skirmish from the previous day had shown, a confrontation between the two of them could have unpleasant consequences. She had the means to restrain and catch him off guard, but he was strong and impossible to hold back for long. Especially when her Spirit Whisper was less effective than usual.

She held his gaze for a few seconds before spreading her arms in surrender.

"Okay, okay. I went too far."

Blade relaxed, letting go of his threatening posture. He shot her one last hostile look before looking away. A nagging prick had started pressing at his temple, like the beginning of a headache.

It wasn't good. At all.

"But I can at least guarantee you one thing," Kafka continued. "If you go there for the next — let's say — three days, nothing bad will happen. In fact, there will be positive consequences."

His eyes narrowed to slits, while he studied her carefully. The woman oozed confidence from every pore, a small knowing smile lingering on her lips.

He recognized that expression. Usually, it could only mean one thing.

Elio.

"...You're absolutely sure about this?"

"One hundred percent."

Blade crossed his arms, his eyes closed, his fingers so tightly clenched that he could feel his nails digging into the flesh.

He didn't see how this idea could have 'positive outcomes'. It meant going to a place that reminded him of the most horrible moments of his life, at a time when the Mara was particularly unstable. There was even a damn statue of that person right in the middle of the square, ready to look down on him.

Just thinking about it made him furious.

But still, if it was something Elio said, there had to be some kind of purpose. He couldn't ignore it. He swore to obey him, after all.

"Fine, then."

Kafka chuckled, triumphant. He completely ignored her, walking past her towards the door. He didn't want to talk to her right now. He was sure he would say or do something he would regret.

"Bladie."

He was practically on the doorstep when she called him. Blade looked back over his shoulder. She was standing in front of the window, the mysterious smile of a sphinx dancing on her lips.

"Sometimes you need to confront your demons head-on, you know?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he turned back around and, without uttering a single word, left the safe house.

On one thing, Kafka was right. He would confront his demons in the most appropriate way, the only one he knew.

With a sword through their heart.

The situation had calmed down. It seemed so, at least. The most immediate danger to the Luofu had been resolved. The Ambrosial Arbor wasn't a threat anymore, and Phantylia the Undying was defeated. The Alliance could start rebuilding. And, most of all, Dan Heng had returned safe and sound — in a devastatingly pretty draconic form, no less.

Considering she spent a lot of time worrying about him, it was a relief to see that he was okay, although the fact that he kept his true identity a secret had initially annoyed her. Luckily, Stelle wasn't the type to hold grudges for long, and once she understood his circumstances, it was all in the past.

Everything was alright. So why did she have a nagging feeling that something was off?

Of course, there were the more obvious reasons: they still knew nothing about what happened to Tingyun, for example. They knew the authorities were searching for her, but as far as they were aware, she could be dead. Having no news was incredibly frustrating.

Furthermore, Stelle was worried about Jing Yuan. The way he passed out after the fight with Phantylia frightened her. She met him — or rather, his hologram — a few days later, while he was helping Yukong's daughter with a personal investigation. He seemed fine, but perhaps due to Phantylia's unsettling words, she felt a bit anxious.

Other than such perfectly valid and justifiable reasons, there were other vague ones that were even more unsettling. Kafka's revelations on the platform and Blade's vendetta against Dan Heng, for instance.

Due to her friend's recent return and the influx of firsthand information, the latter had occupied her thoughts a lot lately.

From Dan Heng's few reluctant explanations, she understood that Blade had been hunting him down for years. Every time he tried to settle down, every time he hoped to start a new life, inevitably Blade found him. Up until now, Dan Heng managed to fend him off, but each time he returned, stronger and more determined than before. And there was no way to get rid of him, because he couldn't die.

Dan Heng hadn't gone into the details of his immortality. In fact, when she had asked him about it, he seemed eager to close the conversation. The only thing she understood was that Blade's vengeance was rooted in something the former version of himself — Dan Feng, also known as Imbibitor Lunae, the former High Elder of the Vidyadhara —  had done.

At that point, Stelle hadn't dared to ask further, realizing that her friend was uncomfortable about his past life. She accepted that he would open up when he felt ready, and she could only make sure to be there for him when the time was right.

As for Blade and his alleged immortality, Stelle had no reason to doubt it. Since they boarded the Luofu, she had dealt with long-life species every day, and she was no longer surprised by it. Even if that weren't the case, she saw his healing power with her own eyes. She wasn't sure how it worked, but she imagined there was a story behind it. After all, his case seemed different from that of the other inhabitants of the Xianzhou Alliance. As far as she knew, none of them had shown regenerative qualities of that kind.

Since Blade was in fact an enemy of Dan Heng, Stelle knew that, by extension, he should be her enemy too. She couldn't allow him to harm her friend. Still, she read enough mystery novels to know that, to get a clear picture of the situation, she needed to hear both sides. But with Dan Heng reluctant to talk and Blade out of reach, it didn't seem like she would reach a conclusion anytime soon.

In any case, given the situation, she told the rest of the crew about their Belobog encounter.

Predictably, Dan Heng wasn't surprised. He suspected that was the case ever since she described the mysterious man.

March didn't take it quite so calmly: discovering that the 'beautiful stranger' was a Stellaron Hunter killed any enthusiasm she had for him.

Welt and Himeko's reactions had been more measured. Neither of them was thrilled about her growing connections with the Hunters, but they knew that Stelle had some mysterious link with Kafka, and interacting with them could help shed light on that matter. And since she had already dealt with Silver Wolf, they had decided to leave it up to her to decide how to handle them. Provided, of course, that their interactions wouldn't pose a threat to the crew of the Astral Express, and that if any trouble arose, she would go to them.

Which was fine with her. Having agency was a good thing. The problem was that, at the moment, it wasn't very helpful.

"Stelle, that's the tenth time you've sighed. What's wrong?" March asked, sitting cross-legged on her bed, a romance novel still open in her lap.

With no new leads on the horizon, the two girls were killing time in the hotel room Jing Yuan had arranged for them. It was a comfortable double room in the distinctive Xianzhou Alliance style, with two very comfortable beds and its staff ready to cater to their every need. The perfect place for a leisurely afternoon of doing nothing. It was a pity that boredom and frustration were preventing her from enjoying it.

Stelle raised her gaze from her phone's screen. In theory, she was playing one of her favorite RPGs. In practice, she had been stuck in exactly the same spot for a while, her character repeating one of his idle poses for the fiftieth time.

She doubted she would make progress that day.

With a couple of swipes, she closed the game and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling from the cushy mattress.

"I can't take it anymore!" she announced. "My anxiety levels are in the red, March. I need to do something!"

Her friend sighed in turn and, after inserting a pink bookmark between the pages of her novel, closed it and placed it on the mattress next to her. From her position, Stelle could read the title: "Wuthering Hearts". A popular trashy novel on the Luofu, it was about the tormented love story between a Foxian and a Vidyadhara belonging to rival families. Exactly the kind of guilty pleasure March liked to indulge in.

"Don't tell me! I'm already on the third volume, and I only have two more to go! When I finish the series, I won't have anything to do at all! But...". She sighed, resting her chin on her crossed fingers. "There's not much we can do about it, right?"

"...I know."

Actually, in the previous days, Stelle had done her best to stay busy, taking on commissions from anyone willing to ask, ranging from a group of eccentric environmentalists to a Vidyadhara poet who wanted to impress the woman he was in love with. That was until her latest adventure had unexpected results.

She met an elderly member of the Intelligentsia Guild, Todd Riordan. Under the pretext of following in his master's footsteps, he had her investigate on his behalf and convinced her to accompany him to Scalegorge Waterscape. Here, he took a sample from a Vidyadhara egg and, through experiments, found a way to rejuvenate himself, in complete violation of Xianzhou laws. And of course, he didn't tell her about it until he had already done so.

He offered her the chance to collaborate with him and keep his secret. Stelle declined: she spent enough time on the Luofu to understand that immortality had some very serious drawbacks. Specifically, Mara was an ever-present and inevitable threat. Todd's handling of the situation was questionable, to say the least.

For this reason, after meeting him the day before, she hadn't looked for more commissions and remained in the hotel. However, she wasn't used to all this inactivity. Being still and doing nothing forced her to think. And right now, she didn't want this.

With a loud sigh, she picked up her phone and started scrolling through the list of installed video games, more out of habit than anything else. 

Right at that moment, a new message notification lit up at the corner of her screen. She opened it automatically, and when she saw the sender's name, she sat up so fast that it startled March.

"What's wrong? Did something happen?"

Stelle didn't respond immediately, quickly scrolling through the message. It was from Todd Riordan, asking her to meet him at Scalegorge Waterscape.

Considering how they left things, she had expected anything but this.

"Stelle! Don't ignore me!" March whined, worried by her silence. "What's going on? Is it something serious?"

Realizing she hadn't answered her yet, she shook her head.

"No, I don't think so. It's a guy I did a commission for. He's asking me to meet him."

"Oh! I see! A reward in sight, huh?". Reassured, March smiled at her and grabbed her novel again. "Then go ahead. Oh, and when you come back, buy some snacks! We're having a pajama party tonight! We need to de-stress, or we'll get gray hair!"

As she said this, she ran a hand through her bright pink hair, terrified at the thought of seeing it ruined. Stelle had never worried about it, as her hair was naturally gray. Still, she responded with two thumbs up and leaped off the bed, quickly putting on her shoes.

She had a bad feeling. If she didn't hurry, she would miss something important.

Within a couple of minutes, after a hurried goodbye to her friend, she was racing out of the room. The destination was Scalegorge Waterscape, and there was no time to lose.

Chapter Text

For three days, Blade visited Scalegorge Waterscape as he had been instructed. For three days, he walked the paths Dan Feng had reopened, adorned with pearl-like Vidyadhara eggs and half-forgotten memories. A place he shouldn't have set foot in, but which he now visited with impunity. The place where it all began.

A palace and a tomb.

The first day was hell. He felt the Mara's call at the back of his mind, ready to resurface. Every time he looked at the statue of the High Elder, he felt like he was going to explode. He knew that if it took control, he would go after him, ignoring any possible consequences. He would probably mow down anyone unfortunate enough to get in his way.

He knew he was still on the Luofu, so there weren't many places he could hide. Was it necessary to keep him alive at this point? Did it even matter?

Oh, it would have been so easy to give in, to let the Mara take control and stop thinking!

But he didn't give in. He walked on a razor's edge, testing his own limits. So far, he had barely managed to avoid being the loser in this battle. And, after his visit, he returned to the safe house, exhausted and drained, but still himself.

This might be what Kafka wanted to test: to see how far he could push himself before he broke down completely. If that was the case, he didn't have a chance to verify it. She didn't say anything, and he wasn't in a condition to ask.

Then came the second day. Blade expected a repeat of the first: the same challenge, the same agony. Instead, an unexpected distraction made things, if possible, even more difficult.

Shortly after his arrival, he spotted a familiar figure approaching from the beach. A girl with distinctive ash-gray hair was making her way through Dragonvista Rain Hall.

Of course, he knew she was still on the Luofu, but he hadn't expected to meet her. Especially not alone.

Blade immediately hid to prevent her from noticing him. He wasn't in the best condition to interact with her, whether he wanted to or not. And he didn't want to. But curiosity overcame reason, and he ended up following her from a distance.

He had no idea what she was up to. As soon as she arrived, she took a picture of the statue of the High Elder with her cell phone and then proceeded through the ancient walls. Here she took more pictures of Vidyadhara eggs and murals. Then, having finished her work, she left.

At first, Blade rationalized it as some kind of mission for the Astral Express. Maybe the crew was gathering information about the places they visited. It was nothing special. But he had to reconsider when the girl returned a few hours later. This time she wasn't alone. An old man was with her, and together they walked the same path she had taken earlier.

Once again, Blade followed them. He listened to their conversation and understood that the old man was a scholar, a member of the Intelligentsia Guild. At first, he thought the man was interested in the history of the Vidyadhara. However, some of his comments seemed suspicious. Especially his constant musing about the end of his own life and immortality.

The Mara began to awaken, fragments of memories infecting his thoughts. Things that had happened right here, in that place, a long time ago. He suppressed them. It took a conscious effort, but he succeeded.

It was then that he noticed the old man drop something. The gesture was too deliberate to be accidental, as if he wanted to avoid the girl's attention.

Blade waited until they were far enough away, then examined the object: it was an empty notebook.

Something was wrong. And whatever it was, the girl didn't seem to be aware of it.

He quickly followed them. When he found them, the old man was studying one of the eggs up close, lost in his own world.

"Do we, short-life species, really want to live forever? We just want to stay youthful for as long as possible."

There was some truth in those words. At least he remembered a time when he could have empathized.

Everyone was afraid of growing old. No one was happy to realize that their body was decaying. Especially when they were surrounded by people who would remain young for centuries. Even if one accepted death as inevitable, the thought of leaving them behind could break one's heart. But if there was one thing his long life had taught him, it was that aging and dying were preferable to the alternatives. Accepting and embracing it was the only option. Anything else would only bring suffering.

Mara and stagnation were the punishment for those who transgressed. The people of the Xianzhou Alliance had learned this the hard way.

He learned it the hard way.

But the elderly scholar did not.

After a few minutes, the girl suggested that they move on. At this point, the old man lamented the loss of his notebook. He couldn't go on without it, since all his notes were in it.

A nice excuse, if not for the fact that it was empty. And Blade knew it.

The scholar asked the girl to look for it, and she agreed, quickly retracing her steps while he stayed behind. The sound of footsteps had just faded around a bend in the path when the scholar pulled a tool from his pocket and pierced a hole in the shell of the nearest egg.

At that moment, the Mara attacked Blade with such power that he thought his sanity would be shattered. The world turned red before his eyes, shadows closing in around him. And a deep, unrelenting rage overwhelmed him to the point of breaking his self-control.

He knew it. He knew what the wretched scholar was trying to do.

Unaware of his presence, the old man took out a vial and collected a small amount of liquid from the egg. He was unaware that his end was near.

Blade drew his sword and approached him, his shadow lengthening in his direction. His mind was completely empty, except for his rage. He had no control and he didn't care.

He would kill him. And he would make sure that he knew exactly why he would die.

Then the sound of approaching footsteps woke him, and the blind rage receded enough to allow him to remember.

The girl was back. He couldn't hurt her. She was innocent.

Somehow he managed to drag himself behind a group of eggs before they noticed him. He stayed there, holding his head, their voices reaching him as if through a tunnel.

The girl pointed out that the notebook was completely empty, and the scholar didn't answer. When Blade managed to peek out of his hiding place, he saw horror on the old man's face and dismay on the girl's, before the two of them left together.

After that, he had no idea how he managed to return to the safe house. He had no memory of it at all. And when he finally came to, he was in even worse shape than the day before. This time there was no need for Kafka to lock him in the study: he did it on his own. And throughout the night, the Mara gave him no respite. Reality was unclear amidst the horrible memories chasing each other in his mind.

Dan Feng's voice when they sneaked into Scalegorge Waterscape.

Reckless actions. A decision that should not have been made.

Death.

Kafka said that nothing bad would happen, but if that wasn't bad, he had no idea what was. He was going insane!

Eventually he fell asleep. When he woke up, he was surprised to find that the Mara had calmed down and he could think again. At first, he wondered if it was worth going back to Scalegorge Waterscape, given the circumstances. Nevertheless, he decided to take the risk. He had promised to obey, and there was something he wanted to see for himself.

So he wnet there, and once again followed the path the old man and the girl had taken. He looked for the egg that the man had pierced to make sure of its condition.

The Vidyadhara were sterile. They couldn't reproduce normally. The death of one of them was a serious matter. Damaging the eggs meant preventing one of them from being reborn, and that would bring them closer to extinction.

Fortunately, as far as he could tell, the damage was minimal. It looked the same as the others, and there wouldn't have been serious consequences.

With that confirmed, Blade had to make a decision. Part of him wanted to hunt down the scholar, if only to find out the details of his plan. The whole thing was disturbing: it reminded him of too many unresolved matters. Perhaps dealing with it would ease his discomfort. Still, he had no idea who the man was. He didn't doubt that he would find him eventually: he was good at tracking his prey. But when he did, it would be a completely independent action. He doubted that Elio would approve, and if things went wrong, it could lead to problems. Problems that, as far as he knew, could affect the long-term goals of the organization.

It went against his oath. He wasn't a lone vengeance seeker anymore: he was a Stellaron Hunter, and he had to act like one. Not to mention the involvement of the golden-eyed girl. He didn't know the whole situation, but if she somehow got between him and that man, it would be a disaster.

She was important to their goals. He couldn't touch her.

So he decided to wait. If the two of them showed up again, he would determine a course of action.

They didn't, and that was a relief. As far as he knew, whatever dark experiment this guy was working on might have failed. Which could only be good. Nobody should play with fire like that. For whatever reason.

That day, with his mind occupied, it was easier for him to prevent intrusive thoughts from awakening his Mara. So when he returned, he could avoid locking himself in the study. Still, his mind continued to wander.

The issue with the elderly scholar continued to haunt him. Even though Kafka had only spoken of three days, a part of him felt that the matter was not closed. But how would his intervention benefit anyone? When he got involved, things tended to escalate quickly. Usually with a lot of deaths, accidental or otherwise, as a side dish.

Perhaps it would have been wiser to let the authorities of the Xianzhou Alliance handle it on their own and continue to uphold his oath.

At that time, it seemed to be the most logical and reasonable thing to do. Continuing to dwell on it wouldn't help anyone, especially considering his background. And if he cared about his sanity at all, he would avoid that place from now on.

Right?

...Wrong.
It was the fourth day, and Blade — out of a mix of curiosity, instinct, and pure masochism — was back at Scalegorge Waterscape. He had no guarantee that he would see the girl and the old man again, and Kafka's assurance that 'nothing bad would happen' no longer held.
 
Maybe, at that point, it was a bit of a personal matter for him as well.

Standing next to the statue of the High Elder, surrounded by its ancient murals, he looked up at the familiar face. Fragmented and weathered by time as it was, the portrait still maintained its solemnity, its heroic demeanor.

This is how Dan Feng appeared at the height of his glory, when everyone loved and respected him. Before he became a controversial figure. Before the betrayal. In a time when he was happy to call him a friend.

He felt the Mara stirring within himself, and lowered his gaze. He took a deep breath, trying to reign it in. It would end eventually. It was only a matter of time.

...Or maybe not? The Mara was aggressive. What if it destroyed his consciousness before he could complete his vengeance? And, even worse, what would become of him at that point? Would he become like those wretched abominations covered in bark? An immortal monster devoid of reason, ruled only by anger and instinct?

A curtain of ice tightened around his guts, causing him almost physical pain.

He couldn't allow it. It couldn't happen. Until he found a way to end his existence, he would fight tooth and nail for as long as it took. Whether it was years, centuries, or millennia.

Gathering all his willpower, he ignored the negative impulses until their voice faded into a whisper. Another small victory for him.

He didn't have time to rejoice, as the sound of small footsteps caught his attention.

A child was approaching the statue from the beach, looking around cautiously. When he saw that Blade was there, he stopped, looking up at him. When the man showed no reaction, he took a few steps closer, stopping at a certain distance from him.

At first, Blade wondered what was such a young child doing there. He couldn't be more than seven or eight years old, and Scalegorge Waterscape wasn't exactly a place one could accidentally stumble into.

He kept staring, his eyes narrowed, evaluating him. From a boy of that age in such a place, he would have expected wonder. After all, as negative as it was for him, Scalegorge Waterscape was a stunning area: the ruins, the ancient murals, the large pearly Vidyadhara eggs, the shimmering waters...  Under different circumstances, he would have been enraptured himself! Instead, the child was looking around frantically. Nothing seemed to capture his interest, as if he were waiting for something that wasn't coming. 

One detail in particular caught his attention: the child was holding a notebook in his hands. A notebook he had seen before.

At that moment, the boy noticed that he was staring, and his dark eyes widened in fear. When Blade didn't avert his gaze, he stepped back, moving away toward the beach. He tried to appear casual, but it was clear he wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

...It seemed that the situation had resolved itself, even without his intervention. He would call it poetic justice, if it weren't so horrible.

Blade doubted the child had somehow recognized him. It was more likely that he had mistaken him for a member of the authorities.

At that point, he could well imagine what happened. He only had to find out what was he doing there.

He waited until the child moved far enough before following him from a distance. He stopped beside the columns that separated the beach from the main structure. From his position, he could see the child on the artificial promontory overlooking the water. The column, however, hid Blade from his view, giving him a good vantage point.

They waited, separated by the shield of stone, one impatient and anxious, the other calm and silent. And, in the end, neither of them was disappointed.

He had no idea how much time had passed when a familiar figure landed on the beach of Scalegorge Waterscape. Blade suspected it was her even before he saw her distinctive grey hair. She was running up the staircase, in such a hurry that, even though he was barely concealed in the shadows, she didn't notice his presence. She passed by him like a gust of wind, and when she spotted the silhouette of the child on the promontory, she rushed straight toward him.

Blade slipped out from behind the pillar and leaned back against it, arms crossed, his gaze wandering toward the two figures. He saw them sit down next to each other, gazing out at the horizon. From that distance, he couldn't hear what they were saying, but at that point, it didn't matter.

The world, sometimes, had a very ironic way of setting things straight. All knots came undone in one way or another. The same went for him and the people who shared his sins.

His eyes returned to the statue of the High Elder, still visible from that position. A veil of melancholy descended upon him, leaving him empty.

What was left of High Clouds Quintet? Right now, Jing Yuan was the only remnant of their glory: all the others had been struck by death and madness, leaving nothing but memories behind.

He was still lost in his thoughts when he heard some footsteps approaching. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl moving away from the pier, leaving the child behind. She walked with her head down, her eyes dim, her face pale. Again, she didn't seem to notice him until she was only a few steps away.

Then she looked up, and their gazes met.

She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening in recognition. Her hand reached for her silver bat. However, he remained still. He didn't draw his sword, nor did he show any sign of aggression. He stood there, silently watching her, until she relaxed, understanding he had no intention of fighting.

Blade averted his gaze, turning his attention back to the distant statue. He expected her to move on. Their circumstances had changed, so he didn't believe she intended to engage in conversation with him. Considering their current state, ignoring each other seemed like the most rational choice.

Instead, the girl stayed, and even without paying direct attention to her, he continued to feel her gaze. And when he heard her move, her steps didn't move away from him. On the contrary, they got closer.

Her figure abruptly entered his field of vision. She stopped in front of him, her eyes gleaming with interest.

"Hello, Bladie."

Blade — who was initially determined to ignore her — frowned.

"Call me that again and I'll be answering you with my sword."

Accepting that ridiculous nickname from Kafka was one thing. Enduring it from a stranger was quite another. 

...Well, she wasn't exactly a stranger, but the principle was the same.

She took half a step back, waving her hands in front of her as if to erase what she said, a nervous smile on her lips.

"Sorry, sorry! It was a joke!"

Oh, he knew. That's why the sword was still sheathed.

"You seemed determined to ignore me, so I was trying to get your attention. That's all!"

Well, she succeeded. She put him in a bad mood in just two words! Usually, it took at least a sentence.

He considered her for a moment. Her attitude wasn't much different from when they first met in Belobog. A bit more cautious, perhaps: her initial reaction had been to reach for her weapon, and now she stood a few steps away from him. The space needed for a reaction in case he attacked. Yet, there was no hostility in her demeanor, just as there hadn't been back then.

It was still her, as he remembered her from their first encounter. Strangely, this gave him a sense of... 'relief'? It wasn't exactly the word he would use to describe it, but it came close enough.

It was hard to explain.

He sighed impatiently. It wasn't the time or place to engage in small talk. Unlike that time in Belobog, he wasn't tired and vulnerable. He was in perfect shape and in the most unstable mental state he had been in for a while.

"Elio has other plans for you, so you may leave here alive."

With that curt statement, he intended to dismiss her. Anyone else would have taken it as a clear signal and made their exit. It would have been a normal and reasonable reaction.

But, clearly, she was neither normal nor reasonable.

Even when he averted his gaze, the girl continued to stare. When he dared to glance in her direction again, he saw that she was even squinting.

At that point, she had to know who he was. There was no way she didn't. She used his name! Could she really not care at all?

Finally, when she was satisfied with her examination, she moved away. Blade thought she had finally decided to leave. Instead, she leaned against the pillar on the opposite side of his.

"What are you doing here?" she said.

He glanced toward the child, still sitting at the edge of the promontory, completely unaware of their presence.

"...Mourning for folly."

The girl's expression changed. Her golden eyes darkened again, and she lowered her head. With the tip of her foot, she started tracing circles on the ground.

"That guy, was he happy?"

He wasn't sure why he asked, when all he wanted was to end the conversation. Maybe he hoped the answer would give him some kind of comfort.

She raised her head, surprised by the question.

"So, you were the 'quiet guy' he said he met before."

He didn't answer, but there wasn't any need to. She hesitated for a moment, then shrugged.

"Honestly, I don't know. He said he was happy that he achieved his goal, even if things didn't go as he hoped. But I don't know how sincere he was."

Yes. He imagined it would be difficult to get it by looking at the situation from the outside. Maybe the scholar didn't know either. After all, humans were very good at lying to themselves.

"Todd — that's his name — tried to reverse his aging using the fluid from a Vidyadhara egg. I think..." She paused, her gaze once again lowered, her fingers tormenting the hem of her skirt. "...I think he was afraid of aging, and of everything that came with it. But now he doesn't know how to stop the process. It only took him a couple of days to deteriorate like this. By tomorrow, he will probably be..."

Her voice faded. For a while, they both remained silent. Then, unable to contain herself, she continued. She was clearly distressed, her eyes a little redder than before.

"How can he call this satisfying? Breaking laws and deceiving people to achieve such a result! How could it have been worth it? I'm not even mad that he deceived me, at this point. I just want to understand why it had to end like this, and why are some people so obsessed with immortality to not even care about what happens to themselves! Everything in this place seems so tied with it, it's not even funny!"

Blade watched her out of the corner of his eye. The delicate face, the melancholy in her eyes, her lips turned downward in a scowl... 

She looked incredibly young. To a stranger's eyes, he probably seemed only a few years older than her, any trace of aging immediately erased by his regenerative ability. However, there was a substantial difference between 'being young' and 'appearing young'. There was something so genuine in her reaction that he would never be able to emulate it. That's why, in that moment, she seemed more fascinating than ever.

In the face of his lack of response, the girl took a deep breath, regaining her composure.

"Sorry. I shouldn't be talking about this with you. You probably don't care."

...That wasn't exactly true. If he didn't care, he wouldn't have shown up there that day, risking his sanity. Even if he wanted to, though, he wouldn't be able to give her an answer.

Had the old scholar been wrong? Probably. From a rational point of view, it was a failure and a mistake. But people had their obsessions, and facts had a different weight when seen in a different light.

For example, did his vengeance make sense? Probably not, without the possibility of finding peace. But if he couldn't pursue it, then...

A nagging headache interrupted his thoughts, a long-repressed anger trying to resurface. He closed his eyes, seeking the strength to resist, and fortunately found it. With effort, he repressed his anger, forcing himself to stay in the present.

The girl's frightened jolt forced him to snap out of it. Her eyes widened in panic, she was staring beyond him, straight toward the promontory where the child had been sitting. Blade followed the trajectory of her gaze and saw that the boy was no longer there.

There was only an empty spot. And silence.

The girl lunged forward to rush in that direction, but he stopped her, extending his arm. She gave him an exasperated look and tried to push him aside, but when their eyes met, she stopped. She turned back to look at the promontory, and suddenly deflated, her arms falling to her sides.

"He must have sneaked away while I wasn't looking... right?"

"It's possible."

It was, but it would be hard to leave without passing in front of them.

"He hasn't already..."

"I don't know."

And because he didn't know, he wouldn't let her proceed further. If somehow the scholar had already reached his limit and disappeared, he didn't want her to see the aftermath. Even if she probably already knew it.

"...I should have realized sooner. I shouldn't have brought him here to begin with. If I noticed what he was trying to do, then..."

"Everybody dies," Blade interrupted her, his eyes lingering in the direction of the pier. "Some people die harboring hatred, while others get to visit their own burial site. When he decided to pursue eternal youth, he had already made his choice. It has nothing to do with you."

She lowered her head, her hair falling to hide her face. She returned wearily to the opposite pillar, but instead of leaning on it, she sat down on the first step, hugging her knees.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. They had nothing to say to each other. Even so, the girl didn't leave. Why she stayed was a mystery. Why he himself stayed was an even greater one. He had a million excellent reasons to leave, yet he didn't move, his thoughts lost on circular paths that led nowhere.

"And you?"

The sudden question, posed as if their conversation had never been interrupted, caught him off guard. He turned in her direction and saw that she raised her head. Her eyes were dry, but she looked exhausted. And she was observing him with a quiet and penetrating gaze that immediately put him on edge.

"You said everybody dies, but what about you?"

... So, she knew. It wasn't surprising. She was part of the Astral Express crew and a companion of Dan Feng, after all.

Just by thinking about him, the Mara resurfaced along with a spike of unjustified irritation.

"I can only live. And keep living on. Endlessly. Forever."

Realizing the sharpness in his response, he looked away again, trying to find relief from the incoming madness.

He didn't find it. Instead, his eyes fell on the statue in the center of the square, distant yet so close. And the world began to fill with shadows.

Unaware of the impending danger, the girl stood up and, brushing some sand off her clothes, took a step closer. She followed the trajectory of his gaze, right at the statue of the High Elder.

"Does this have something to do with Dan Heng?"

Another twinge of irritation at the false name. The one he was using to try to escape his past.

He he whipped his head towards her, so quick it made her jump. She figured out immediately that there was something off with him and took a step back.

"Let's hear it," he said, his voice more drawn out than usual. He bridged the distance she created in a single stride. "What did Imbibitor Lunae tell you about me?"

The girl swallowed, a hand reaching for the grip of her bat. In his excitement, Blade thought he could hear the blood pulsing through her veins. And what a wonderful sound it was! Each beat marked the rhythm of her fear. Exactly what he wanted to hear.

...Yet, for some reason, her gaze didn't waver. She kept staring him straight in the eyes, head held high.

It was so irritating.

"He told me you can't die."

"And you believed him, of course."

"He had no reason to lie to me. Besides..."

"...Besides?" he pressed, a sardonic smile forming at the corners of his lips.

A step forward from him, a step back from her. Perfectly coordinated, like in a dance.

"Besides, I've seen how you heal."

The tip of her tongue moistened her dry lower lip. A brief movement, but almost hypnotic to him.

"Good. It is the truth."

Another step forward.

Another step back.

"Then? What else did he tell you?"

"He said you've been hunting him ever since he left the Luofu. That you've tried to kill him over and over."

"That's true too". He tilted his head to the side, a gesture that would have seemed innocent at any other time, on anyone else. "Did he tell you why?"

For the briefest of moments, her eyes flickered sideways, her confidence wavered. Blade got his answer, and so did the shadows. Shadows creeping just outside his field of vision, their claws reaching out towards them.

"He didn't tell you anything". His smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "It must be nice to trust someone so much that you don't need to know the truth."

The girl looked up, her hesitation gone, her lips pressed into a hard line.

"He's a good person. I have no idea what he did in his past life. Maybe he was a terrible person, I don't know. But he's not like that anymore. Since I've known him, he's always been kind to me. He's always helped me. He's never doubted me, even though I'm a stranger from who knows where. Whatever he may have done in another life, it won't change my mind."

She straightened her back, standing at her full height, and Blade was struck. It had been a long time since he saw someone so fiercely protective of someone else, and in reaction to that, the shadows retreated. In a moment of clarity, he felt a hint of remorse.

Not towards Dan Feng. Towards her.

She knew nothing of his past. As far as she was concerned, he was a friend, a companion. And Blade was someone trying to take him away from her.

Even criminals had loved ones, and sometimes justice trampled over their hearts.

But that moment of awareness was swept away the next instant.

"Dan Feng doesn't exist anymore. He's a different person now, and he just wants to be left alone. Why—?"

The shadows returned, plunging the world into darkness.

Before he realized it, the sword was in his hand, ready to strike. The girl noticed in time, and the silver bat sparkled in her fingers, blue flashes running across its surface like lightning bolts. Their weapons clashed, the bat blocking the blade in time to prevent it from tearing through its owner. An admirable defense, he had to admit.

She was a skilled fighter. He could tell from the strength of her blows, from how decisively she kept intercepting his blade. Unfortunately, there was a distinct roughness in her. She was used to having comrades backing her up. She didn't expect to be forced into a one-on-one duel with an immortal opponent who aimed to kill and didn't care about his own safety.

She held her ground, but soon she was forced to step back, cornered against the pillar. There, with one final sharp blow, Blade sent her weapon flying. The metallic bat rolled away, down the stone steps.

Out of reach.

"You'll have to do better than that, little girl."

With a sinister laugh, Blade pinned her against the pillar, the sword inches away from her neck. She looked up at him, her breath heavy.  She wasn't used to losing in this way, and that made it even more interesting.

"Do you want to know 'why'?" he snarled. "Then imagine this. Someone committed a terrible crime, leaving you alone to suffer the consequences. Your life as you know it has been destroyed, your future is gone. If this person one day showed up, claiming that he has changed, that he's not the same person anymore, and that as such, you should leave him alone, what would you do? Would you forgive him? Let it slide?"

Her eyes widened, her lips parting in silent astonishment. She didn't answer, and he laughed again.

"Nothing to say?"

He pushed the blade just a bit deeper toward her throat, letting her feel the cold steel against her skin. She squinted, bracing herself for the worst. Her golden irises briefly disappeared behind her eyelids, as shadows intertwined on her face.

What could he do to her now? Would a single cut be enough, or would it take more? How much did Dan Feng care about this woman? How much pain would he have to inflict before he came to save her? How low did he have to sink before he could end his damn life?!

As his thoughts spiraled deeper into darkness, the shadows reshaped the girl's face, transforming it. And, like the first time, it became someone else's.

Fox ears atop soft hair. Eyes made for light and laughter, now filled with reproach.

The hand clutching the sword lost its strength. Fingers trembled. Breathing became labored.

Why was she there? She shouldn't be. After all, she was...!

Taking advantage of his confusion, the shadowy specter reached out to him, hands turning into claws, trying to tear him apart...

"Blade!"

The voice, different from what he remembered, called a name it shouldn't have known. A name that didn't belong to those times. The hands that were reaching for him lost their claws. When they grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her, they were warm to the touch.

The empty eyes of the specter turned bright and golden.

"Look at me!"

This happened once before, on a snowy planet, in what felt like another lifetime. A pair of golden eyes, like sparks among the shadows.

That time, they reminded him of a friend, someone outside his web of vengeance, and the memory had brought him back.

This time, he remembered her. Because no one else had been crazy enough to try something like this — not once, but twice! — while staring at Death right in the eye.

Stelle.

Like that time, the shadows exploded. The hellscape was no more. He was back to Scalegorge Waterscape, with its white stones and sparkling water. And the person in front of him wasn't a ghost but the girl with golden eyes, challenging the edge of his sword to grab his face.

If she was afraid of him, she didn't show it at all. There was only determination in her gaze. And when he slowly lowered his sword, her tension turned into relief.

She was no longer in immediate danger. But it wasn't enough. She grew serious again, a small wrinkle forming between her eyebrows as her eyes wandered beyond him, toward the square.

Toward the statue of the High Elder.

On impulse, Blade tried to follow her gaze, but the small hands tightened their grip on his cheeks, preventing him from doing so.

"Don't look, and come with me."

Without giving him a chance to recover, she released his face and grabbed his sleeve, guiding him down the stairs. She wasn't strong enough to drag him with her, if he refused to follow. Still, he went along without resistance.

Stelle stopped briefly halfway down the stairs to pick up her weapon, then proceeded until both of their feet sank into the soft sand of the beach. Only then did she let him go, slumping onto the last step of the staircase. She dropped so suddenly that, for a second, he thought she had fainted.

And then, completely out of nowhere, she burst into laughter.

"I really thought you were going to slice me up!"

Blade distanced himself from her, creating a safety gap between them. The worst of the crisis had passed, but he wasn't fine. His breathing was still rapid, and as he wiped his forehead with his hand, he noticed he was sweating bullets.

It was that place. It was toxic for him. Air itself was like poison.

"I would have," he pointed out flatly.

She tilted her head, looking up at him.

"I noticed."

She turned serious, her eyes narrowed as she examined him from head to toe.

"What was that, Blade?"

In a way, he had expected the question. You can't assault someone without them at least asking why you did it.

"At first, I thought I made you angry," she pressed on. "But it wasn't just that, was it? It's the same thing that happened in Belobog. Back then, I thought it was because of the wound, but it was something else. Or am I wrong?"

Her voice was subdued, as if she wanted to be wrong.

"...You're not" he finally confessed.

"Then what was it? It seemed..."

She didn't finish the sentence, and he didn't complete it for her.

Blade looked back toward the square. From where they were, he couldn't see the statue of the High Elder anymore, which was a good thing. He had no doubt that she brought him there for that reason. Which meant she understood the situation more than she wanted to admit.

Indeed, when he turned back to her, he noticed her scanning him, searching for something.

Pieces of bark on his wrists, perhaps? Or branches sprouting from his neck?

Obviously, she found none, and when she finished her examination, she shook her head.

"...No, it's impossible," she said to herself. She didn't seem aware that she said it out aloud.

"It's none of your business," he dismissed her, pretending he didn't hear it.

"Considering you nearly sliced me like a sandwich, I'd say it is."

She stood up, probably for emphasis. Not very effective when her interlocutor was taller than her.

"The only important thing is that staying near me is not a good idea. As I already told you more than once."

Stelle opened her mouth to argue but couldn't find anything to say. She gasped like a fish out of water, but in the face of inevitable defeat, she had no choice but to give in. She spread her arms in surrender and slumped back onto the step.

"You're right. We're neither friends nor allies. I barely know you, in fact. When I saw you, I should have ignored you and walked away."

"That would have been wise," he said. He didn't want to add more, but curiosity got the better of him. "Why did you stay?"

She stared back, like a technician examining a mechanism she hadn't quite figured out.

"Maybe there's more than one reason. Maybe I didn't want to be alone after what happened to Todd, and it didn't matter if it was you or anyone else. Or maybe I'm just trying to figure out who I'm dealing with."

Blade had been the object of curiosity before. After all, he was a creature capable of regenerating endlessly. It was something he could understand. Usually, though, there was always a certain degree of caution in other people's looks. Fear or hatred, even, depending on the circumstances. Instead, she genuinely seemed nothing other than curious, despite having many reasons to despise him.

"...You are weird."

"You think so?"

He raised an eyebrow. Stelle responded with a half smile.

"Well, you didn't leave either."

He couldn't argue with that. He knew very well that if he had left first, nothing would have happened.

He wouldn't have spoken to her. He wouldn't have been overcome by the Mara. He wouldn't have attacked her. He wouldn't have risked violating the instructions he had received.

He turned his back to her, his eyes getting lost on the horizon.
 
"I tried to kill you." 

No expression in his voice. No remorse, no regret. It was as if he were talking about the weather.

She remained silent long enough to make him think she had given up on arguing. But, to his surprise, he felt a stir behind him. When he turned around, he saw that not only had she left her seat, but she had come close enough that he could touch her. 

"I'm not angry," she said. "I don't blame people for things they can't control." 

He scoffed, skeptical. 

"How can you be so sure that it was not intentional?"

Stelle closed her eyes and inhaled, lost in her thoughts. When she reopened them, he saw a shadow of fear. 

"You've never seen your own face in one of those moments, have you?"

Blade shook his head. If he ever looked at himself in the mirror when he was in the grip of the Mara, he didn't remember.

"It's like you are not there."

She didn't say more, but it wasn't necessary. Just looking at her, at the way her eyes avoided his, was enough to understand that it couldn't have been pleasant.  And it was the second time it happened. Although Belobog's crisis had ended before she was in serious danger, the risk had not been minor. 

...What could he possibly say to her? He wasn't sure if there was an appropriate phrase to justify attempted murder, nor did he believe that apologies would resolve the issue. What he could do was try to fulfill his duties. 

"You should stay away from me. For everyone's sake."

Stelle didn't argue, hugging herself tightly to ward off a sudden shiver. She was as aware of it as he was: any interaction between them would be more harmful than helpful. And if she didn't take the first step, he had no choice but to be the responsible one and take it for her. 

He turned his back and began to move away, but he froze almost immediately. There was something else he needed to do before leaving.

Surprised by his change of heart, Stelle tilted her head, her hair brushing against her shoulder. Blade found himself staring at the way her gray strands formed silvery swirls on her neck. It was somewhat hypnotic.

"Yes?"

Her voice brought him back to reality, and he quickly averted his gaze. He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a neatly folded white handkerchief, which he thrust toward her.

Stelle looked at the piece of fabric in his hand, puzzled.

"It's yours," Blade said, impatient.

She looked at the handkerchief and noticed the rabbit-shaped embroidery.

"Oh! Thanks..."

She carefully took it from his hand, their fingers brushing against each other. They were both wearing gloves, but Blade still felt a tingling sensation, like a slight shock. With a vague sense of discomfort, he withdrew his hand, letting it fall back to his side.

Stelle turned the handkerchief in her hands, incredulous.

"You've kept it all this time because you wanted to give it back to me?"

Silence was her only answer.

"You could have kept it, or even thrown it away. I have several others."

"I almost threw it away, in fact," he admitted. "But it's not mine. And borrowed things should be returned to their original owner."

That rule was somewhat of a cornerstone for him ever since he was recruited by the Stellaron Hunters. When they found him, they gave him everything he currently owned, starting with the very clothes he wore. Therefore, he promised to return everything before he died, regardless of how long it would take.

The same, of course, applied to everything else, including the handkerchief. That, at least, was the explanation he gave himself to justify carrying it around all that time.

Stelle blinked, then stared at him for so long that he started feeling uncomfortable. Was it really such a bizarre thing?

It had to be, because she laughed in amusement.

"...You say I'm a weirdo, but you are plenty weird yourself!"

Blade crossed his arms, annoyed. True or not, he didn't want to hear it from her. He wasn't the one who rummaged through the garbage and roleplayed with trash cans.

Seeing his impassive look, Stelle backpedaled.

"Hey, being weird isn't a bad thing! It's better to be strange than boring! And I say that as a certified weirdo."

She held the handkerchief with both hands, delighted. Her eyes sparkled like gold nuggets. He didn't understand what made her so happy all of a sudden, but he felt a tightness forming in his stomach. It wasn't unpleasant, but he couldn't explain what it was. And that made him feel ill at ease. 

"Anyway, thank you. You've been really kind."

She smiled, and the tightness in his stomach grew stronger. He doubted there was much room for kindness in him, and being called that sounded strange. Especially after what happened.

No, he wasn't kind. She was. Strange, oblivious, persistent, and probably the kindest person he had met since becoming immortal.

He responded to her gratitude with a gruff grunt and turned his back on her again.

"...Go back to your companions. You'll be safer with them."

He started walking. This time, he was determined to leave as soon as possible and cut off any further contact between them.  

"Blade!"

Stelle followed him, trotting a few steps behind to get his attention. He didn't wait for her, and he heard her stop further back. But that didn't mean she had given up.

"I'm glad I met you today!" she said, raising her voice to make sure he heard her.

At that point, he had to stop. He didn't turn around, and she didn't try to approach him again.

She was giving him space. And then, she continued:

"It's been... a long day, and I'm glad there was someone here with me. Despite everything."

Blade closed his eyes and exhaled. It felt like someone had grabbed his insides and squeezed them.

The truth was he should be the one thanking her. At the very least, for stopping the Mara. But admitting that would mean encouraging a connection he wanted to sever. So, he didn't turn around or give her a response. He simply resumed walking, the wind blowing against him as if trying to stop him.

With each step, he was aware of Stelle's gaze on his back, and inexplicably, he felt lighter, as if some of the chains holding him had broken. It was a strange feeling, difficult to explain, and at the same time, familiar. He felt it before but such a long ago that it was hard to recognize.

It was only when he was far enough from her that he managed to grasp it, and in realizing what it was, his heart almost stopped.

It was impossible. Absurd. Utterly senseless.

But it was his body, and he knew it better than anyone else. As incredible as it was, it was happening.

The Mara was silent.

"KAFKA!"

Saying that Blade burst into the safe house by kicking the door in wouldn't have been much of an exaggeration. While the door did come out intact, the force of his entrance was akin to a tornado. Anyone who had known him in recent years could have sworn they had never seen him so lively. His apathy had been completely  replaced by a feverish, nervous energy. What remained intact was his usual single-minded determination. And the goal, this time, wasn't something out of his reach.

Kafka, sitting cross-legged in the armchair, raised her eyes from the tablet she was holding, not at all surprised.

"Welcome back, Bladie. Had a nice day?"

He didn't bother to answer because he was sure she could imagine the response. None of the recent days had been nice. His mental health had been seriously tested, so he had no patience for pleasantries.

In a couple of quick strides, he was in front of her, towering over her in all his height.

"I want to know the meaning of all this."

Kafka pursed her lips, completely unfazed, and placed the tablet on the coffee table next to the armchair.

"First, answer a question," she said. "How is your Mara?"

...Of course, she knew. She knew from the very beginning. The whole 'visiting Scalegorge Waterscape for three days' thing had served the sole purpose of making him meet Stelle and the elderly scholar. That way, he would go there on the fourth day as well. All of it to ensure that all of those events happened. This was par for the course when Elio was involved.

"Do I need to answer that?"

She chuckled, making a response unnecessary.

The silence of the Mara didn't last long. He was halfway between Scalegorge Waterscape and the safe house when he started to feel it again. It was weaker than it had been in recent days, like the indistinct buzzing he endured when he was far from the Luofu. Still, he felt it was growing: it would surely keep fluctuating until they left the ship. The problem was far from being solved.
 
Kafka got up from the armchair, stretching like a cat after a long nap. She walked over to the window, turning her back to him and tapping her fingers on the windowsill. A gesture that, in his agitated mental state, Blade found almost unbearable.

"So, I guess my theory has been verified. In principle, at least."

"Would you explain what you're talking about?"

She didn't answer, continuing to look outside. And he lost what little patience he had left.

"I've never asked any questions, Kafka. I've always done everything I was told, even when I didn't understand the reason". He didn't raise his voice, but there was such an unnatural calm in his tone that anyone would have known he was furious. "I don't ask the details of Elio's plan, because I know a single mistake could make it fail. But this concerns me directly. You have no right to keep me in the dark."

"I don't intend to keep you in the dark, Bladie. I was merely thinking about how to introduce the topic."

Blade crossed his arms, chin raised in silent challenge, determined not to move until he got something resembling an answer. And finally, she turned, leaning against the window, a finger idly playing with a strand of her hair.

"I don't think I need to explain how the Mara works to you."

"Obviously."

Mara was, in all respects, the 'Long-Life Curse'. When an individual lived for too long, they became afflicted by it. When this happened varied, and the signs could be wildly different from person to person. But it was inevitable. In his specific case, the most common symptoms were violent mood swings, memory lapses, and...

"It's like you are not there."

Stelle's words flashed through his mind. It was incredible how quickly she had framed it all.

"Keeping it under control has always been our priority since we recruited you. Then, some time ago, Elio stumbled upon a particular 'path'."

"Which is?"

Kafka crossed her fingers, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"It's a small alternate 'path'. It doesn't alter the progress of our goals in any way. Elio said it's irrelevant, but I thought it was worth investigating and he wasn't opposed to it. So, when the opportunity presented itself, I took you with me on a minor mission. At this point, you'll remember which one."

No need to say more.

Belobog.

He remembered wondering why Kafka insisted on taking him on a mission where his presence was not necessary. In fact, apart from his encounter with the Fragmentum monsters, nothing significant happened.

Or rather, one single significant thing happened.

"Stelle."

Kafka nodded.

"As sharp as always, dear Bladie. If I hadn't brought you with me to Belobog that day, you two wouldn't have met. Or rather, you would have met only much later. For you, she would have meant nothing. And she, knowing who you were from the beginning, would have been distrustful of you. That's what we needed to rectify."

So, she dragged him to Belobog and intentionally sent him out of the city, knowing that he would be attacked. That he would find refuge in that alley at the exact moment when Stelle was there. All for the sole purpose of making them meet.

"Why?"

"Because, just by being present, she stopped not one, but two severe Mara spikes. Does that sound like a good enough reason?"

Kafka gave him another sly grin, to which he responded with a frown. This story was starting to give him a headache.

He sank into the armchair she left empty, massaging his temples.

"And I suppose you have a theory as to why. Does it have something to do with the Stellaron inside her?"

With a casual wave of her hand, Kafka dismissed his theory.

"Probably not. I mean, I can't entirely rule it out. But personally, I believe the key to everything is you, Bladie."

"Meaning?"

Leaving her post by the window, Kafka sat in the chair opposite him, fingers crossed under her chin.

"No one knows the true cause of the Mara. Some speculate it's linked to Yaoshi The Abundance, others think it's a natural phenomenon. As far as we know, it could be both! A common factor, though, is the connection to memories. In practice, when one lives for too long, they tend to accumulate more memories than a mortal mind can process, until..."

"...until they start to fade, leaving only the most intense behind, which usually tend to be traumatic. Over time, one becomes incapable of experiencing positive emotions, the ego collapses, and the person begins to lose their sanity. Then, they transition into an abomination". Blade completed the explanation for her, not allowing her to finish. He knew this all too well, both in theory and practice. "Get to the point, Kafka."

"The point is, we know that this explanation is at least partially correct. Otherwise, the 'cleaning up' I perform on you wouldn't work. Obscuring negative memories, however, only goes so far. And this is where my theory comes into play."

She leaned forward, weighing every word, her eyes fixed on his.

"Answer me this, Bladie, and try to be honest. When you were with Stelle — both in Belobog and a while ago — how did you feel? What did you think, before and after your crises?"

He focused on his hands resting on his knees.

It was a difficult question, mainly because he couldn't interpret most of what he felt. He thought about many things: some unpleasant, some less so. And then, at times...

An uncomfortable feeling tightened his chest, and he shut down his own thoughts. He didn't want to think about it. Why did she want him to remember?

Kafka watched his inner struggle, waiting for him to talk. Only when she realized that he wouldn't did she step in to help.

"You experienced some positive emotions, didn't you? Because she was kind to you, and that made you feel good."

Blade suddenly lifted his head, frowning. It sounded so simple when put that way. Nothing compared to the tangle of thoughts and feelings he had experienced. Yet, as much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn't.

"And the fact that she was kind to you led you to — how should I put it — 'care' about her. You appreciate this side of her and respect her. If it weren't for that, I doubt you would have carried that handkerchief with you all this time. Am I wrong?"

She wasn't wrong. And that was a big problem.

"Think about it, Bladie. Being unable to experience positive emotions causes — or at least accelerates — the progression of the Mara. So, in theory, being able to feel them should have the opposite effect. The fact that, for a short time, you almost didn't feel its influence indicates that my theory might be correct."

"...So, what does it mean? That by spending time with Stelle, I will be cured from it?" he asked. "It seems unlikely."

For the first time since their conversation started, Kafka's optimism wavered. She sighed and slumped back in her chair.

"Indeed, that seems impossible. Even if I am right, it would only be a temporary effect. In theory, anyone should be able to evoke positive feelings in someone else. According to this 'path', though, only Stelle's presence works for you specifically. If she's not there, the effect doesn't last long, as you've confirmed yourself."

"So, what about kidnapping Stelle and ensuring she stays constantly glued to Blade? She'll always be there to keep him in check. Problem solved, everyone happy."

Both Hunters turned when a familiar voice interrupted their conversation.

Silver Wolf's hologram had materialized in the room, a tiny, translucent figure just a few steps away from them. Judging from her statement, she had listened to the entire discussion.

"Wolfie, if you were listening, you could have shown yourself earlier. Eavesdropping isn't polite," Kafka said, giving her a sideways glance.

"By now, you should have realized that I can be anywhere if I decide to. If you're surprised, it's entirely your fault," replied the young hacker. "But enough chit-chat. What do you think of my idea? I wouldn't mind having Stelle here. She's a decent player."

"It's terrible." 

Blade immediately dismissed it, not even considering the suggestion. Silver Wolf pouted.

"And why not? Having her around makes you feel good and I wouldn't mind having another partner for multiplayer. Since I'm stronger than both of you, you could even team up against me. A Blade/Stelle ship wasn't something I had considered, but the more I think of it, the more I see the potential!"

A ship? What did ships have to do with anything? Did she want them to go somewhere?

"It's not a game, Silver Wolf," he replied, suppressing a hint of irritation. If there was anyone he didn't want to respond to rudely, it was her. "I was close to attacking her the first time, and I did attack her this time."

Kafka intervened to support him.

"In fact, just one negative emotion or memory, and the Mara regains the upper hand. It's the reason why Elio classified this path as 'irrelevant'. Also, Wolfie, you know very well that Stelle must remain exactly where she is. Exploring various options is fine, but we mustn't forget the main objective". She sighed. "Oh, well. I suppose it was worth a try."

Blade slumped in the armchair, his forehead pressed against his fists, trying to contain a hint of disappointment.

He was not optimistic and always assessed the worst-case scenario. Still, for a moment, he hoped — against all reason — that they had discovered something new. That there was hope, if not to break his curse, at least to make the Mara more tolerable. He knew it was unlikely, if not impossible, but that tiny, irrational part of him hoped for a hint.

Instead, it was all in vain. To explore that hypothesis, Kafka manipulated him — both of them, actually. He was no stranger to it: after all, he knew Kafka well enough to expect it. Not to mention that he wasn't at any real risk of physical consequences. Stelle, however, had been put in danger not once, but twice for a foolish experiment that, in the end, hadn't led anywhere.

"...I thought you cared about her, Kafka."

He looked at her from above his clasped hands, his mood sour.

"Oh, I do care! She's like a little sister to me. Maybe even a bit like a daughter."

"You have a strange way of showing it."

A corner of Kafka's mouth lifted in a crooked smile.

"I knew she wouldn't be in any real danger."

There was a hint of threat in her voice, daring him to question her affection for the girl. Blade didn't accept the challenge: he had no interest in arguing, and it wasn't up to him to determine whether her affection was right or wrong. After all, he wasn't exactly a role model in that regard either.

Silver Wolf sighed, annoyed, and watched them both as if they were the biggest party poopers in the galaxy.

"You two, would you mind stop sinking my ships?"

Blade tilted his head, perplexed. Again with this ship thing? Since when did Silver Wolf own any ships? He couldn't recall sinking anything either. Not recently, at least. There was that one time when he was sent to get rid of a certain crime lord, and he sank him with his ship. But it happened quite a long time ago!

Kafka, on the other hand, seemed to have understood what she was alluding to, as she burst into laughter.

"Don't worry, Wolfie, no ships have been sunk yet. It all depends on our Bladie here."

Two pairs of eyes fixed on him, full of expectation. He felt as if he were surrounded by a pack of fierce and bloodthirsty beasts.

"...What?"

"Well..." Kafka said, crossing her legs. "After all, we have entered this 'path'. You and Stelle know each other, and this can't be changed. Since it's inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, there's nothing wrong if you want to continue exploring this option. As you said earlier, it's a matter that concerns you directly. The choice is yours."

Blade gave her an impassive look. First, she manipulated him without even consulting him, and now she gave him the choice. Better late than never, he guessed.

There wasn't much to think about. Stelle's life was essential to their long-term goals. Nothing should happen to her. Dealing with him was dangerous, as the events had proven. Kafka had faith in Elio's predictions, and, in general, so did he: until now, he had never been wrong. Yet, he couldn't place the same blind trust in them.
Therefore, there was only one decision to make.

"Kafka."

"Yes?"

Both she and Silver Wolf leaned forward, waiting for the verdict.

"Since your experiment is irrelevant to managing the Mara, I assume the 'cleaning up' is still necessary."

She narrowed her eyes, studying him carefully to understand where he was going with this.

"Of course."

"When?"

"I was thinking tomorrow night. According to my information, it's the least risky time."

Perfect. The sooner they resolved that issue, the sooner they could leave that cursed ship.

"When you obscure my memories, I want you to get rid of the ones related to Stelle as well. Anything that doesn't strictly relate to the mission."

Silver Wolf's scowl grew even darker, and Kafka's face lost any trace of playfulness.

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"I am."

Silver Wolf gritted her teeth, annoyed.

"...You're no fun at all, Blade."

He didn't reply. Whatever she said wouldn't change his mind. And if there was anyone who knew that, it was his former pupil.

After a few seconds of tense silence, the young hacker sighed.

"Well, since you're determined to sink my new ship, I'll just go recreate you and Stelle in the new life simulator I installed. You won't be able to sabotage me there."

With one last disappointed look, the hologram pressed something in mid-air — probably a button on her screen — and disappeared with a crackle, leaving him and Kafka alone in the room.

The two remained silent for quite some time. She stared at him without speaking, and he did his best to ignore her. Just as he was trying to ignore the sudden emptiness he felt around his chest.

"Are you really sure? It's the first time I've ever seen you interested in another person. Outside of your personal vengeance, that is."

Kafka finally broke the silence, poking him exactly where he didn't want to be poked.

It was true, and that was precisely the problem. Kafka was most likely right: it all stemmed from the fact that Stelle had been kind to him, for no reason and no logic. But the kindest thing he could do in return was to cut that connection off at the root.

"Don't make me repeat myself."

His colleague sighed, shaking her head.

"As you wish."

She got up to leave the room, without giving him another glance. However, when she reached the threshold, she spoke to him again, without turning around.

"You know, Bladie, feeling emotions is positive. Curiosity, interest, gratitude... they're all good things. And if your decision stems from the fear of hurting her...". She paused, her shoulders slumping. "...Well, you're much less of a monster than you think you are. Probably less than I am."

For a moment, her voice sounded incredibly sad. So sad that he felt the impulse to tell her something. Anything.

He didn't have the chance. Before he could react, she had already disappeared beyond the threshold, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

As always.

Chapter Text

There was something wrong.

Sitting on the main carriage of the Express, Stelle was fidgeting with a certain handkerchief, her mind crowded with questions. 

It had been a day since her encounter with Blade at Scalegorge Waterscape. Tired of waiting for developments about Tingyun, she decided to accompany Welt to the Express to update Himeko on the situation. Now that the crisis had calmed down, there was no real reason not to. So, while the others stayed behind to keep an eye on the situation, they returned to the train.

Seeing Himeko again after all that time was a pleasant distraction, but her thoughts were too pressing to be ignored. So, when they left her alone — Himeko to prepare tea for everyone and Welt to discuss a few matters with Pom-Pom — they had no trouble catching up to her.

What happened the day before, exactly? It was pretty horrible for her, with what happened to Todd and everything else. She had no idea what became of the scholar from the Intelligentsia Guild, but she was pretty sure that by now he was dead. Or perhaps 'disappeared' was more appropriate? When he suddenly went missing, she was scared. And thinking about it now, if Blade hadn't stopped her when he did, what would she have seen? The doubt lingered, no matter how much she tried to dismiss it.

But maybe it was better that way. As far as she knew, he prevented her from potentially being scarred for life.

She sighed and, on impulse, brought the handkerchief to her nose, inhaling sharply. When Pom-Pom took care of the laundry, they used the same clothes deodorizer for all of them. For some reason, they seemed to have a soft spot for peppermint. So, Stelle had grown so accustomed to that scent that she could recognize the members of the crew just by smelling them. When Blade gave her handkerchief back, however, it was different. It had a faint, but sweet smell she couldn't associate with anything she knew. And yet, it was vaguely familiar. Nostalgic, even.

The scent lingered on the fabric for several hours, and she wondered what it was. Maybe, like Pom-Pom, Blade also used clothes deodorizer? Or perhaps it was the scent of his soap?

...Just thinking about it made her face burn. It was hard to explain, but she felt like she was doing something wrong. Like she was stealing something from him.

After a whole day in her pockets, though, the perfume faded. Now the handkerchief smelled exactly the rest of her things. Every trace of the man with fiery eyes was gone.

Except in her memories, of course. 

She hadn't forgotten the way he attacked her. It was true that she wasn't angry, but she couldn't help but worry. There was something horribly familiar about the way he reacted.

The first time she saw it happen, in Belobog, she didn't understand. Then again, she had never seen anything like it. Now, though, she had a point of comparison: Banxia, the Mara-struck woman she and Bailu helped some time before. Her situation wasn't identical to Blade's, but there were common points. For example, both of them lost connection with reality and struggled with control over their emotions. And, by his own admission, Blade was immortal. Aeons only knew how old he was!

The idea that he was Mara-struck had snaked its way into her mind. Still, he lacked any of the common physical signs of the curse. If he was already afflicted in Belobog, wouldn't he have reached the terminal stage long ago? She didn't know all the subtleties of how Mara worked, but Banxia started to change appearance faster than that.

So it couldn't be it. It had to be something else. Something less inevitable and less horrible. Right?

She sighed again, frustrated. At that point, she didn't even know why she was worrying so much. Blade had made himself clear: he didn't want anything to do with her. If she had a shred of common sense, she would wish the same.

...And yet, there was something off. Something sat there in a corner of her mind, but she couldn't identify it. It was like looking from afar at a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle with a single missing piece. It was incomplete, and it felt wrong, but from that distance, it was hard to notice. 

"Do I smell love troubles, Stelle?"

Stelle jumped when Himeko, returning with three steaming cups of tea, placed one in front of her. A suspicious warmth crawled up to her ears, and to conceal it, she quickly focused on the drink.

"No, of course not. Thanks for the tea."

...And she was thankful, of course, that it was tea, not one of Himeko's 'special' blends of coffee.

The red-haired woman sat beside her and started stirring in her own cup.

"Sorry if I'm jumping to conclusions, but usually when one sighs like that, love is one of the major causes." She grinned mischievously at the younger girl, before becoming serious again. "But really, if there's any trouble, you can talk to me. If there's something I can help with..."

"It's nothing! It's just that a lot has happened."

"I'd say that's an understatement. We could make a whole animated series of the latest events."

Welt had just joined them, taking a seat next to Himeko. His arrival distracted the latter long enough for Stelle to discreetly stow the handkerchief in her pocket.

Making sure it was tea and not one of Himeko's lethal concoctions, he downed a sip of the amber liquid.

"But Himeko is right, Stelle. You've been a bit absent-minded in the last couple of days. Did something happen?"

Of course, she knew she could rely on them. They were among the kindest people she had ever met. They welcomed her as a family member, without reservations about her past or the Stellaron she carried. She wasn't sure that telling them about Blade was a good idea, though. If she did, at the very least they would worry. At worst, they would try to keep her away from the Hunters, and she would lose any opportunity to investigate them further.

But she could at least try to ask a question.

"In your opinion, are the Stellaron Hunters our enemies?"

The two exchanged a look. They didn't seem surprised she asked.

"At the moment, I don't think so. Not in the sense that they mean us harm," Welt replied, cautious. "Given what happened recently, though, it's quite clear that we are part of their plans. In what way, it's hard to say. Therefore, we must be cautious around them."

"...I understand."

It was a reasonable answer, in line with what she expected. Which was a relief and a disappointment at the same time.

She brought the cup to her lips and took a sip of tea. The warmth of the drink was reassuring, but it didn't ease her worries.

Himeko, who studied her reaction with interest, set her half-empty cup down and leaned towards her.

"Is it about Kafka, by any chance?"

Stelle nodded.

"Among other things."

"Personally," Himeko continued, "as a passenger of the Express, I don't want anything to do with the Stellaron Hunters. But it's undeniable that Kafka has a strong connection with you.  Based on her actions so far, it seems like she has no ill will towards you."

That was something she didn't doubt. It aligned with what Blade said: Elio had plans for her. They wouldn't harm her.

"Do you think that..." she began, but her sentence was cut off by the sudden ring of her phone. It was the notification of a message.

"Go ahead and answer. It might be March or Dan Heng," Welt said.

Stelle took her phone out of her pocket and checked the screen. It was a message from an unknown sender.

'Stelle, come to the Divination Commission alone. I'll send you the coordinates. Don't tell anyone. - Sincerely yours, Kafka.'

"Kafka?!"

The relaxed atmosphere dropped immediately, while Himeko and Welt jumped to attention. The two exchanged another look.

"What does the message say?" Himeko said.

"She's asking me to go to the Divination Commission alone."

"Are you sure it's her? I wouldn't want it to be some kind of trap."

A reasonable doubt.

With shaky fingers, Stelle quickly typed a response.

'You say you're Kafka? Where's the proof?'

She sent the message and waited a few moments before the person on the other end responded. After a while, a selfie of Kafka appeared on the screen: she was striking a seductive pose in front of some bushes. The caption of the photo read:

'Is this proof enough?'

...She never disappointed, did she? With a sigh, Stelle turned the phone screen, showing the photo to the other two.

"...Well, at least we know it's her," Himeko huffed with obvious aversion. It wasn't exactly a secret that Kafka hadn't earned her sympathy. "You might want to ask her what she wants."

There was no need. A new message had already appeared on the screen.

'Bladie's Mara symptoms are getting serious and we can't leave until he recovers. The problem is that the bounty on his head hasn't been lifted yet, and he's still the most wanted criminal in the Alliance. I need your help.'

Stelle almost dropped the phone. The revelation hit her like a punch in the stomach, and the world around her spun. She reread the message, hoping she misunderstood, but that wasn't the case.

She wasn't mistaken, and Kafka had no reason to lie. Blade was Mara-struck.

She suspected it, but knowing it for sure was a whole different story. And Mara was irreversible. Incurable, except through death.

"Stelle, you're as pale as a sheet. What's happening?"

The girl raised her eyes from the screen to meet the other two's worried faces. Himeko had been the first to speak, and she placed a hand on her shoulder to shake her.

She had to compose herself. She cleared her throat, so as not to betray any emotion.

"Kafka is in trouble. Blade... he's Mara-struck, and his symptoms worsened, so they can't leave the ship."

"Are Kafka and Blade still on the Luofu?". Welt adjusted his glasses, thoughtful. "The General released them, but if I'm not mistaken, only Kafka's arrest warrant was revoked. Blade is still wanted."

Stelle nodded.

"Yes, that's what she wrote. What should I do?"

The two thought about it for a moment before responding.

"Honestly, I don't understand what the Stellaron Hunters are plotting most of the time. Especially Kafka". Welt said, breaking the silence first. "But I agree with what Himeko said earlier. I don't think she means you any harm."

"If she asked for your help," Himeko added, "she'll expect you to show up. And if you don't intend to help her, or to have anything to do with her in the future, it's best to tell her in person."

Unless she misunderstood very badly, they were encouraging her to go. Which was surprising, considering how little they liked the organization. Still, it made sense. And even though she asked for their advice, Stelle was sure that, in the end, she would decide to go anyway. She might agonize over it, but she would do it.

"...Yes, you're right. It's best to talk to her directly. And if she asks me to do something I don't want to do, I can always leave."

Before she could change her mind, she wrote a response to Kafka's message.

'Where are you? Send me the coordinates.'

After just a few seconds, the meeting point coordinates arrived, accompanied by a single message.

'I'll be waiting.'

Stelle tried to reply, but the only thing she received was an error notification. Immediately after the last message, the number had been deactivated.

Leaving the barely touched tea cup on the table, she stood up and put her phone back in her pocket.

"I'm sorry to leave so suddenly, but I should go. The sooner I reach Kafka, the sooner I'll find out what she's up to."

Himeko scrutinized her, visibly concerned.

"Are you sure you're okay, Stelle?"

She wasn't okay at all. Her stomach felt so heavy it was as if she had swallowed stones.

"Of course. No problem! I'll manage." She mustered her most believable smile and added, "In fact, it might be a good opportunity to give Kafka a piece of my mind. I have one or two things to say to her!"

Himeko didn't seem entirely convinced, but before she could reply, Welt put a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. Then, with a reassuring smile to the younger girl, he said:

"Good luck, Stelle. Take care, alright?"

She replied with a nod, trying not to look like a prisoner heading to the gallows, and she hurried to leave the Express.

And while she disappeared beyond the hatch, Himeko and Welt's gazes didn't leave her for a moment.

Stelle had to admit that the Stellaron Hunters had guts to hide right under the nose of the Divination Commission. She didn't know if their decision was brilliant or foolish, but it worked so far. Concealed right in front of their enemy's eyes, they managed to evade every scrutiny.

When the girl arrived in the area, the sky was already dark and the streets were deserted. Nothing suggested that there was a serious situation underway, nor that highly sought-after criminals were lurking around. At least, not until Stelle approached the building indicated by the coordinates.

The safe house in itself was unremarkable: a simple building, identical in every way to those surrounding it. But the elegant woman waiting for her at the door was hard to ignore. Aside from being very attractive, she looked impatient. If anyone saw her, they would probably have a few questions for her.

...Still, Stelle had dealt with her enough to know that, if the situation arose, she would become completely anonymous and invisible. Kafka was very difficult to corner, unless she wanted to be.

When she saw her approaching, her tense expression softened, and she gave her a smile that seemed genuine in every way. Whether it truly was, was hard to say.

"Here you are, Stelle. I knew you would come."

Both the phrase and the way she said it resembled those of a villain welcoming the arrival of the hero. Which, upon reflection, wasn't all that far from reality.

"Of course you do. I told you I would come."

"Even if you had refused, we would still have met here."

Her sidelong glance told her everything she needed to know. Stelle had heard plenty about the leader of the Stellaron Hunters, both from Kafka herself and from many other minor sources.

The infamous Elio. 'Destiny's Slave'. The man capable of seeing the future.

She wondered how the world appeared to someone like him: seeing all the possibilities, knowing the outcomes of every action. Every choice was a path, every path was a road leading to the present.

Upon reflection, it was a bit unsettling. Just imagining that, in some unknown place, a mysterious mastermind was monitoring all her future actions caused a surge of rebellion within her.

"The fact that I'm here doesn't mean I'll help you."

Kafka didn't flinch in the slightest. In a way, she seemed to have expected that response as well.

"The fact that, out of all the choices available to you, you still chose to come is a sign that you have heard the call of destiny. Otherwise, why would you be here?"

Stelle rolled her eyes. Talking to Kafka could be very frustrating. Especially when she brought destiny into it. As a believer that every person had the power to determine their own path, this ideal clashed completely with her principles.

...Of course, part of her frustration was also due to Kafka herself. As hard as she tried, she couldn't see her in an entirely negative light. Maybe it was because her face was the first thing she remembered, as well as the only tangible link to her past. However, she also knew that lowering her guard in front of her was dangerous. She was a manipulator — an exceptional manipulator — and every word of hers needed to be taken with due caution. Not to mention the fact that she knew things about her that she had not yet revealed.

"I'm here to evaluate the situation," she replied, trying to deflect. "You said there are issues with Blade."

Kafka motioned for her to follow. Stelle accompanied her to the entrance of the safe house. She expected to be invited in, but that didn't happen. Instead, she led her to a window on the first floor.

"See for yourself."

The girl approached the shutters, peeking inside. The room she saw was softly lit, allowing her to identify it as a small study. What caught her attention, though, was a figure not far from the window.

Blade was sitting on a simple wooden chair, his hands resting in his lap, his head slightly bowed. He kept his eyes closed, and his expression was relaxed as if he were asleep. But no sleeper could remain seated in such an upright position. And, at the same time, no conscious person could stay so still, not even noticing the two women watching him from a very short distance.

"What happened to him?"

She wanted to sound calm and pragmatic, but she couldn't hide a touch of worry in seeing him so motionless. A single, very slight inflection in her voice that didn't escape Kafka's trained ears.

"Don't worry, everything is under control," she reassured her. "I used my Spirit Whisper to weaken his perception of the outside world. He can hear my voice and feel my touch, but nothing else."

The Spirit Whisper, Kafka's secret weapon that allowed her to control anyone, as long as they could hear her voice. Stelle wasn't sure how it worked or what the implications were, but it was a rather frightening ability.

The woman saw that her face had darkened and added:

"He accepted it of his own free will, if that's what concerns you. He knows that some measures are necessary, given his particular circumstances."

"Because he's Mara-struck."

It wasn't a question, but Kafka answered anyway.

"Exactly."

Despite the warm evening, Stelle felt a shiver run down her spine and hugged her arms to her chest to suppress it.

"But he doesn't have any of the physical symptoms!"

"Mara manifests differently depending on the person, but it's inevitable for long-life species. And Bladie has lived for a very long time. You can be sure he won't get rid of it for the rest of his existence."

Stelle recalled the events from the day before. She remembered how, when she mentioned Dan Heng, everything changed. His normal, serious demeanor was replaced by feverish anger, as if someone had flipped a switch. She remembered how fiercely he attacked her, his gaze intense yet absent. 'Something else' had taken possession of his body. At some point, it felt like he didn't see her at all.

It was horrible for her, and she didn't want to experience it again. So she didn't dare imagine how it must have been for him. How did it feel to be at the mercy of a foreign force, one wrong word away from being stripped of self-control?

No one deserved such a curse.

Perhaps she shouldn't have, but she felt compassion for him. And as she looked at him, vulnerable and quiet in the empty room, the feeling intensified.

His perpetual frown wasn't there, giving him an innocent appearance. The dim light played in his jet-black hair, painting it with blue highlights. Each one of his features seemed to have been lovingly drawn by an artist.

He was beautiful.

Stelle should have been used to dealing with beautiful people by now. She had met many of them since the beginning of her journey. Even her travel companions were attractive! Yet, in some way, he always managed to stand out. And the idea that he was suffering under that yoke made her angry.

"He's beautiful, isn't he?"

When Kafka's voice interrupted her pondering, Stelle jumped so hard she nearly choked. She coughed, looking at Kafka in sheer terror.

Since when could she read minds?!

The woman laughed.

"Oh, don't worry, I can't read minds."

But she did! Otherwise, how could she have responded to her thoughts?!

"It's not my fault you're too easy to read. You were looking at him with the saddest puppy eyes I've ever seen. If you had a tail, you would have wagged it."

Oh. So that's what happened. If that was the case, Stelle hoped something like that never happened in front of him. It would be awkward, to say the least.

...But then again, she wasn't entirely convinced Kafka couldn't read minds, and maybe she was saying that to cover it up. The idea was more tolerable, for some reason.

Okay, it was settled: as soon as she got back to the Express, she would personally update Kafka's file in the archive with that information.

"Whatever you're thinking, it's not what it seems," she replied, clearing her throat. "I was just thinking that his condition is really sad."

Kafka decided not to tease her further. The mischievous grin disappeared, and she turned back to the window.

"It is. In most cases, we can keep it under control. Since we arrived here, though, his Mara has started spiking regularly. Even my Spirit Whisper doesn't work as it should."

"Is it because of his history with the Luofu?"

"Most likely. There are too many stimuli for him here. Now that our job is done, we should take him away as soon as possible. In this state, however, interstellar travel is out of the question. If he had a crisis in the middle of the journey, it would be a huge problem. And now you see why we're stuck."

Stelle nodded, stroking her chin absentmindedly. The situation was clear at this point. 

"So, what's your plan?"

"I can use my Spirit Whisper to obscure his most intrusive memories related to the Xianzhou Alliance, starting from Jing Yuan, Jingliu, Yingxing, and of course, your friend Dan Heng. This should drastically reduce the influence of the Mara within him."

As she spoke, Stelle stared at her with wide eyes. How could she talk about these things as if they were everyday business?!

"Can you do something like that?!"

"If I focus properly, yes," Kafka shrugged.

"So, let me get this straight... he'll forget Dan Heng too? He'll stop hunting him down, then?"

She answered with a wry smile.

"For a while, perhaps. But his resentment towards him is very powerful. It will resurface, sooner or later. This isn't the first time I've used this method, and eventually, memories tend to resurface. So," she added, giving her a sharp look, "if you were hoping that this could solve your friend's problem painlessly for all parties involved, I must disappoint you."

She hadn't exactly 'hoped' for it, but she had to admit that the idea had crossed her mind for a moment. It would have been a convenient outcome for her and Dan Heng.

...Then again, would it have been the right thing to do? They were dealing with someone's memories. Someone like her, ignorant of all the implications, couldn't afford to pass judgment.

If only she had more information! For example, the names mentioned by Kafka, how exactly were they connected to Blade and Dan Heng? Some she knew, some sounded familiar, but for the rest, who was who to whom?

She turned to look at Blade again. He seemed so peaceful, but who knew if, at that moment, his Mara was tormenting him. She didn't know. Perhaps she never would. And an uncomfortable weight settled on her heart.

"Will obscuring his memories help him feel better?" she asked, without taking her eyes off him.

"Yes, for a time."

Then the choice was already made.

She straightened her back and turned toward Kafka.

"Alright. Tell me what I need to do."

She might have expected more hesitation, because her acceptance caught her off guard. However, she composed herself immediately, a mysterious smile dancing on her lips.

"...I understand. We're on this 'path', after all. The result is the same, but the nuances are different."

"What do you mean?"

Faced with the younger girl's perplexity, Kafka shrugged.

"Don't worry about it. It would only give you a headache. I just expected a bit more protest, considering our background."

"If you'd prefer me not to help..."

Stelle crossed her arms, irritated, and the woman laughed heartily.

"Alright, alright. You know I appreciate your help. You're the only person I can trust here."

In a moment, she switched to a professional mode.

"The work I have to do will require all my concentration, so I'll be completely vulnerable. I need you to keep any form of danger away from me. Of course, I already know what we're going to face, so I'll warn you as needed."

And with that, she pointed to the two exits of the side street they were in. So, it was simply a matter of being Kafka's bodyguard until she finished using her Spirit Whisper. Nothing she couldn't handle.

"Of course, there's also the matter of your compensation."

Stelle, who was about to pull out her bat, froze.

"There's compensation?"

"Of course. I suppose you have questions."

She smiled, seemingly sincere. But given it was Kafka, Stelle couldn't help but be wary. What guaranteed that she would tell the truth?

"Can I ask you anything? About... well, anything?"

"Absolutely! But, to make things a bit more exciting," the woman continued, a gleam of amusement in her eyes, "how about we play 'Truth and Lies'?"

"Truth and Lies?"

The name didn't promise anything good. On the contrary, it sounded like a scam. Kafka didn't disappoint.

"It's a psychological game, so to speak. Each of us will ask two questions, and the answers must necessarily be one lie and one truth. Which is which, however, will remain a mystery to both of us. What do you think?"

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, waiting for the response.

Stelle pondered on this. She had a bunch of questions: about herself, first and foremost. Who was she? Where did she come from? How could she carry a Stellaron inside her without consequences? Who was Kafka and what was their connection, exactly? And then...

Involuntarily, her gaze went to the man behind the window, still as quiet and still as in a deep sleep. The mystery that had followed and intrigued her since she met him in Belobog. Who was he, exactly? Where did he come from? What connection did he have with Dan Heng? Why was he so determined to kill him? Information of that sort was less existential, but would be useful in the short term, given the concrete danger her friend was in.

...Not to mention her own curiosity.

The look lasted perhaps a couple of seconds, but Kafka identified it immediately. Her shrewd smile widened.

"You seem undecided, so I have a proposal. Since we find ourselves on this 'path', how about, as a sign of goodwill, I give you two 'truths'?"

"...Are you serious?"

"Of course. Before we start playing, I'll answer truthfully to two of your questions. It's a bonus, so you will still be able to ask two other questions later. The only condition is that I'll choose the topic. What do you say?"

It was a damn generous offer. Even without being able to choose the topic, she had so many questions she would surely find something. Granted, of course, that she wouldn't deceive her.

"How do I know that you'll respect the rules?"

Kafka placed a hand on her chest, pretending to be offended.

"Come now, Stelle! Don't you trust me?"

"Not even a little."

"You're unfair. Have I ever deceived you?"

Oh, where to start?

"You lied to me and all the other members of the Express to lure us to the Luofu. And you manipulated us to solve the Stellaron crisis. Not to mention—"

Seeing that they were entering a minefield, Kafka interrupted her with a loud sigh.

"Alright, alright. You have plenty of good reasons not to trust my word. But we are talking about two free answers. Even if I lied, you wouldn't lose anything, and potentially gain a lot. What do you say?"

Stelle glared at her, but didn't argue. As much as it annoyed her to admit it, it was true.

"Alright. I'm in."

Kafka squinted like a cat, satisfied with her response. She glanced towards the ends of the alley, making sure nothing would interrupt their 'game', before turning back to her.

"Very well. Then let's begin. The topic is...". She tapped her cheek, as if giving it careful thought. Then, after a deliberate pause, she looked towards the window. "Bladie."

Stelle had to make an effort to keep her expression neutral. It was clear that Kafka understood that it was a topic of interest to her. Just as she knew that it was the least dangerous. Once the actual game started, if she asked more probing questions, she could reserve herself the right to lie.

That woman was a fox. A cunning, elusive, unpredictable fox.

Still, there was a positive side to this. Since the topic was less dangerous for Kafka, it was more likely that she would answer truthfully. Absolute certainty didn't exist, of course, but it was better than nothing.

And she wanted to know. She wanted it more than it was prudent, actually.

Noticing that Kafka was waiting for the first question, she shot a quick glance at Blade. It felt a bit unfair to ask about him, especially while he was right there. Of course, he couldn't hear her, but it still made her feel a bit guilty.

At that point, though, she couldn't back down.

"Alright then. Who is Blade? I mean, where does he come from? Who was he before becoming a Stellaron Hunter?"

"I don't know," Kafka replied candidly.

Stelle's arms fell. It was not a good way to start.

"What kind of answer is that?!"

"I promised you the truth, and this is it. I have no idea. He hasn't told me. He claims not to remember and, personally, I have no reason to believe he's lying. He says he remembers very little of his past, and the memories he has are fragmented. Of course, he has a history with the Xianzhou Alliance, but he himself has no idea who he was before he arrived there."

"So he's not a native of the Xianzhou?"

"I can't say for certain, but probably not."

This was actually interesting. Perhaps it was naive of her, but once she learned of his ties to Dan Heng, she assumed he was a citizen of the Alliance and, as such, a long-life species. She thought that the only anomaly was his regenerative ability. But if that wasn't the case, it meant he was originally a short-life species. A common human, like her.

What the hell happened to turn him into what he was?

"What he told me," Kafka continued, and Stelle immediately perked up, "is that he woke up without memory. Sometime later, a woman found him. She taught him how to use a sword and then killed him."

"What do you mean, 'killed him'? I thought he couldn't die."

"Indeed, he can't. But, apart from regeneration, his body reacts like that of a normal human. If fatally wounded, he comes close to death, with all the sensations that come with it, before he starts to heal."

So, every time he received a serious wound, for him it was 'like dying', in every way.

"This woman killed him over and over again, until he couldn't bear it anymore."

Stelle froze, dread building up in her chest. She knew she wasn't going to like what came next. Yet, she had to ask. And she did so slowly, dragging each word, afraid to even end the question.

"In what sense, 'over and over again'?"

"In the literal sense of the term. She stabbed him repeatedly, hundreds of times."

For a moment, Stelle believed her heart stopped. The whole world trembled beneath her and she didn't know how she managed not to fall to her knees, overcome by horror.

That woman, whoever she was, had subjected Blade to unimaginable torture. Not even in her most horrendous nightmares could she imagine doing such a thing. Nor could she remotely imagine what it felt like to receive such treatment.

To be murdered again and again, coming close to death every time, but unable to find relief. Coming back to life and being immediately killed again, repeatedly, for hundreds of times. Over and over and over again.

Just thinking about it, her stomach turned and Stelle felt a wave of nausea so strong that she believed she was about to throw up. Damn it, she had no idea how she held back from doing it!

Anyone's mind would have broken after such torture. It was no wonder that Blade was haunted by the Mara, with such a trauma weighing on him. He was, without a doubt, one of the strongest people she ever met, to withhold even a trace of sanity!

She turned back to him, to his quiet and peaceful figure, and felt an overwhelming urge to step over that windowsill and go to him. She had no idea what she would do once there. Actually, she had no idea about anything at all. Just that she wanted to do something.

Kafka observed her patiently, waiting for her to feel better, before continuing:

"I don't know what happened after. Some time ago, Elio ordered Sam and me to find him and bring him with us. According to him, his skill with the sword and his immortality will have an important use going forward. But that's all I know. What's the second question?"

Still weighted by a strong sense of discomfort, Stelle nodded, tearing her eyes away from the man. She still had another 'free' question, although, after what she had just heard, she was almost afraid to ask.

"What connection does he have with Dan Heng?"

"Apparently, he and Dan Feng were good friends."

Once again, Kafka had come up with an absurd answer. Once again, Stelle gave her a stern look.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Of course not. They were. Or, to be precise, they were the kind of friends who were bad for each other. But Bladie, by his own admission, has forgotten many details about their relationship. And the ones he does remember, he prefers not to share."

This made sense, and made her believe that Kafka wasn't trying to deceive her. Blade didn't seem like the type to willingly share unnecessary information.

"In any case, it seems they did something bad — something terrible together. Something that had horrible consequences. But that's all I've been able to piece together. Bladie didn't want to share more."

With this, Kafka didn't delve further, a sign that she didn't know more.

Friends...

It was hard to imagine, knowing how determined Blade was to kill Dan Heng. Yet, if she looked at it from another angle, it wasn't all that outlandish. After all, the line between love and hate is very thin: a strong aversion can easily stem from betrayed affection. It was hard to say, without knowing exactly what happened, but it wasn't to be ruled out.

What was certain was that, for better or for worse, Blade carried an enormous burden. And, with those two questions, Stelle had only begun to test the waters. Everything else was in the abyss.

"And that's it. If you want to know more — for example, his birthday and favorite dish — you'll have to find out for yourself."

Kafka's tone was sarcastic, but it completely went over Stelle's mind. She returned to watching Blade, lost in thought.

"...It will be difficult. I don't think he likes me very much."

After all, how could she think otherwise? From the very beginning, every attempt she made to engage in conversation was met with rejection. There had been moments when she glimpsed a hint of kindness — like with the handkerchief — but for the rest of the time, he did nothing but push her away.

Kafka approached her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, and looked at Blade as well.

"Don't worry too much. I assure you, if he hated you, you'd know. And, on that note, there's something I want to tell you."

Stelle turned her gaze from the window to Kafka. She had become deadly serious, an expression that was rarely seen on her.

"In addition to the memories related to his Mara, Bladie asked me to erase also those related to you. Everything that doesn't concern our mission."

Her stomach sank.

Blade wanted to forget her.

"...Damn," she muttered, running a hand through her hair.

This was in direct contradiction to what Kafka said. She claimed he didn't hate her, but if that was the case, why erase her from his memory? Apparently, he tolerated her so little that he didn't even want to remember her more than he had to!

She shouldn't care: she was aware that any kind of relationship between them — even just as casual acquaintances — would be needlessly complicated. Yet, the sinking feeling in her stomach didn't abate, as a new, unfamiliar emptiness spread in her chest like a black hole.

"...Well, then I'm right. He really doesn't like me."

She tried to adopt a sarcastic tone, but she only managed to sound mortified. And Kafka, of course, noticed.

"Would you like him to?"

That was quite a question. One she had avoided from the beginning.

For some reason, that man had haunted her mind since she met him. They weren't intrusive thoughts, nor could she say she thought about him constantly. Yet, every time she found him in front of her, her brain hyper-focused on him and she didn't understand why. It was similar to what she felt for Kafka, but at the same time completely different.

It was the missing piece to complete the puzzle. That's why she was curious. But wanting to be liked by him?

"I have no idea," she confessed.

"Then let's change the question. Are you okay with being forgotten?"

Kafka meant to simplify things for her, but she missed the mark. The issue was just as complex.

"I wouldn't want to. Being completely erased would be... mortifying" she said, carefully weighing each word. "But it's not a decision for me to make. If he asked you to do it, then it's his opinion that matters."

Kafka stared at her for a long time, eyes half-lidded, lips pursed in an annoyed pout. She had to find her answer silly, and she didn't intend to hide it.

"You and Bladie have at least one thing in common: you both think too much about what's right and what's wrong."

"What do you mean by that?"

At Stelle's confused question, Kafka waved her hand, refusing to answer. The next moment she was back in professional mode.

"Some monsters are approaching," she told her, indicating one of the ends of the alley. "If we let them get closer, they'll cause trouble. Could you take care of them?"

Forced back into the present situation, Stelle pushed the intrusive thoughts from her mind and grabbed her bat.

"Leave it to me."

And, as Kafka positioned herself in front of the window to start her work, Stelle walked towards her targets. She was ready to do what she did best: play the hero and obliterate harmful creatures to protect the needy. Even if, in this case, the needy were more dangerous than the creatures.

That night was surreal in many ways. Long and surreal.

After the two 'free questions', she focused on her bodyguard duties, patrolling the streets around the safe house to keep the creatures at bay. Meanwhile, Kafka went about her own tasks. Whenever Stelle checked on her progress, she always found her standing motionless in front of the window, muttering to herself. If it was working, she couldn't tell: Blade's condition remained unchanged.

When she disposed of the monsters and returned to Kafka, she noticed that she was tired. The work, she said, was progressing slowly. This meant, of course, that Stelle would have to continue to keep her safe. The fact that Kafka knew exactly how and when they would be attacked was a huge help, as unsettling as it was. But the fact that she took for granted that every confrontation was inevitable was irritating to her.

Their choices were limited, Kafka argued: like in a maze, there was only one way forward, and all other paths were mere illusions. So, she took it upon herself to try to prove her wrong.

Had she encountered a patrol of Cloud Knights? Instead of fighting, she tried to persuade them to steer clear.

Had Mara-struck creatures approached too close to their area? Instead of facing them, she sabotaged the alley gates to trap them.

Her results were mixed, but even where she succeeded, Kafka didn't seem particularly impressed. She gave the impression, in fact, of expecting all this.

And then, of course, there was their 'game'. Truth and Lies.

Between sessions, as agreed, they began to exchange questions. Kafka got the first turn and, to Stelle's surprise, all she asked was what she thought of her. An innocuous question, but one that gave her more to think about than she would have imagined. Probably because she wasn't sure herself. 

Did she hate her? Of course not. Apart from the various manipulations, she had never tried to harm her, so she had no reason to. On the other hand, she couldn't exactly say she liked her. She didn't trust her enough for that. The only thing she was sure of was that she couldn't ignore her. So, she chose to lie, telling her that she didn't care about her.

The only thing she got from her was a placid smile, which made it unclear whether she believed her or not.

At that point, it was her turn. And finally, she was free to ask the question that had haunted her since she woke up.

"Who am I?"

Kafka wasn't surprised. She expected that question from the beginning. It was, in fact, with the utmost serenity that she answered:

"You are an artificial living being, created to be immune to Stellaron contamination. From the moment of your creation, you were destined to become the host of the Stellaron on Herta Space Station. Until then, it was my responsibility to teach you general knowledge, combat, and common sense. The reason you don't remember is that I erased your memory before the operation. Kind of like with Bladie here."

Perhaps it was the way she said it — as if it were the most normal thing in the world — but Stelle didn't feel affected by it. The idea did shake her, actually. A part of her even admitted that it aligned with some of her hypotheses. And yet, she took it remarkably well. She stood there, expressionless, the revelation not sinking in as it should have.

After all, who guaranteed that it was the truth? The nature of the game was ambiguous: just as she had lied in the previous question, Kafka could have done the same.

So, she waited, turning the answer over in her mind, unable to reject it and unable to accept it. And she thought about what to do, about what to ask at her next turn.

During the subsequent break, it was Kafka's turn again. And again, she asked an apparently harmless question. 

Given the chance, would she like to meet her again?

This was easier to answer. Regardless of what she thought of her as a person, Kafka was the only tangible link to her past. Whether the answer she had given before was true or false, this didn't change. So, for better or worse, she wanted to meet her again. And that's exactly what she replied. Of course, she could have cheated and lied again. But how could she expect Kafka to respect the rules if she herself didn't abide by them?

Again, Kafka showed no particular emotion, limiting herself to her usual shrewd smile.

When her last turn finally came, Stelle carefully pondered what to ask. She could have inquired about another topic of interest to her — Kafka's own past, for example. At that point, however, she would have simply received another answer that she couldn't verify. Or, she could have chosen a different path. Something that would have given her assurance.

"One plus one equals two, isn't that right?"

For the first time, a crack appeared in Kafka's mask. At first, she looked surprised, then amused. Finally, she replied:

"It's false."

A lie. She lied. Which, according to the rules of the game, meant that the first answer was true.

"Very clever, Stelle. But was it worth sacrificing a question just to know if the first answer was true?"

She didn't know this. Actually, nothing guaranteed her that Kafka hadn't cheated, lying both times. But if that wasn't the case — if she had played honestly — then she...

Her head began to spin and she felt a sense of nausea. But, before panic could take hold of her, they were interrupted. And, as clear as it was that Kafka had expected it, the same couldn't be said for Stelle.

It was Yanqing who found her, the very young Lieutenant of the Cloud Knights and disciple of Jing Yuan. And being seen in the company of the Stellaron Hunters could irreparably compromise relations between the Express and the Xianzhou Alliance.

Predictably, he attacked her, and she was forced to defend herself. He was a strong opponent, despite appearances, and he could have easily won if things had gone awry. But Stelle got lucky and, as soon as she managed to put him on the defensive, Kafka used her Spirit Whisper to control him. She manipulated him so that he would have no recollection of meeting them, and when he finally left, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Stelle. If you hadn't been here, with me being vulnerable from the Spirit Whisper, and Bladie not in a condition to fight, I fear the boy would have arrested us."

The girl put away her bat, exhausted, and gave her a sidelong glance.

"Don't be so dramatic. I'm sure you already had a backup plan for this situation."

Of course, Kafka nodded.

"Well, yes. Sam and Silver Wolf would have freed us. But Bladie would have been injured, and our relations with the Alliance would have been irreparably compromised. So, as you can imagine, it's a 'path' I prefer to avoid."

Stelle didn't respond. At that point, she was too tired to argue. Being on patrol all the time, plus the stressful game of Truth and Lies, had taken its toll. The clash with Yanqing had been the final straw.

"Are we done now?"

To her immense relief, Kafka nodded.

"The operation is over. All that remains is to wake up Bladie. You're not forced to stay if you don't want to."

She imagined that this was Kafka's way of being understanding. However, she declined.

"I'll stay."

"Even if he won't remember you?"

Stelle felt a veil of melancholy settle on her chest, but she ignored it. If she agreed to that whole predicament, it was largely for Blade's sake. After all that effort, she wouldn't get her to leave. Once she committed, she was in until the end.

"It doesn't matter. I'll stay."

Kafka chuckled, far from disappointed. Without saying anything more, she returned to the window. Stelle followed shortly behind, standing in silence beside her while she leaned on the windowsill. The woman closed her eyes, murmuring something unintelligible. After a moment, she opened them again and, in a normal conversational tone, said:

"Listen, Bladie. You can move now."

After that ceremonial worthy of a sorcerer, Stelle expected something dramatic to happen. Beams of light, lightning, thunder, and such. Instead, without much fanfare, Blade straightened up and opened his eyes. He seemed a bit disoriented, and at first, he looked at a fixed point behind them as if he couldn't see them. He flexed his fingers several times to make sure he had control of his body, and his focus returned. Finally, he fixed his gaze on them.

Or rather, on Stelle.

He was still staring at her when his companion addressed him.

"Welcome back among us, Bladie. Is everything under control?"

"...Yes."

He stood up from the chair and disappeared beyond the studio door, only to reappear a few moments later at the safehouse threshold. Kafka approached him fast enough to suggest that, in her own way, she genuinely cared about his well-being.

"How is your Mara?"

"Stable."

"And your memory?"

"Like the other times."

While Kafka was questioning him, Stelle stayed in the background, taking advantage of his distraction to observe him. Nothing about him seemed particularly different. He was quiet, but by now, she understood that it was part of his personality. If she had to nitpick, he seemed a bit less grumpy than usual. Granted, every time they met before, it had been in a stressful situation.

She was still examining him when his eyes darted in her direction again, and instinctively, Stelle lowered hers. Had he recognized her?

...What a silly question. Of course not. Or, at least, he didn't remember ever talking to her. Kafka said she would preserve the information useful for their mission, so he likely knew who she was. Perhaps he was wondering why she was there.

At that point, she was wondering the same thing herself.

"...Can I leave now?" Blade said, and Stelle raised her head, curious.

"I suppose so," Kafka replied, distracted. "The Mara is temporarily suppressed, so as long as you avoid overstimulation and familiar faces, you should be fine." Only then did she seem to realize what he asked, and frowned. "...Wait. Aren't you coming with me?"

He shook his head.

"I am sorry, Kafka. There's a person to whom I am greatly indebted. I must see them."

She thought about it for a moment and then shrugged.

"...As you wish, then. Elio hasn't said anything about what will happen next, so you're free to do as you please. As for myself, it's better if I go."

Having said that, Kafka turned her attention back to Stelle, and, seeing that she had been standing aside, she approached her. She smiled, and for once, it didn't seem like she was making fun of her.

"Thanks for everything, Stelle. I really appreciate your help. Take care until our paths cross again."

Stelle huffed, but without real hostility.

"Maybe, next time, avoid dragging us into one of your crazy plans."

She laughed.

"I can't promise that."

She turned on her heels, heading toward the opposite end of the alley. Before disappearing, she turned briefly and winked at them.

"Don't stay out too late, you two!"

A moment later, the echo of her footsteps faded into the quiet streets, leaving the others alone.

At that point, Stelle expected Blade to do the same, to go his own way and disappear into the night. Yet, he didn't. He remained where he was, watching his companion as she vanished. Then, slowly, he turned to face Stelle again. And stared at her.

He didn't say a word. In fact, it seemed like he could spend the next few hours without moving a muscle or ever speaking. She had no idea what was going through his mind: his face was so immobile that she couldn't probe his emotions. His gaze, however, felt as heavy as a boulder.

After a while — perhaps only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity! — she began to feel flustered. Nobody had ever stared at her for so long. Did she have something strange on her? Did she spawn cat ears or a raccoon tail? Well, theoretically, it wasn't possible, but you never knew. After all, Dan Heng had spawned dragon horns out of nowhere, so...

She was about to bring her hands to her ears to check if they were still normal when Blade finally spoke again.

"I remember you."

"...Huh?"

Stelle's mind short-circuited, leaving her gaping.

Did he remember her? He hadn't forgotten? But Kafka said she would erase his memories! Had something gone wrong?

"You used to follow Kafka. She was leaving for a mission, and you were with her. I remember."

At first, Stelle was confused, his words completely foreign to her. Then, as the meaning sank in, she realized he was talking about something else. And she paled.

She remembered what Kafka told her: that she was an artificial being created solely to house a Stellaron. That she taught her everything she knew before leaving her on the Space Station without any memory. A part of her had clung to the hope that Kafka might have lied, but if Blade said he had seen her...

She felt herself faltering. Her knees trembled, her vision blurred, and for a moment, she thought she might collapse. But before it could happen, someone grabbed her by the shoulders. Blade had closed the distance between them in a couple of quick strides and was holding her, supporting her with both hands to keep her from falling. His vermilion eyes — which she had always found so pretty — were at the same level as hers. An anchor in a blurry world.

"Breathe."

His voice was low and calm, pleasant to the ears. The request, however, was absurd. Why ask her to breathe? She was already doing it... wasn't she?

She realized that, indeed, she wasn't. She had been taken aback so badly by the revelation that she had forgotten to breathe!

Forcing herself to regain control, she took a deep breath. The air entered her lungs, fresh and pristine, and the drowsiness disappeared. The world came back into focus, her legs stabilized, and in a moment, she was in control of herself again.

"...Thank you," she murmured, still a bit shaken.

Blade nodded and let her go, straightening his back. Looking up at him, Stelle realized how tall he was. She was far from short, but he towered over her by at least half a head. In other circumstances, it might have intimidated her: after all, he had a well-deserved reputation for being dangerous. Not to mention that he had already attacked her once. However, at that moment, she didn't find it a problem. In fact, it was somewhat reassuring.

She took another deep breath and lowered her gaze to her hands, flexing her fingers.

"I'm not a normal person, am I?"

Blade didn't answer, and she felt herself sinking.

"If you know anything, please tell me," she begged, "Kafka said I'm an artificial being created to contain a Stellaron. I need to know if she was lying. I need to understand!"

Silence. It seemed he truly intended not to respond. She was about to give up, when she heard him sigh quietly. Finally, he spoke.

"I don't have an answer for you."

"...You don't know?"

He shook his head.

"No."

Stelle deflated, exhausted. As much as she distrusted Kafka, she believed Blade because he didn't seem like the type to lie. If he didn't want to tell her something, he simply wouldn't. 

She had been so close to the truth, and now it was denied to her again.

"So... Was I one of you? Was I a Stellaron Hunter?"

Was she also a criminal? Did she have a massive bounty on her head? Did she engage in nefarious acts in pursuit of Destiny's Slave ideal?

Blade didn't speak, sinking into the silence that always made her wonder if he would ever answer. Eventually, though, he did.

"I don't know much about you. Even if there was a time when I knew, my memories are not reliable. I don't know if you are an artificial being created to contain a Stellaron, or if you are a normal person who by pure coincidence possesses this ability. Nor do I know if you were ever an official member of the organization. I only know that you were with Kafka, and that you were her partner on some missions. No one else, as far as I know, followed her for so long and lived to tell the tale."

"The way you say it, it sounds like I was one of you, after all."

"All Stellaron Hunters have a pact with Elio. I can't tell if that was your case."

Stelle was almost afraid to ask what it entailed. But the fact that, if her hypothesis was correct, she could have made one forced her to pose the question.

"What kind of pact?"

He shook his head.

"I don't know the nature of those deals. But I know that both Kafka and I agreed to take orders from Elio. I believe she sought something extraordinary, which is why everything she does comes at a tremendous cost. She will have done many things to keep you alive."

"The way you speak of her, it seems she must care a lot about me."

"In her own way, yes."

As he spoke, his gaze wandered towards the end of the alley where Kafka had disappeared. Stelle studied his profile trying to read his expression. It was hard to understand what he was thinking.

"Why did you decide to tell me all this?"

Blade turned, staring back at her in the same way he did when he had just opened his eyes. And again, she felt unease, as if he could somehow read her soul.

"To thank you, I suppose."

Stelle tilted her head, puzzled.

"Thank me for what?"

"For helping Kafka with this operation. I don't know what your motivation was, or what she promised you in return. But by assisting her, you indirectly helped me. For that, I thank you."

An odd, tingling sensation stirred in her chest. It was embarrassing and pleasant at the same time. Pleasant enough, in fact, to distract her from her existential troubles.

The truth remained hazy, but she couldn't do anything about it. She still gained some information and was grateful — more grateful than he could imagine — for him being honest with her.

"...Blade."

He raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, a sign that he was listening. Stelle quickly ran through what she wanted to tell him.

Thank you for talking to me.

Thank you for being honest.

Thank you because, when I needed someone, you were there, whether it was your intention or not.

Yet, for all the forms of gratitude she came up with, what came out of her lips was something very different.

"Do you remember me?"

Silence.

Blade's lips tightened into a hard line, his face expressionless. If the question had any effect on him, he wasn't showing it. Stelle would give anything to understand what he thought of her and why he made that request to Kafka. She wanted to know if he truly hated her, or if, as Kafka claimed, that wasn't the case and there was another reason. But unfortunately, she couldn't read minds, and could only wait for an answer.

Finally, after some long, endless moments, Blade's stony face broke, giving way to a melancholic resignation.

"I do."

Stelle's stomach clenched.

"Everything?" she asked, fearing that, as before, they might be talking about two different things. If that were the case, he probably wouldn't understand what she meant.

A moment of hesitation, as if he might regret what he was about to say.

"...Yes."

The weight that pressed on her gut lifted, and she felt so relieved that she could have floated.

He hadn't forgotten her. He still remembered her.

...But if he hadn't forgotten, what had gone wrong?

"Kafka told you everything."

It wasn't a question.

"She thought it was right for me to know. But if you remember everything, it means something went wrong?"

"It simply means she didn't do it," he replied, a very thin vein of irritation in his otherwise calm tone. "In fact, she took great care to preserve every memory concerning you. Only some parts are hazy."

Stelle looked up at him, curious.

"Hazy?"

"...I don't remember why I attacked you. I only remember that I did."

Oh. It was obvious. If Kafka erased all memories that could trigger his Mara, of course he couldn't remember what caused the crisis.

She closed her eyes, thoughtful, a list of names crossing her mind.

Dan Feng. Jing Yuan. Jingliu. Yingxing.

Of four names, she only knew two, but it was easy to imagine that they were all connected. And as much as curiosity was eating away at her, she didn't dare to utter them in front of him. She didn't want to invalidate Kafka's work.

What struck her, though, was the way he spoke of the attack. It seemed like he regretted it. Whether it was out of concern for her or, more likely, reproach for himself for losing control, she couldn't say.

"I've already told you, I'm not angry. At least now I understand the cause."

"You don't understand it enough. If you did, you would not be here."

Blade averted his gaze, clearly in a sour mood. However, it wasn't directed at her. This gave her the courage to take a half-step closer, tilting her head to look into his eyes again.

"Are you angry with Kafka because she didn't erase your memories?"

He sighed wearily.

"It would be pointless. It's her ability and she is free to use it as she sees fit. I made a request, and she decided not to honor it. There is nothing more to it."

"Well, for what it's worth...," Stelle felt an annoying warmth rise to her ears. "I'm glad she didn't."

Blade regarded her for a moment before shaking his head, resigned.

"That's because you are weird."

"It's just...," she hesitated, trying to find the right way to express what she felt. These were complex emotions and she feared she didn't have the vocabulary to do them justice. "...It's just that I don't remember anything that happened before waking up on the Space Station. From what Kafka said, I probably wasn't even a true human being, so it's possible that that part of my life doesn't exist. If you were to forget me, it would be like another piece of my life has been erased. Does that make any sense?"

He blinked. It was clearly something he hadn't considered, and his expression softened a bit. It was hard to notice, but Stelle spent enough time trying to read him, that she managed to pick up on it.

"Also," she continued, taking it as encouragement, "it's a bit sad that someone hates me so much to completely erase me from their memory, don't you think?"

Again, he seemed surprised. So surprised that, for once, he responded immediately.

"I don't hate you."

"You don't?"

"No. If I hated you, you'd know."

Another wave of relief washed over her. In fact, she was so relieved that she feared it was all too obvious. And, remembering something Kafka said, she quickly checked behind her, towards her backside. Unable to see well, she spun around a couple of times, all under the Hunter's astonished gaze.

"...What are you doing?"

"Checking if I've grown a tail," she replied, perfectly serious.

Everything was in order. No tail in sight, so there was no danger of wagging it in front of him.

She stopped spinning, only to find herself faced with Blade's flat expression.

He was definitely judging her.

She cleared her throat, a little embarrassed.

"Anyway, what will you do now? Are you going to try to convince Kafka to erase your memories, this time for real?"

"No. Although it would be the simplest way to resolve the situation."

The 'situation'?

Stelle looked at him, inquisitive, but he didn't elaborate further. Instead, he looked past her, towards the opposite end of the alley, and she understood that the conversation was over.

"...I have things to take care of."

He moved to walk past her, and Stelle felt a twinge of panic. If he left, she would be alone. If she was left alone, she would be forced to think, and with the weight that had just settled on her shoulders, she really didn't want to. Of course, being with him forced her to think as well, but for some reason, his presence put things in perspective. Even when he didn't say a word.

"I'm coming with you," she blurted out on impulse.

Blade halted, looking at her as if she had completely lost her mind.

"No," he instantly rejected her. As expected.

Stelle shook her head.

"Oh, no, I don't mean to come with you all the way. But I have to go in the same direction, so... just for a while?"

She clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture and summoned her best puppy-dog eyes. It was a strategy March taught her. She wasn't as good as her yet — March could even tear up on command — but every now and then she managed to get some positive results. Plus, it wasn't a lie: to get back, she really had to go in the same direction.

At first, she thought she had failed miserably. Blade, in fact, was completely impenetrable, not softening in the slightest. She expected him to reject her again without much ceremony, and she was fully prepared for it. Instead, without saying a word, he turned on his heel and started down the alley. And since he didn't say 'no', Stelle decided to take it as a 'yes'. She smiled to herself and trotted after him.

They continued in silence for a while, the night breeze caressing them, the pale lights of the street casting shadows on their figures. Occasionally, they heard footsteps in the distance, likely Cloud Knights on patrol. Still, none of them crossed their path, and Blade didn't seem concerned. Considering who he was, he was accustomed to avoiding law enforcement. His pace was brisk, and he made no effort to accommodate his companion, who had to quicken her step to keep up.

Stelle paid it no mind. She didn't expect special treatment, and besides, she was too absorbed in observing him. His movements were graceful, his expression serious and focused. To her, he appeared almost like a mythical beast: something mysterious and dangerous, but that she was determined to decipher at all costs. If there were an Aeon of Mind Reading, she would have followed their path without a second thought. Though she was certain she still would not get all the answers.

She was still studying him, squinting in concentration, when he turned to look at her, annoyed.

"...What is it?"

"Nothing much," she replied, unembarrassed. "I was just wondering what you were thinking."

"I was pondering whether you're more like a dog or a raccoon."

The response failed to offend her. Unfortunately for him, Stelle found both dogs and raccoons adorable.

"Oh, thank you!"

"It wasn't a compliment. I half expect you to stop in front of the first trash can and start rummaging through it."

"...Unfortunately, there are no trash cans on the Luofu. I checked." Stelle sighed, dismayed by the absence of one of her favorite pastimes. She had to admit that, in the beginning, it had been terrible not being able to use the divine metal containers to gather information. At least until she found a new hobby. "But the cycranes leave plenty of packages lying around. They're full of interesting stuff!"

Blade looked at her for a moment, assessing if she was joking. Since it was clear she wasn't, he said:

"That would be a crime."

Stelle was taken aback.

"Really?!"

No one ever told her such a thing, nor had she seen it in any of the books she read. Perhaps Dan Heng wasn't entirely wrong when he encouraged her to read law manuals. She should at least understand what she wasn't supposed to do, so she could do it without getting caught!

Blade rolled his eyes.

"You're weird."

By this point, Stelle wasn't sure if, coming from him, it was an insult or a compliment.

"Well, okay, maybe these are things many other people don't do, but..."

"It's not just that," he interrupted, and again, there was a touch of irritation in his voice. "I can't figure you out. I don't understand why you always try to talk to me, for example. Or why are you following me like a puppy right now."

"You don't want me to talk to you?"

"You don't have anything to gain from it."

Stelle realized that he was looking at her with the same intensity she had when she studied him. It was strange — and perhaps a bit flattering.

"Because you are a Stellaron Hunter? Because you are Mara-struck?"

It was the first time, since he awakened, that she mentioned his Mara in front of him. Maybe it was the first time she mentioned it to him at all. The word resonated between them like the sound of a gunshot. And it unburied memories of his sword pointed at her throat, the cold metal caressing her skin.

"Both," he answered after a moment of silence.

Stelle thought about it. Both were factors she had considered and couldn't ignore. But, in the end, she had come to her own conclusion.

"Your organization doesn't want to harm me, for now" she said, cutting to the chase. "As for the Mara... yes, it's true. It turns you into a ticking time bomb. But the same goes for me. After all, I have a Stellaron embedded in my body! For all I know, in a few seconds, I could literally blow up like a bomb, destroy everything around me, and turn into a splatter on those walls...!"

Blade stopped so abruptly that she surpassed him. Stelle turned back and saw that he had tensed, his hands clenched into fists, his eyes fixed on her like burning embers.

"Don't say it."

Even in the dim light of the lamps, it was evident he had grown very pale. And it wasn't out of concern for her well-being, but rather a visceral fear of something she couldn't see or understand. Perhaps memories she had inadvertently awakened. And as much as a part of her was dying to know what terrified him so much, she knew that his memories were like a detonator. Going too far was extremely dangerous.

She went back and approached him, making sure to look him squarely in the eyes. It was a strategy that seemed to work with him.

Indeed, almost immediately, his rigid features relaxed.

"What I meant," she continued, hurrying to change the subject, "is that I'm more afraid of myself than I am of you. That's all. Do I still seem strange to you?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes still fixed on hers. When he spoke, his voice was low, strained.

"Definitely."

Stelle relaxed. The madness she had seen in his eyes when he attacked her was completely absent.

It was him. He was still there.

"Alright. Then I'll take it as a compliment."

They resumed walking in silence. Stelle immediately noticed that she no longer had to make an effort to keep up: Blade had slowed down his pace to match hers. Now it was easier to appreciate the pleasantly warm air, the rhythmic sound of their steps, the sight of their shadows stretching along the road. Even the silence itself was enjoyable, devoid of the nervous tension of all their encounters.

Soon — too soon for her — they arrived at a crossroads. It was there that Stelle was supposed to turn right to return to the Express. Blade, though, seemed intent on going left, towards whatever his goal was.

It was time to part ways.

They stopped on the side of the road, lingering at the fork. Stelle was tempted to prolong the walk a little longer. To tell him that her destination was also to the left and go with him as long as possible. But it was late, and it had been a long night. She didn't want to worry Himeko and Welt too much.

"I have to go that way," she said, indicating the right path.

"I see," was the laconic reply.

Neither of them moved. Blade seemed to be waiting for her to go her own way, perhaps fearing that if he started first, she would secretly follow him.

She was close enough to touch him, and as she feverishly thought about the best way to bid farewell, a light breeze blew at the intersection. Stelle, who was upwind, was hit by a faint, familiar scent that immediately struck her. The same scent she smelled on the handkerchief, although this time the sweet aroma was tainted with something rougher, muskier.

Nostalgic.

"Blade?"

He lifted his chin, a sign that he was listening.

"You said you remember me... how I was before, right?"

He nodded, his eyebrows furrowing a bit as he waited for her to continue.

"Have we ever talked, or done any... missions together, or something?"

Blade closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember. Finally, he shook his head.

"I saw you only once, with Kafka. I spoke to her, but not to you. After that, I never saw you in person again. I heard about you being Kafka's partner for a while, then nothing else."

The answer left no room for doubt, and her heart sank. A piece of the puzzle flew away, failing to fit into the picture.

"Alright. Thank you for telling me what you know."

He nodded, tacitly accepting her thanks.

"...Go home, little girl." 

Compared to what she was used to, his tone sounded almost kind.

Stelle hesitated, wondering when she would see him again. If he was planning to leave the Luofu soon, it was very possible that they wouldn't see each other for a long time. She imagined that, given the Hunters' intentions, their paths would cross again eventually. But who knew if they would have a chance to talk in that way?

In the end, however, she straightened herself.

"See you, Blade. Take care of yourself."

With the same determination one uses to rip off a painful bandage, she turned on her heels and headed down the path to the right.

She didn't look back, but her ears remained attuned to every slight sound. Only when she was about to turn the corner, out of sight of the intersection, did she hear the sound of footsteps fading away.
 
Taking with them the few clues she had about her past.

Chapter Text

In the quiet room, his own breath was the only sound he heard. With his eyes closed, he could imagine it leaving his nostrils and rising towards the ceiling. The beating of his heart was steady and slow, indifferent to excitement or fear.

He was waiting to sense the 'enemy'. He wasn't sure what it would be this time, but he hoped it would be something amusing. If that was the only pastime he could expect, it should at least be interesting.

Finally, Blade heard the crackling that signaled the arrival of his adversaries. He opened his eyes, the ancient sword immediately rising into a guard position, while laser beams shot in his direction. Two of them were intercepted by the chipped blade and sent back to their sender; the third, he avoided it with a measured movement of his torso.

Antimatter Legion. Baryon and Antibaryon, five in total, of which two were taken down by his parry.

Far from bothered, Blade went on the offensive. In two precise slashes, the floating spheres that attacked him were struck, disintegrating in front of him. Two strikes, three enemies hit. None left on the field.

...And he had hoped for a suitable distraction.

He heard another crackle and, from the void in the room, another wave of enemies appeared.

Voidrangers. A group of Reavers, led by three Distorters. Better, but not good enough.

The Distorters hovered towards him, signaling the Reavers to attack. They followed the orders, dashing in his direction, their blade-equipped arms swirling in a lethal whirlwind. The first one was brought down with a slash to the neck before it could even attack. The second fell to a thrust in the chest.

The Distorters began to fire as well, covering the other troops from a distance, but none of them had any luck. Their beams were promptly evaded, and all the Reavers were massacred.

It was almost boring. The enemies were aggressive, but not very intelligent. His body was forced to react, but his mind wandered. Which was exactly what he wanted to avoid.

He was forgetting something.

It was normal, considering his memories had recently been manipulated. Not only that, but it was important that he didn't remember for as long as possible.

He knew. Consciously, at least. Yet, his brain continued to chase the lost memories, and he had to make an effort to stop it. Which was very difficult, when he felt like he had to do something — find someone — at all costs.

This wasn't good.

He threw himself back into the fight with renewed vigor, eliminating every last Reaver. In the end, the three Distorters were within arm's reach like defenseless lambs to the slaughter.

They attacked him. A couple of blows managed to graze him, but Blade completely ignored them and launched a precise counterattack. He heard the sound of the metal on their armor, and the enemies fell to the ground, at his mercy. Three more strikes and that wave was annihilated. A quick and clean job.

The opposite of what Kafka was supposed to do, but didn't.

He wasn't angry. After all, Kafka always did what she wanted. It wasn't anything new. But really, why give him the choice, if she had no intention of listening to him? Where was the sense in it?! Not to mention, the excuse she used!

'Sorry, Bladie, but Stelle didn't want to be forgotten. You know I can't say no to her!'

Not that it surprised him. He knew that, in her own way, Kafka adored that girl. She did take care of her from the beginning, so it was normal. And he understood how she felt. 

After all, he cared about her well-being too. The sooner he accepted it, the sooner he could come to terms with it.

He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that it was impossible to know Stelle and not care about her. Which was dangerous and undesirable in his situation, but inevitable. He couldn't erase her from his memory. And even if Kafka offered to do it again — for real this time — he would probably refuse at this point.

'If you were to forget me, it would be like another piece of my life has been erased. Does that make any sense?'

It was something he could empathize with because he was in the same situation. But Stelle's memories weren't poison to her, so it made sense that she would want to keep them. And since she wasn't poison for him either, he would remember. It wouldn't be right otherwise.

Another crackle, and the last wave of enemies appeared in front of him. Two Tramplers advanced in his direction, like large armored centaurs.

"Now we are talking."

A pleased smile appeared on his lips as one of the two behemoths emitted a deafening screech. A group of Reavers immediately appeared to its aid, and together they all lunged at him.

Finally, the battle managed to drive at least some of his thoughts away. Blade found himself engaged by three Reavers, while also trying to avoid the fierce hooves of one Trampler. It was a battle of endurance and precision. Wasting energy with unnecessary movements would make him vulnerable to the Reavers. An error in footwork could turn him into a victim of the centaur.

Blade incapacitated one of the Reavers with a thrust, managing to dodge the swing of another a moment before it could strike him in the head. Forced to crouch down, he found himself in the right position to attack the third in the legs, making it fall to the ground. His first assailant tried to take advantage of his position to strike him from top to bottom, but a kick to the stomach made it stagger backward. Right on time to end up under a charging Trampler's hooves.

The smaller enemies were gone, but now the centaur was heading straight for him.

With a couple of short leaps backward, he avoided two attacks but he noticed that the remaining Trampler — who had stayed out of the fight until now — was drawing his bow towards him, ready to shoot a deadly arrow.

"Nice try."

A moment before the arrow was released, he threw himself to the side, using the body of the first centaur as a shield. The deadly beam hurtled towards it, disintegrating it. Amidst the explosion of violet pixels, Blade surged towards the last remaining enemy, sliding under him. The Trampler lifted his hooves to stomp him, but it was already too late. The sword plunged into the exposed belly, tearing it apart.

The centaur exploded in another shower of pixels, while green lights lit up on the sides of the room. Blade stood up from the pristine floor and lowered his sword, as a prerecorded voice announced:

'End of simulation.'

The airtight glass door unlocked, while the swordsman steadied his breathing.

The Virtual Arena was improving, but there was still much work to be done.

Recently built based on an idea Silver Wolf got from Herta and Screwllum, the Virtual Arena was meant to provide Stellaron Hunters with combat training during the downtime between missions. The testing phase included a single environment and various waves of virtual enemies.

A good idea, in theory. In practice, the Hunters were always so busy that opportunities to test it were scarce. Consequently, progress was slow.

Blade didn't find it particularly interesting. Since there were only virtual enemies, there was no risk of getting hurt, nor, of course, of dying. Not that the latter was a particular issue for him: he couldn't die either way. But he was used extreme situations. The Arena was useful, since daily training was a point of principle for him. But, in that regard, he preferred fieldwork.

Too bad that, at the moment, that particular aspect had been denied to him.

Once the mission on the Luofu was completed and his memories 'cleaned up', he and Kafka returned to the main headquarters. The latter, however, had been sent on a new mission with Sam almost immediately. As for Blade, he was informed he was 'on standby until further notice.'

And he hated it.

Apparently, the reason was that the mission on the Luofu had been very prohibitive for him. Therefore, Elio decided to give him some time off to recover completely. The problem was that rest was counterproductive for him. Not only did it not bring him closer to his primary goal — to the very reason he made a pact with Elio — but it gave him too much time to think. And that was bad on many fronts.

He didn't want to dwell on the memories that had been sealed, nor on that unknown 'something' he was supposed to do. Nor, for that matter, did he want to think about Stelle.

At that moment, a small figure appeared inside the Arena.

"Two seconds earlier compared to last time," Silver Wolf said, tapping on her smartphone screen. "We're not there yet, huh?"

Blade sheathed his sword.

"The last wave wasn't terrible, but we are still far off."

She responded with an absent-minded hum and blew a bubble with her gum, while writing something on her phone. Then she popped it and looked up at him.

"We'll adjust the parameters using the latest wave as the benchmark, then. Balancing a game is always a challenge, one way or another."

It was typical of Silver Wolf to see everything as if it were a game. One in which she was incapable of losing, for better or for worse.

"So, are we done for now?" she asked, watching him with half-lidded eyes.

Blade considered the question. When he had an adequate partner — Sam or Kafka, usually — he preferred to spend more time training. But the Arena wasn't up to his level yet, and there was very little to gain from fighting fake enemies that posed no challenge.

"Oho! Blade is indecisive," chuckled the hacker. "And here I thought that, given the chance to train all day long, you wouldn't hesitate!"

She wasn't wrong. It was rare for him to leave a training session after only five or six rounds. Part of him wanted to stay, if only to contain the intrusive thoughts. The problem was that, as the last session proved, that kind of activity wasn't enough to keep them at bay. And one, in particular, hadn't stopped tormenting him since he left the Luofu.

It had been triggered by something Stelle said, when she hypothesized that her Stellaron could explode at any moment. He knew she was at least half joking, but the memory had awakened nonetheless.

It wasn't a 'clean' memory. In fact, he wasn't even sure if it was something he witnessed, or just something he imagined. It was a dark glow, an explosion reducing everything to dust. And someone vanishing inside it, disappearing without a trace.

The images themselves had been very powerful, but even more so were the emotions that accompanied them.

Fear. A fear so strong, so primal that he couldn't even imagine experiencing it.

Pain. A dull pain so potent it was almost physical. Powerful enough to drive one to madness.

That memory must have been something Kafka wasn't aware of, otherwise she would have blocked it. And it would have been wise, because it was exactly the kind of experience that could stir up the Mara. He hadn't had a crisis that day, but he realized it was nothing short of a miracle.

Or maybe it was because Stelle was there. Hard to say.

"HQ to Blade, HQ to Blade! Do you copy?"

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed that Silver Wolf was waving a hand in front of his eyes. Blade blinked and returned to reality, where his former pupil was looking up at him from below.

"Forgive me. I was lost in thought."

"Was it the Mara?"

He shook his head and absentmindedly massaged his temple. The Mara was always lurking, but it wasn't close to a breaking point. In that respect, Kafka's 'cleaning up' worked: his condition was stable. That's why he was left alone at the headquarters even without her.

"...Don't make trouble for me, okay?" Silver Wolf scolded him with just a hint of concern. "I don't have Kafka's Spirit Whisper, and I'm not Stelle. If you had a crisis, the only way I'd have to stop you is by trying to 'kill you'."

And I don't want to do that.

She didn't say those words, but they hung between them all the same.

"Don't worry, everything is fine. It's nothing more than some dark thoughts."

Silver Wolf stared at him for another moment, her arms crossed behind her back, rocking on the balls of her feet. Finally, she clapped her hands, like a judge delivering a verdict.

"Well, the best way to get rid of dark thoughts is to do something fun. On that note, how's your hand?"

Blade raised his left hand, cautiously flexing his fingers.

It was almost always bandaged and hurt. Not that it didn't heal: quite the contrary, in fact. The problem was that, given the danger of their missions and the peculiarities of his fighting style, he often injured it. Sometimes it barely had time to heal before getting injured again. But he had been resting for quite some time now. Given the lack of dangerous situations, it was now in perfect condition. The joints didn't hurt in any way, and the skin, except for some calluses and scars, was intact and smooth.

"It's fine."

"Great."

An unusually excited smile lit up Silver Wolf's face, her gray eyes sparkling with mischief. It didn't take a genius to understand she was plotting something. And Blade immediately realized he had unwittingly put himself in a situation with no way out.

Taking stock of the situation, there were only a few points Stelle was certain of. The first was that one way or another, she was not a normal person. It was likely that what Kafka said was true, but even if she lied, nothing would change. Even if she wasn't an artificial human being, she was still capable of hosting a Stellaron. Being more abnormal than that was virtually impossible.

"Stelle."

The second point was that, for an unspecified period of time, she had been a part of the Stellaron Hunters. Whether she was an official member or not, she couldn't be sure, but she was there. Kafka said it, and Blade confirmed it, so there was no point in debating whether it was true or not.

"Stelle!"

Apart from that, everything was very hazy. For example, why did Blade's scent feel so nostalgic to her? That required a certain level of familiarity, right? He claimed to have crossed paths with her only once and never spoken to her, and she was convinced he wasn't lying. Of course, it was possible he was 'lying' unintentionally, so to speak. He himself admitted that his memories were unreliable. So, it was possible that they had interacted more, and neither of them remembered. Unless, of course, it wasn't about the person but the scent itself. Blade smelled like something, and it was something that she remembered. Too bad she had no idea what it was.

"STELLE!"

Stelle jumped so hard she fell backward, almost tipping over the trash can — contents and all — onto the kitchen floor.

Who was the fool daring to interrupt her in the middle of a contemplative rummaging session?! Didn't they realize how dangerous it was?! Besides disrupting the flow of her thoughts — which was bad enough — what if she ended up spilling the trash for real? Pom-Pom would tear her to shreds!

Emerging from the garbage, Stelle turned to find March looming over her, hands on her hips in a supposedly stern posture. Given her complete lack of intimidating skills, the result was far from impressive.

"March, you nearly made me knock over the trash can!" she complained. "You know you can't sneak up on me like this when I'm philosophizing over something!"

"Hey, I didn't sneak up on anyone! I've been calling you for ages! Poor Pom-Pom is having a fit, fearing you'll end up messing up the kitchen. And you know they'll make me clean it up too!"

"But this is important!" With a melodramatic gesture, Stelle pointed at the can's contents. "Do you have any idea how long it's been since I had a proper 'meeting' with a trash can? They're so darn efficient with waste disposal on the Luofu that you can't find one anywhere! I'm practically in withdrawal!"

"Don't try to pull one over on me; it won't work this time," her friend scowled. "I asked Dan Heng, and he said this kind of withdrawal doesn't exist."

That traitor! As soon as she got her hands on him, she'd give him a piece of her mind!

...Although Stelle had to admit, she might forgive him given that their entire life aboard the Express was normal again.

Their adventure on the Luofu was over, and the ending was bittersweet. Sure, the situation was stable, and the worst was behind them, but there were still so many unanswered questions. And with Jing Yuan still injured and Tingyun missing, the Nameless had left the ship feeling like they hadn't truly won the battle. At least, Stelle felt that sooner or later, all those unresolved threads would come back to haunt them.

But for now, they were all together again, and that was the most important thing.

Their next stop would be Penacony, but since it was too soon to go there, they were taking the opportunity to handle some errands. Right now, they were going to Herta Space Station, as Herta herself wanted to test a new Simulated Universe mode.

Everything was normal. Everything, except her heart, of course. Because even though she was happy to be back with all her fellow travelers — her family — Stelle was plagued by too many unresolved issues.

Some of her inner turmoil must have shown on her face because March sat down next to her on the floor, arranging the folds of her skirt over her knees.

"So, can you tell me what's wrong? Every time you spend more than half an hour inside the trash can, there's always something bothering you."

She understood. Not that it was a surprise. March was the most naive of their small group, but there were also moments when she showed an uncommon intuition. In general, if she wanted to talk to someone, she knew her friend would listen. And she would do it with all the goodwill in the universe.

The problem was that Stelle didn't feel entirely ready to open up. She told her companions, Welt and Himeko first and foremost, about her encounter with Kafka and what she asked her to do. But, she had glossed over what she learned from her about her past, as well as her conversation with Blade. These were details she didn't feel ready to share yet. Not until she could find a sense to them.

In short, she needed time. However...

"Can I ask you something, March?"

Her friend perked up immediately.

"Of course! Anything you want!"

Stelle hugged her knees, thinking about how to introduce the topic. Given March's predisposition, she expected what the response would be, but it was worth asking.

"What do you think about the Stellaron Hunters?"

From her point of view, it was a sensible question. It was legitimate to gauge her companions' opinions on the matter.

From March's point of view, though, it came out of nowhere and completely out of context. She frowned, but answered anyway.

"They're criminals. I don't like them."

...And there it was, exactly what she expected, no more and no less.

"Silver Wolf... well, she's not too bad, although I don't like seeing her hologram materialize in the Express every time she feels like it," March continued. "But Kafka is a liar and a manipulator. You can't take anything she says at face value. I don't like her at all."

Stelle couldn't say she was entirely wrong, especially about Kafka. Although, in all fairness, it was a bit more complicated than that. At least, it always seemed like Kafka cared about her well-being, and appeared concerned for Blade in her own way. She was a complicated person, but she certainly wasn't pure evil.

There was one person, though, that March hadn't mentioned.

"What about Blade?"

"He's a psycho."

The answer was so quick that Stelle almost burst into laughter. March wasn't one to get lost in nuances. For her, what was right was right, and what was wrong was wrong. There were no gray areas.

Sometimes, she envied her for it. It must have been nice to always have such a clear-cut view.

"You know, I think it's a bit more complicated than that."

March scowled.

"What's so complicated about it? He wants to kill Dan Heng, and the reason he wants to do it is stupid. So he's a psychopath."

"Technically, we don't know much about his reasons."

And most likely, Blade himself didn't remember right now. Assuming his ideas were clear even before that.

"It doesn't matter! If someone tries to kill my friend, they're a psycho to me, no matter what."

Stelle didn't argue, knowing full well that March would die on that hill. There was little to debate about Blade's homicidal tendencies toward Dan Heng. However, she remained rather pensive. And her friend, who hadn't caught on initially, ended up noticing.

First, she stared at her, puzzled. Then her pupils dilated like those of a frightened cat.

"Wait a minute. Wait. Just. A. Minute! Why are you defending him?!"

"I'm not defending him. I was just observing that..."

"Oh, no, no, no! This won't do!"

Without giving her a chance to finish, March leaned towards her, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her.

"Stelle, you have to snap out of it! I know what you're thinking. And I totally get you! The guy sure checks all the 'tall, dark, and handsome' boxes, what with the cool vibe, and toned body, not to mention that legendary-level backsi—"

"March! You've seen him only half a time! How the heck did you notice his butt?!"

And more than anything, if it was so legendary-level, why didn't she notice?! Probably because he always wore long coats. But still, how did March notice, of all people?!

The poor girl flinched, realizing what she just said, and her ears turned red.

"I was talking about his shoulders, you perv! They look nice from behind, okay?!"

Stelle chuckled. She knew March was rather sensitive when it came to eye candy. She caught her red-handed a couple of times already, and even now her eyes were sparkling as she described Blade.

Still, she quickly recovered and masked her embarrassment by giving her a shove.

"What I mean is, I understand your point of view, and I realize that the way you met is darn romantic. A bit like in 'Wuthering Hearts,' when the Foxian protagonist runs into the Vidyadhara High Elder while he is fleeing from assassins, and saves his life by pulling him into an alley, even though the assassins were sent by her own father...!"

Oh, yes. 'Wuthering Hearts'. That trashy romance series she loved so much. She always mentioned it, to the point even Stelle knew the basic plot. She missed that part, though, because it didn't sound familiar. 

"Wait a minute. I'm starting to lose track. So the protagonist is the daughter of the same mob boss who wants to kill the High Elder?!" Stelle asked, genuinely starting to get interested.

Maybe she should borrow those books after all.

"Exactly! But, despite that, as soon as their eyes met, they immediately understood that... WAIT A MINUTE! That's not what I was talking about!"

March had turned crimson and, to emphasize her point, she gave Stelle another shake.

"What I mean is: no matter how sexy Blade is, YOU DO NOT FRATERNITIZE WITH THE ENEMY!"

"It's 'fraternize.'"

At this point, Stelle was starting to have fun, and she didn't even try to hide it. But March was too caught up in her indignation to notice. Letting go of Stelle's shoulders, she crossed her arms and did her best to look stern.

"You know what I meant. And besides, you've only talked alone once. It's not enough to start building castles in the air about..."

Without even meaning to, she stepped into a minefield.

Stelle looked away, suddenly very focused on her knees. And March noticed.

"Wait a moment: you only talked alone in Belobog, right? Right?!"

"Well... hypothetically, I may or may not have met him one and/or two other times. Just as I may or may not have talked to him alone in these totally hypothetical circumstances."

After that, March was almost hysterical.

"Don't try to confuse me! So, did you talk to him or not?!"

By now, it was a little late to lie.

"...I talked to him," she admitted, using her best puppy-dog eyes to try to soften the blow.

Unfortunately, March was a master in puppy-dog eyes strategies and didn't fall for it for a moment. Her face twisted in absolute horror, and a moment later, she buried her head in her hands, horrified.

"This is a catastrophe!"

As much as Stelle found the whole scene rather amusing, she knew her friend was genuinely worried. So, it was her duty to try to reassure her.

"Don't blow this out of proportion now. I assure you we only talked. Nothing so... melodramatic is going on. I have no intention of running away with him to join the Hunters or offering up Dan Heng as a sacrifice for our love. And besides," she added, "how did you even come up with the idea of a romantic story between us?"

March looked up, hopeful.

"So there's nothing between you two?"

"Of course not. I don't even know where you got this idea from."

"Oh...". She relaxed a bit, sighing in relief. "Well, then it's not too late. You'll just have to avoid him like the plague from now on. Right?"

Silence.

"Right, Stelle?"

In response, Stelle stood up, stretching emphatically.

"Ah, I feel so much better now! A good rummage through the trash is just what I needed tonight!" she said, her voice at least an octave higher than usual. "Now I think I'll go take a shower!"

Without giving her friend a chance to react, she sprinted for the door, managing to claim it before March could get to her feet.

"Stelle! Where do you think you're going?!"

In an instant, March stood up and started after her, but the other had already fled from the kitchen and reached halfway into the next carriage. Unfortunately for the poor girl, Pom-Pom chose that exact moment to enter the kitchen from the opposite carriage. And, upon seeing the misplaced trash can and March still there, immediately began to shout. Stelle could hear their voice from there.

"March, where do you think you're going?! Look at what you've done! I told you to keep an eye on Stelle, not to make even more trouble!"

"No, wait! There's a misunderstanding! It wasn't me! It was—!"

"No excuses! You won't leave until everything is exactly as it was before!"

As she moved away, Pom-Pom's scolding and March's whining turned into a vague background noise until, upon entering the next carriage, it disappeared completely.

"Sorry, March," said Stelle, apologetic but not too much. She hadn't exactly planned to get her in trouble, but staying there would have meant making a promise she wasn't sure she could keep.

After the inglorious escape, Stelle took the opportunity to take a shower. Rummaging through the trash wasn't the cleanest of pastimes, after all. So, she went to lock herself in the bathroom, hoping that the hot water would help her relax. Instead, her mind continued to wander the whole time.

If she wasn't really a human being, what were the differences? There was, of course, the fact that she could contain a Stellaron, but it was possible that there was more to it. She didn't seem stronger or faster than any other human. More resilient, perhaps? After all, she survived a chest wound during the clash with Cocolia. The circumstances were too nebulous to use as evidence, though. Otherwise, she had to eat, drink, and sleep like anyone else. She couldn't assess her reproductive abilities right there and then, but there was nothing to suggest they weren't normal either.

Maybe the difference lay in acquired abilities? Yet even there, there was no proof. As for her combat skills, Kafka probably taught her. Furthermore, as much as she considered herself strong enough, she wasn't at a higher level than her travel companions. Darn it, Welt could create black holes, and even Dan Heng, when he decided to use his Elder abilities, was stronger than her!

After finishing washing, Stelle stepped out of the shower and changed into pajamas. It was all too confusing, and her mind couldn't keep up. She needed a distraction.

Making sure there was no March on the horizon — she was sure the discussion wasn't over for her — she tiptoed out of the bathroom and headed quietly to her room. She managed to get there without being intercepted, opened the door, slipped inside, and...

"There you are! I thought you'd never come back."

For the second time in a short while, Stelle jumped so hard she might have bumped her head on the ceiling.

March had already caught her! How did she manage it?! Since when had she become so sneaky?!

Then she realized: that wasn't March's voice. It was someone who shouldn't have been there, but who practically materialized on the train so often that even Pom-Pom had grown fond of her.

Stelle quickly locked the door, before anyone else realized she was there, and turned towards the source of the voice.

"Silver Wolf, how many times do I have to tell you not to materialize like this? You'll give me a... oh."

She stopped, her arms falling at her sides, her mouth agape.

She expected to see the usual hologram of Silver Wolf. Instead, she was faced with two silvery figures. They were positioned in such a way that they seemed to be sitting in front of her desk, right beside the shelf with the 'treasures' she 'recovered' during her adventures. The first figure was, of course, Silver Wolf. The other was a familiar man with long, black hair who definitely shouldn't have been there.

"What a reaction, Stelle! Is that how you greet people? It almost seems like you're not happy to see us. Oh, nice pajamas, by the way."

The hacker grinned. And it was at that point that she realized that, out of all the pajamas she could have chosen, she was wearing the one that March had picked for her: a big, warm, yellow flannel with a raccoon printed on the front.

She hugged her arms to her chest, warmth rising to her ears.

"What are you doing here?"

And, more importantly, what was he doing there?

Blade returned her gaze with a completely flat look. So flat, in fact, that it seemed like an emoji.

"Nothing bad, don't worry. I didn't disable the life support of the Express or anything like that," Silver Wolf replied. "We just came to visit you. Right, Blade?"

"It was your idea," he said without flinching.

Stelle didn't doubt that. She didn't think Blade would ever spontaneously come to check on her.

She glanced in his direction, trying to read his expression. The last time they spoke, she felt that he had softened towards her a bit, but none of that was evident now. He was more stoic than a sphinx.

"Of course, of course. It was my idea," Silver Wolf sighed. "But it's for your own good that we're here. So cooperate."

Stelle tilted her head, confused. In what way were they there for Blade's good?

"...Has something happened?"

She looked straight at him, this time without trying to hide it or conceal her concern. When it came to him, she knew what was usually the problem.

The Mara, of course.

He shot Silver Wolf a displeased look, which only slightly relaxed when he looked back at Stelle.

"Nothing," he replied.

"And that's the problem." Silver Wolf's hologram twirled the end of her ponytail around a finger, annoyed. "Kafka and Sam are on a mission and left us alone. I'm bored, and you know I hate boredom. And Blade sulks every time he has nothing to do..."

"I'm not sulking."

Blade's response was prompt, and while his tone was as expressionless as ever, his attitude — from the way he crossed his arms, or the way he slightly protruded his lower lip — screamed 'sulking' no matter how you looked at it.

Silver Wolf continued as if she hadn't heard him at all.

"...As I was saying, he sulks every time he has nothing to do. So, I decided we needed a pastime. And, lo and behold, today is just the first day in ages that Blade's hand is in good condition. So there are no excuses."

She gave him a smug stare, and Blade responded with a long-suffering look.

Stelle hid a smile behind her hand. She didn't approve of the intrusion, but that scene was adorable. She had no idea what it meant to have siblings, so she couldn't say for certain. However, she had always thought that her relationship with March and Dan Heng came pretty close, and they didn't seem too different from them.

What was the Stellaron Hunters' relationship like when they weren't busy with their plans? Was it possible that they weren't all that different from them in that respect?

"So you hacked the Express again and materialized here."

Stelle tried to sound at least a bit stern, but she failed miserably. If Silver Wolf noticed, she didn't show it.

"Exactly."

"And what do you intend to do?"

The hacker smirked, pulling out her phone.

"Play video games with you, of course. What else?"

Stelle turned to Blade, puzzled. Silver Wolf wanting to play video games wasn't strange at all. Once, she caught her challenging Pom-Pom! But 'Blade' and 'video games' didn't seem like words that could fit in the same sentence.

"You... play games?" she asked him, not bothering to hide her surprise.

He seemed almost offended.

"Do you think I'm incapable of it?"

"More than being incapable, I can't even imagine you with a controller in hand."

Her blunt answer offended him even more. His expression went from flat to scowling, and with deliberate slowness, he turned to Silver Wolf.

"...What game did you have in mind?"

Happy to see that her companion had suddenly become cooperative, she pulled out her phone and started fiddling with the screen.

"'Mortal Arena 2', of course"

Blade nodded and also took out his phone. Although he appeared calm, his hologram exuded a downright murderous aura.

Stelle swallowed. Why did it feel like this had turned into some kind of grudge match all of a sudden?!

"I've actually never played Mortal Arena 2. I haven't even installed it..." she tried to wriggle out, casting an anxious glance at the door.

"Oh, no problem!" Silver Wolf smiled. If she sensed the sudden shift in the atmosphere, she was shamelessly pretending not to. "I hacked your phone and installed it before coming here. I've even created your account."

Stelle grabbed her phone — which she left on the bedside table — and checked the applications. Indeed, Mortal Arena 2 now appeared among the installed apps, and when she opened the game, it connected to the "SpaceRacc00n" account.

"What if I refuse?" she ventured, looking for one last escape route.

"Well..." Silver Wolf sighed dramatically. "Then, I would get bored. So bored that, to pass the time, I might actually decide to disable life support."

Stelle felt every hair on her body stand on end, well aware that Silver Wolf was capable of doing it.

...Oh well. Since there was no way out, she might as well go along with it.

"Alright then. I'm in. How does it work?"

She sat criss-crossed on the bed, her phone in her lap, ready for action. Silver Wolf chuckled and, out of the kindness of her heart, explained the basics of the game.

Mortal Arena 2 was a competitive PvP game where the goal was to defeat the opponent and capture their base. Each player could create their own character by choosing their class and parameters, and you could play free-for-all or in teams. The concept wasn't too difficult to grasp. Once she understood the general workings, Stelle considered herself reasonably prepared.

"Okay, are you ready? Let's start," declared Silver Wolf, self-proclaimed leader of their gaming group. "Let's begin with a handicap match: me against you two in a team."

Blade wasn't too thrilled about the idea.

"Why?"

"Because on your own, you two would never be able to beat me."

It sounded like boasting, but they both knew she wasn't lying. When it came to video games, that girl was a monster.

Blade clicked his tongue and shot his new teammate a sidelong glance that Stelle interpreted as: 'You got lucky this time, but Silver Wolf won't always be here to protect you. And when the time comes, I'll take down your avatar, curb stomp it to hell and back, and feed its remains to the dogs.'

"Stay out of my way, or you'll answer to my sword," he said instead. 

Stelle shrank down on the mattress, trying to appear small and insignificant. Oh, her stupid big mouth! Out of all the people she could inadvertently offend, she had to choose the most vengeful guy in the universe!

"We're connecting, Stelle," warned Silver Wolf.

Indeed, a co-op match request flashed on the screen. It was from players 'Wolf_of_the_North1000' and... 'Br00dy'?

"Broody?"

Blade stared at his phone screen for a moment, his expression transitioning from indifferent to incredulous to resigned.

"Silver Wolf, you changed my account name again."

"The old one was boring."

"Out of curiosity," Stelle chimed in, "what was it before?"

"'BLADE0'," Silver Wolf sighed. "And he added the zero only because the system forced him to use a number or symbol."

Stelle felt like she broke a couple of ribs trying not to burst into laughter. That was so him! And the new nickname was so fitting!

Blade rubbed his temple, annoyed.

"Shall we start playing, or do I have to leave?"

"Let's start. Stelle, you need to create your character."

On her phone screen appeared the player characters created by Silver Wolf and Blade. The former had a mage she named 'Freya', wearing a beautiful blue corseted dress that looked like a premium skin. Blade, on the other hand, had a samurai with long hair and a purple kimono, which he named... 'SAMURAI'.

Of course.

"...Blade, may I ask you a question?" Stelle tried her absolute best not to smile.

"No."

Despite the refusal, she asked anyway:

"Why is your character's name written in all caps?"

He looked up from his phone screen for a moment, and for a fraction of a second, a hint of discomfort flashed across his face. He immediately concealed it, so quickly that Stelle thought she had imagined it... until Silver Wolf answered for him.

"Because Blade is a fossil and doesn't know how to turn off Caps Lock."

"I know how to turn it off," he replied quickly. Too quickly.

"Okay. So how do you do it?"

Silence.

For a moment, no one spoke, while Silver Wolf smirked. Finally, Blade huffed, annoyed.

"Stelle, will you create that character, or not?"

"Alright, alright!"

Deciding that she had enough fun at his expense, she opened the character creator. She scrolled through the list of available classes. Barbarian seemed like the best fit for some good old-fashioned bloodshed. She quickly created a barbarian warrior, trying to make her resemble herself with the available skins. When it came time to choose a name, she glanced up from the screen to peek at Blade's hologram.

He was looking at his phone, perhaps customizing his character's inventory before the match. Was he always so serious, even when it came to a video game? She wouldn't be surprised if he had that same focused expression before an important mission.

She lowered her gaze back to the character creation screen, a small smile at the corners of her mouth, and typed in her character's name. Then she distributed the attributes and confirmed her choices.

Her avatar immediately appeared next to the other two.

"Okay, done!"

Silver Wolf opened the profile of the newly created barbarian, and after giving it a quick glance, looked at her with a completely flat expression.

"Seriously, Stelle? 'BARBARIANNN'?"

She nodded vigorously.

"I thought it would be nice to have matching names. You know, for team spirit!"

"But why three 'N's?"

"For emphasis!"

Blade, who hadn't paid as much attention to the name but was instead examining the character's attributes, gave her an even flatter look.

"Stelle."

"Yes?"

"Why is the Strength parameter at five hundred and all the others at five?"

"Well, since she's a barbarian, it seemed right to emphasize physical power!"

To her enthusiastic response, he replied in a tone that would have been appropriate at a funeral.

"You have no Dexterity and no Speed. Not only will you never land a critical hit. You will never hit anything at all."

At the revelation, a sense of pure horror washed over her. In the excitement of creating a super-powered warrior, she had completely forgotten about balance.

"Wait! I'll change the parameters immediately!"

She tried to go back to the character creation screen, but it was too late. The game had finished loading the arena, and the three characters were catapulted onto a medieval battlefield.

"It looks like it's going to be an easy victory," Silver Wolf said, while Blade facepalmed.

Stelle tried to boost his morale.

"But I've got plenty of potions! I can be the healer!"

He raised an eyebrow, and she deflated like a balloon.

They were so doomed.

"...Stay close to me and try not to get killed," Blade finally said, in a tone slightly softer than usual. At that point, he probably pitied her.

One way or another, the game began.

As expected, Silver Wolf was a monstrously skilled opponent. Her character was perfectly optimized and apparently meta. Even playing alone, she quickly flooded the arena with zombies and other summoned creatures. She would have won in less than five minutes if it weren't for Blade being an excellent player. One wouldn't expect it from someone who didn't even know how to turn off Caps Lock on their phone. Yet, he knew his character well and how to play to his strengths. He darted from one side of the arena to the other, stopping the hordes of mobs and slowly making his way toward the enemy base.

Stelle, on the other hand, thanks to her terrible character, struggled behind him. As expected, she couldn't hit the enemies, nor avoid their attacks. Moreover, her barbarian warrior was as slow as a hibernating snail due to the lack of Speed. At one point, she found herself fleeing from a whole horde of zombies, and while the undead were rather slow, they were able to outrun her. The only thing she could do in those situations was lure the enemies toward Blade, so he could take them out with one of his lethal combos. At least, equipping her character with lots of healing potions made her vaguely useful as support. Of course, it would have been more effective if she had chosen a class suited for that role. She had to keep that in mind for next time.

Assuming there would be a next time.

She glanced in the direction of Blade's hologram, serious and focused on the game, and wondered if he liked video games. When Silver Wolf suggested playing, he acted as if the whole idea had come from her, but he was too skilled to be a casual player. So, maybe he did enjoy them. Or perhaps he didn't like losing. Or a bit of both.

She realized she knew very little about him. 

"Zombies," he suddenly warned her, and Stelle turned her gaze back to the screen just in time to see a horde of undead advancing toward her, while Silver Wolf laughed like a hyena.

"You're doing it on purpose!" she complained, tapping the screen to move her character out of their path.

"Absolutely," she replied, devoid of any semblance of mercy. "Weaklings must die."

Somehow — with a lot of help from her partner — Stelle managed to survive that encounter as well, and with exasperating slowness, the samurai and the barbarian managed to drag themselves toward the enemy base. And from what she understood, the mages were weak at close range. If only they could corner Silver Wolf, maybe they'd have a chance!

"Uh. You held out longer than I expected. Congratulations," the hacker said, without much enthusiasm. "But it's time to end it."

As Blade tried to approach while avoiding the enemy base's magical beams, Silver Wolf charged a spell and a lightning bolt struck poor SAMURAI, decimating his life and freezing him in place. His character, stunned, was targeted by the towers before Stelle could heal him, and consequently eliminated.

Blade cursed under his breath and lowered his phone, defeated. Stelle was alone.

"It's all in your hands," he told her with the utmost seriousness. "If we lose at this point, you will answer to my sword."

She almost dropped the phone. 

Again?! Why did every little thing end with her being sliced like salami?!

"You can surrender if you want," Silver Wolf offered, savoring the victory.

Stelle was seriously tempted to retreat with whatever dignity she had left, but a look from Blade made her realize that he would consider it a personal offense. One she would, of course, have to answer to his sword.

Sweating and praying to every Aeon in the universe — Nanook included — to have mercy on her, Stelle advanced toward the base, doing her best to avoid the laser beams from the towers, while Silver Wolf began to charge a spell. She was hit several times, leaving her with only a trickle of HP when she finally managed to reach her opponent.

The spell was almost charged. It was a fraction of a second away from blowing her to smithereens.

With a last desperate effort, Stelle attempted an auto-attack, expecting exactly what happened a million other times during the game.

She would miss the blow and be toasted. And then she would have to run away, because Blade would put her on his black list and chase her to the farthest corners of the galaxy.

She closed her eyes, preparing for the worst. But instead of Silver Wolf's lightning strike, she heard the distinct metallic sound of a hit landing. When she gathered her courage and looked, she saw a huge number flashing on the screen, while Silver Wolf's avatar disappeared, slaughtered in a single blow.

Not only had she hit that one-in-a-thousand chance to strike, but also that one-in-a-million chance to land a critical hit. And with a Strength parameter of five hundred, there was only one possible result.

"We won!"

She jumped off the bed in excitement, as a golden message announced the victory of SAMURAI and BARBARIANNN. "Blade, we won! We defeated Silver Wolf!"

She was safe! She wouldn't be sliced up! She was so relieved that if it weren't for the hologram, she would have hugged him.

"Beginner's luck," he grumbled. Although, Stelle noticed, he seemed more relaxed than usual. Maybe he enjoyed it a little.

"Who cares? Luck is a skill too!"

Meanwhile, Silver Wolf was still staring at the defeat screen on her phone, her mouth comically agape.

"I lost."

"Well, even the best lose sooner or later," said Stelle, reveling in her completely undeserved victory. "It was still a good game."

The hacker gave her an impassive look.

"Oh, yes. One I won't forget anytime soon."

Her sinister tone cooled her enthusiasm a bit. She had the feeling she just made a powerful enemy. But what was done was done. And, after all, she enjoyed herself quite a bit.

She let herself fall back on the bed, arms stretched out above her head.

"I really needed a distraction!"

"You were getting bored too?" Silver Wolf asked. Of course, she couldn't imagine anything worse than boredom.

"Not exactly. Just... had a few things on my mind."

She didn't feel like going into details. It would only encourage her worries to come back.

"Bad thoughts?"

To her surprise, Blade was the one to speak. Stelle sat up and saw that he was watching her with the same serious and attentive expression as when they were playing. As if his focus was solely on her.

Being stared at like that was always a bit embarrassing. It felt like he could read her mind. But, of course, that wasn't the case. He simply knew what was troubling her because he was there when it happened. And it was comforting to know that there was at least one person who understood what was going on in her head.

"No, not necessarily". She smiled at him. "Thanks for asking."

He responded with a grunt that she decided to translate as a "you're welcome." Then, as a curious Silver Wolf looked back and forth between the two of them, he stood up.

"If there is nothing else to do, I will take my leave."

"Hey, wait...!"

Silver Wolf's call was completely ignored. Blade's hologram disappeared immediately. The young hacker stared at the — now invisible — flesh-and-blood Blade as he walked away on her side of the line. Then, with a huge sigh, she turned back to Stelle.

"That man is too serious for his own good."

Something in her tone — a not-so-hidden hint of concern — made Stelle uneasy.

"Silver Wolf, is there something wrong?"

"No, everything's fine. At least, it seems like Kafka's Spirit Whisper is still holding up well. The Mara is under control, and he's mostly okay. But he thinks too much, and sooner or later he'll end up sabotaging himself. That's why I brought him here. I was hoping he'd get a little distraction."

"So he likes video games?"

Silver Wolf shook her head.

"Nah, it's not about that. I mean, he likes them, but that's not the point."

"Then what is?"

Stelle leaned towards her hologram, curious, but she just shrugged.

"Who knows? You should ask him."

"He wouldn't tell me."

A short silence fell between them as Silver Wolf pondered. After a moment of reflection, the hacker said:

"Did you know that, when I was recruited, Blade was my mentor?"

Stelle shook her head. She didn't know, but then again, she had no idea about the internal structure of the Hunters.

"Well, I spent a lot of time with him, so I think I understand him a little. I don't know all the details, but he's had a rough life. That's why he's so closed off. But fundamentally, he's a big softie. And you're not on his blacklist. So, if you want to get to know him better, don't be afraid of him and insist."

"I'm not afraid of him."

On this, Stelle had no doubt. She was afraid of the Mara and what it did to him. She was afraid for Dan Heng. But she wasn't afraid of him in the absolute sense of the term.

"Then it should be easy, right?" Silver Wolf said.

Before Stelle could respond, a quiet knock on the door interrupted the conversation, causing her to turn in that direction.

"Stelle, can I come in?"

It was Dan Heng.

Her heart leaped into her throat at the thought of who had been in her room — even if only as a hologram — just minutes ago, and she thanked the common sense that prompted her to lock the door. An encounter between those two would have been catastrophic.

"I'll be right there!"

She turned to Silver Wolf to signal that it was time to leave, but her hologram had already disappeared. Clearly, she knew how to read a room.

Stelle composed herself, pushing aside the anxiety of the close call, and went to open the door. Dan Heng was waiting patiently on the doorstep, in his human form as usual. Now that he was back on the Express, it wasn't often that he showed his true appearance. Which was unfortunate. She could understand his reasons, as it drew too much attention, not to mention his clear desire to distance himself from that part of his life. But it didn't change the fact that she found his horns cute.

She welcomed him with a smile and stepped aside to let him in.

"Hey. Finished rummaging through the archive?"

"For now," he replied. "And speaking of which, sooner or later you'll have to explain that addition you put in Kafka's file. What does it mean: 'Reads minds. Source: trust me, bro'?"

What did it mean? Exactly what she wrote. Kafka could read minds and nothing would convince her otherwise.

Perhaps Dan Heng sensed it wasn't worth fighting that battle, because he added:

"But that's not what I want to talk about right now."

He went to sit in the chair at her desk, next to her knick-knack shelf. Ironically, it was the same spot where Blade's hologram had been 'sitting,' and this only reminded her even more of the close call.

She needed to take more precautions, in case it happened again.

Suppressing a shiver, she sat back on the edge of the bed. From the way Dan Heng positioned himself on the chair, it was clear that whatever he wanted to say wasn't going to be a matter of a few minutes. He never entered her room unless he had a valid reason.

And indeed...

"Is there something you should tell me, Stelle?"

"Something like what, exactly? If you're referring to the box of cookies with your name written on it, I assure you it was an accident. I woke up in the kitchen in the middle of the night, and the box was already empty beside me..."

"...So, that's who it was."

Dan Heng shook his head, exasperated, and she responded with an embarrassed smile. Clearly, that wasn't what he wanted to talk about, and she had given herself away.

"I promise I'll buy you some more."

"It doesn't matter. There are more important things to discuss."

He was so serious that Stelle started to worry. Had something bad happened?

"A while ago, March broke into the archive," he said, his piercing eyes locked straight onto hers. "She was panicking and rambled on about a 'catastrophe,' and that I was the 'only one who could make you see reason.' It took me at least half an hour to calm her down, and she agreed to go back to her room only when I promised I would talk to you."

Oh. So, that was the problem. Stelle shifted uncomfortably on the mattress.

"Then I came to find you to ask what happened. And when I was outside the door, I heard Blade's voice."

Stelle squirmed even more, carefully keeping her eyes lowered to avoid his.

"Now, you know that I would recognize his voice from a mile away, even if I heard it in the middle of a crowd. So, there are two possibilities: either I'm completely insane, or you're hiding something from me."

Having said this, Dan Heng fell silent, waiting for her explanation. He seemed willing to stay there, in that exact position, until she capitulated, no matter how long it would take. And the idea that he would stand there, judging her even while she slept, was as terrifying as the prospect of telling him the whole truth.

"...How long were you behind the door?" she asked, fidgeting with her fingers.

"Long enough to realize there was no imminent danger. After that, I moved away. That man is adept at sensing my presence; I wanted to avoid making the situation worse."

Stelle sighed in relief, realizing how quickly the situation could have escalated. Thankfully, Dan Heng had all the common sense she lacked.

"Thank you for not calling the others."

"I still don't know if it was the right call. But I wanted to hear your side of events before doing anything." He fixed his eyes on hers, as if trying to read her thoughts. "What's going on, Stelle?"

"Promise you won't get angry?"

"I promise to get angry only if you deserve it."

This was not comforting at all. But at this point, there were no other ways out. So, she told him everything. Or at least, most of it. She told him, for example, that she had been present during Blade's Mara crisis, but not that he had tried to physically attack her. She knew that would send him into an immediate panic. Nor did she tell him that there was a strong likelihood she was an artificial human; she herself hadn't fully accepted it yet. But she told him everything else: every time she had encountered Blade after Belobog and what he said about her presence among the Stellaron Hunters.

Dan Heng listened in silence, which she was immensely grateful for. When it came to everyday matters, it was simpler to relate to March, but when it came to situations like this, talking to him was much easier. He didn't see everything in blacks and whites, and she knew he would listen until the end, without jumping to conclusions.

When she finished, Dan Heng remained silent for a moment, his eyes closed, chin resting on his intertwined fingers.

"...I have a rough understanding of the situation," he finally said, and when he opened his eyes, Stelle could see a certain weariness in them. Talking about Blade must have taken a toll on him. After all, who could blame him? "At the very least, I understand the reason for your interest. It's a bit like Kafka, isn't it? You're trying to put the pieces back together, and you believe he might play a role in that."

It was an oversimplification, but not intrinsically wrong.

"Yes, more or less. I mean, at first, I was just curious, I guess. And I wanted to know why he had such a grudge against you. But after what he told me..."

"I understand. But even so, Stelle, don't you think this is becoming too personal? You were literally playing video games together until moments ago!"

Well, to her credit, she couldn't exactly prevent Silver Wolf from hacking the Express. Every attempt they made to block her had miserably failed. Although, she had to admit, she hadn't done much to persuade them to leave.

The truth was, she found Blade's presence enjoyable. And she didn't know if it was due to some lingering memories, or if the explanation was simpler than that.

"If I had never met him — if I had never spoken to him — it would have been easier," she said, lost in thought. "Maybe I could have seen him like March does: just a psychopath, and nothing more. But now I know he's not like that — not exactly, at least — and I can't help but... care, I guess."

It was hard to categorize someone as purely evil when you started to look at them up close. Like a painting that, seen from afar, was one single image, but was actually made up of thousands of small brushstrokes.

The Blade who haunted Dan Heng throughout his new life, and the Blade who played video games, didn't know how to use Caps Lock and kept her handkerchief in his pocket for an eternity just to return it to her... They were the same person. But reconciling those two images was difficult.

"You like him, don't you?"

The statement caught her off guard.

"Huh?"

"You like him. As a person, I mean."

Stelle thought about it. Kafka asked her if she wanted him to like her, and in a way, that question was similar. It was just framed differently. Back then, she didn't know how to answer, but now, she could admit it to herself at least.

She liked a side of him, and she couldn't deny that.

"You must think I'm foolish, since I like someone for all the wrong reasons."

"From what you tell me, I think you like him for the right reasons. But I'm worried you might forget the reasons not to like him."

At that moment, Stelle realized that Dan Heng's expression had become distant, and she got up from the bed, sitting in the chair 'freed' up by Silver Wolf's hologram, right beside him.

"Are you angry with me?"

"Why should I be?"

"...Well, you hate Blade, don't you? If you spent most of your life on the run, it's because of him."

He shook his head.

"I wouldn't call it 'hate'."

"No?!"

This was a surprise. If anyone had reason to hate Blade, it would be him.

"No. Of course, I don't like him by any means. But, in a way, he's a victim of the past." Dan Heng grimaced. "Dan Feng's actions and decisions have haunted me, and they always will. But I am not him, and that's something I can hold on to. I can try to fix what can be fixed, and strive to move forward. Blade, on the other hand, is in a cage he can't get out of. Every time I met him in the past..."

Again, his gaze became distant, a crease forming between his eyebrows. The memories he was summoning couldn't have been pleasant.

"All those times, I saw the way he looked at me. He doesn't see me. He sees Dan Feng. I don't know the reason for his grudge, or what his relationship to him was. But I don't think he fully realizes that he's dead and that he'll never find the justice he's seeking. In a way, he's like a specter chained by unresolved debts he'll never be able to settle. It's too pitiable an existence for me to hate him."

Stelle thought back to the day at Scalegorge Waterscape when he attacked her. In the madness evoked by the Mara, he spoke of Dan Feng as if he had somehow changed his name and evaded his responsibilities. At that moment, with a sword at her throat and the risk of being killed, she only managed to give those words a superficial meaning. But framed in that way, everything took on a very different significance. An infinitely sadder one.

She knew that everything he inflicted on Dan Heng was not fair, and no sad past could justify it. Yet, her heart ached for him, and for the person he must have once been. The same person she occasionally saw traces of.

"This doesn't change the fact that he's dangerous," Dan Heng continued, in a sterner tone. "I don't think he means you harm, but you're too close to me. I don't want you to become collateral damage."

"Kafka sealed his memories with the Spirit Whisper to keep the Mara in check. Right now, he doesn't remember you."

"We'll see how long that lasts. I would hope forever, but I doubt I'll be that lucky."

There was a certain resignation in his voice, undoubtedly born from experience. After all, every time he tried to get rid of Blade, or to lose his trail, he always came back.

"In any case, I won't tell you not to talk to him anymore or not to investigate your past. You have every right to do so. I just ask that you be careful. Don't get into trouble."

In a rare moment of emotion, he gave her a light pat on the head, and Stelle felt a pang of guilt. She had just received his permission to do as she wished, but in a way, she felt like she was betraying her best friend.

"You know I'll always be on your side, right?" she blurted out. "Before Blade can hurt you, he'll have to go through me. And that will never change."

He gave a small smile, so small that only a trained eye could see it.

"I know."

Without saying anything else, he started to get up.

"Dan Heng."

At Stelle's call, he stopped, looking at her questioningly. She clenched her fists, nervous.

"You don't mind if, before losing my memory, I was a Stellaron Hunter?"

"...I am the reincarnation of a hated criminal, and March has no idea of who she was before ending up encased in a block of ice. Yet we were still welcomed here. Nobody will judge you for something you don't even remember, Stelle. Least of all me."

At his words, the small knot of anxiety she had been carrying since she discovered the truth loosened, and she smiled at him. She wanted to tell him that she missed him when he was gone, that she was glad he was back, and that their family was whole again.

But she didn't get the chance.

Swift footsteps echoed in the hallway, and the next moment, the door burst open. Both of them jumped to their feet, alarmed, as March barged in like a hurricane.

She was pale as a ghost and clearly on the brink of panic.

"Thank goodness you're both here!"

"March, what's happening?" Dan Heng asked, and both he and Stelle hurried towards her.

She glanced from one to the other, gasping for the right words.

Finally, mustering all the remaining composure she had, she said:

"We have a huge problem."

Not much time had passed since the end of the game when Silver Wolf called Blade on his cellphone. Or, to be more precise, when she started calling him repeatedly, not giving him a break until he was forced to answer. For some reason, she was angry with him and wanted him to come talk to her in the Wolf's Den.

The Wolf's Den was nothing more than Silver Wolf's office, her operational headquarters. Of course, only she called it that. Or, to be precise, that was the name she had decided to use that week. He was certain that, in a few days, she would grow tired of the old name and come up with another one that inspired her more. All this, only to repeat the process again and again.

Despite the ever-changing name, when Blade arrived at the office, he found it more or less as he remembered it. The room — covered in graffiti as usual — was illuminated only by the blue light of numerous screens. Some displayed paused video games, others streams of data scrolling from side to side. Some of the video games were familiar to him, but he didn't even try to decipher the meaning of the data streams. He doubted he'd be able to make sense of them.

Silver Wolf was sitting cross-legged on a large swivel chair, facing away from the entrance while playing one of the video games. A life simulation game, it seemed. There was a house viewed from above, and characters moving inside: what he believed to be a couple — a man with black hair and a woman with gray hair — along with twin children and a tabby cat.

...Now that he looked at them more closely, those characters seemed familiar.

He approached the screen, trying to get a better look. Just at that moment, however, Silver Wolf noticed his presence. She immediately opened the game menu — pausing it and blocking his view of the characters — and spun the chair towards him.

"Here you are, Blade. I was waiting for you."

...What with that awful imitation of a mob boss? It didn't suit her at all. Not to mention, from an IPC perspective, she was scarier than any gangster. The five billion credits on her head weren't there for no reason.

The conversation hadn't even started, and Blade was already on the defensive. After she dragged him to play video games with Stelle, he was ready for anything.

...Of course, he put up less resistance than he should have, and it wasn't terrible. For the entire time, he managed not to think, and the Mara remained pleasantly quiet. But even if it hadn't, it would probably have been easy to regain control.

After all, Stelle was there.

For a fraction of a second, her smiling face appeared in his memories, just as he saw her before he disconnected. She said she had a lot to think about, and he could imagine the reason. He hoped she wasn't struggling too much with the whole situation. She didn't deserve that.

Realizing his mind was wandering, he forced himself not to think about it, focusing on Silver Wolf.

"What is it?"

"I appreciate that you're no longer actively trying to blow holes into my ship..." she said, intertwining her fingers in front of her in an imitation of Kafka. "But you should also learn not to do it passively. Why did you run away immediately after the game ended?"

Skipping over the ship talk — which he was still very perplexed about, as he really didn't remember messing with any vessel — he had no idea what the problem was.

"Once the game was over, there was no reason to stay."

Silver Wolf let herself fall back against the chair, frustrated.

"Please, tell me you're doing this on purpose. How do you not understand that it was just an excu—"

An intermittent sound interrupted her before she could finish. One of her screens started flashing, and in an instant, the hacker's expression changed, switching immediately to work mode.

"Oho! What do we have here?" she murmured to herself, grabbing a pair of headphones lying abandoned on the table. Before putting them on, she shot her companion a sidelong glance. "Stay here. I'm not done with you yet."

Since when had Silver Wolf become his boss? She had no authority to give him orders.

Despite the irritation, he didn't leave the room. Instead, he approached his companion's desk, observing the lit-up screen from over her shoulder. It looked like some kind of transmission, but since she was the only one wearing headphones, he couldn't hear its content. He could, however, study Silver Wolf's reaction. He saw her expression shift from her usual mild interest to a more focused attention. When the transmission ended, she frowned.

"This is not good. Not good at all."

Silver Wolf didn't worry easily. There weren't many things she took seriously. Yet this time, something must have struck a different cord.

"What is it about?" Blade asked.

The hacker took off the headphones, looking up at him. She was hesitating, and that wasn't normal either. Was it really something so serious... or was it specifically with him that she didn't want to talk about it?

"What is it about?" he repeated, a sense of threat starting to creep down his spine.

As if to answer the question, both of their cell phones started ringing simultaneously. Blade grabbed his, immediately followed by Silver Wolf, and hurried to check the notification.

A message from Kafka.

The two exchanged a look, well aware of what this meant.

"I'd say we have a huge problem," the girl said.

Blade couldn't help but agree. And he had the feeling that this was quite an understatement.

Chapter Text

"Thank you for coming. I wasn't sure it was appropriate for me to ask for your help, but I didn't know who else to turn to."

Sitting at her desk in the Supreme Guardian's office, Bronya looked more tired than ever. She was hiding it behind her impeccable demeanor, but the Nameless knew her well enough to notice. Not that it was surprising, now that the responsibility of governing the place fell entirely on her shoulders.

"Oh, don't worry! We were in the area anyway," March replied. "We're glad to see you're alright! When we received the transmission, I almost had a heart attack!"

"I'm very sorry for scaring you. Seele sent the transmission. She was a bit overexcited."

Bronya sent her best friend an indulgent look. Seele, standing behind the Guardian's chair, responded with an impatient huff, pushing back a strand of her disheveled long hair.

"There was reason to be 'overexcited,' thank you very much."

In fact — Stelle considered — Seele was right.

On the day of the fateful video game match with Silver Wolf and Blade, the Express received a transmission from Belobog. It announced a failed attempt to assassinate the new Guardian. Of course, the Nameless immediately responded to the call and headed to Belobog. Since Stelle, March, and Dan Heng knew all the people involved, Himeko and Welt entrusted them with the task of investigating the matter.

Upon their arrival, they found out that Bronya survived the attempt with no consequences of note. Still, the situation could be very dangerous, and she was aware of it. So it was not surprising that, in addition to the ever-present Seele, Natasha was also in the room. The fact that the Wildfire leader — usually occupied with her clinic — was there was a clear sign that the circumstances were unusual.

"What happened exactly, Bronya?" Stelle asked.

"To be honest, I would like to know that myself."

The Guardian glanced at the three young Nameless and crossed her fingers on the desk. Her eyes were surrounded by dark shadows, as if she had slept poorly for several days.

"Not long ago, one of the cooks in my service — a recently hired one — tried to slip the contents of a strange pellet into my food. Fortunately, she was seen by the rest of the kitchen staff, and nothing serious happened. However—"

Seele interrupted her, visibly in a bad mood.

"It's clear that someone has it out for you, Bronya, and I'm not planning to stand idly by."

"So there's someone else behind this," Dan Heng said.

"I'm afraid so," Bronya replied. "I don't think that woman would have anything personal against me. Of course, I can't completely rule it out, but it doesn't seem likely. I had her background checked, and she's in no way connected to me or my mother."

March was aghast.

"They tried to poison you!"

"That's where things get strange, actually. We had the cook's personal belongings seized, and we found something interesting."

Bronya glanced at Natasha, who stepped forward. She held a small tin box in her hands, and she carefully placed it on the desk.

"Take a look at these," the doctor said, lifting the lid, and the three Express members leaned in to see what was inside.

They saw three capsules. At first glance, they seemed like simple medicine, roughly the size of a fingernail. And yet, as soon as she saw them, Stelle felt a shiver run down her spine.

"They're the same as the one the cook emptied into my food," Bronya explained. "I wanted to have them analyzed, but I wasn't sure it was appropriate to have my staff do it."

Seele scoffed.

"Of course! After what happened, there's no way we can trust anyone."

"Exactly. Also, I didn't want the news to leak before we had more information. That's why I asked Natasha if she could take care of it. If there's someone whose discretion I can rely on, it's her."

At Bronya's compliment, Natasha responded with a small, warm smile. It disappeared, however, as soon as she got back to business.

"I've analyzed the pills — taking all necessary precautions, of course. I could only deduce one thing from their components: it's some kind of drug. But I couldn't figure it out. Many of the components are unknown on Belobog. One substance seems to be bone marrow, but I couldn't say what species it belongs to. It doesn't seem human, nor of any known species on our planet."

Bone marrow...

It wasn't the first time Stelle heard of a drug made from bone marrow. She turned to Dan Heng, exchanging a quick glance with him. A glimmer of realization passed through his expression, but neither of them spoke.

"And I questioned the cook in prison," Seele said. "Or at least, I planned to. But when I tried to talk to her, she was in a pitiful state. She couldn't speak anymore, and she seemed in constant pain. Like...". She paused, searching for a way to describe it. "Like if all her bones were breaking, or something like that. And she didn't understand what I was saying. I've never seen anything like it. She was fine not too long before!"

March grimaced, caught between pity and horror. Stelle and Dan Heng exchanged another eloquent look.

"In short, we have no idea what we're dealing with, and our options are limited," Bronya concluded. "I could mobilize the Silvermane Guards, but without any clues, I fear I would only create panic. And I would alert whoever devised this plan. But since you travel far and wide through the galaxy, I was hoping you could shed some light on this. Have you ever encountered such a situation?"

The three women turned their hopeful gazes towards them.

"Well...," March hesitated and looked at the other two for support. "I'm not sure if it counts as a secret, actually."

"Secret or not, those pills are here when they shouldn't be," Dan Heng chimed in, with a sidelong glance at the tin box. "If Belobog's leadership is unprepared, the problem will only worsen."

Stelle nodded.

"I agree."

March relaxed, happy to align with the other two, while her friend stepped forward to look inside the tin box again.

The pills were exactly as she remembered, and there was only one group of people in possession of them.

"Bronya, Seele, Natasha," she said to them. "We know what these are. Can you promise that what we tell you won't leave this room, though? I'm not sure about the consequences of you knowing this."

"Of course," Bronya immediately agreed, followed by the other two.

"No problem! Who do you take us for?"

"You can count on our discretion."

Stelle exchanged one last look with her companions to obtain their tacit approval. Then, she tried to explain the situation. She told them that she saw similar pellets during their journey on the Xianzhou Luofu. They were used to artificially inflict the Mara on those who used them. Explaining what Mara was took additional time, since none of them had ever heard of it. They bombarded her with questions. Natasha, in particular, had some academic interest in it. In the end, though, the message got through: the pills were a bad omen, and the people who created them were even worse.

Seele, who started restlessly pacing back and forth, stopped as soon as Stelle finished speaking.

"But what do these guys — these Disciples of Sanctus Medicus, or whatever — want with Bronya? Belobog has nothing to do with the Xianzhou Alliance, right?"

"Right?!" scoffed March, irritated. "Didn't we kick their leader's head in when we were on the Luofu?!"

"From what I heard when I infiltrated them, many cells are operating independently from each other. It could be a different one" Stelle said, pensive.

"Or it could be stragglers from the same cell who managed to escape the Luofu," Dan Heng added. "The Alliance likes to give the impression that its control system is perfect, but it's not. There's always a loophole: you just have to find it. But for sure, they have something in mind: otherwise, it wouldn't make sense to attack Bronya."

"What do you mean?"

At March's question, Dan Heng explained:

"Think about it for a moment. The Disciples of Sanctus Medicus have strived to find methods to control the Mara. They have specific drugs that slow down and weaken its effects. Inflicting it on the Supreme Guardian of Belobog and then offering her an antidote is an excellent way to pocket the planet's leadership. Especially since, as the case of the cook shows, those pills can have devastating effects on short-life species. And this is just an example. Who knows what they are actually plotting!"

"The bastards...!"

Seele cursed under her breath, but a stern look from Bronya managed to calm her. The young Guardian ran a hand through her long silver curls, struggling to make sense of all the information. When she finally spoke, her tone was measured and calm, in stark contrast to the paleness of her face.

"Let's stay calm and avoid panicking. They have already made a mistake with their first attempt, so we are no longer helpless victims. Let's try to put the pieces together and figure out what to do." She turned to Stelle, who among the three had most recently had contact with the cult. "First of all, what exactly do they want from us? As Seele also said, Belobog has no special contact with the Alliance."

"I only know that they worship Yaoshi, and that, for them, Mara is a sign of their blessing. They want to control the Alliance. They shouldn't care about Belobog, or Jarilo-VI in general."

At this point, Natasha intervened.

"Unless they want an external operational base."

Her statement, spoken with a low, grave voice, made everyone turn towards her.

"Unfortunately, I know something about similar situations," the doctor explained. "You said the cult is illegal in the Alliance, and that the authorities are constantly hunting them down. Furthermore, they've caused problems very recently, so law enforcement will be even more alert against them. It's possible that those who managed to escape want a remote place to regroup. And possibly enough leverage to do whatever they want unbothered."

She had a point. After all, which planet was more remote than Jarilo-VI?

"Those damn...!"

Seele's frustrated swearing was interrupted by Bronya's stern look.

"Seele, getting worked up like this won't help!"

"So what should we do?! While we're here talking, those bastards are trying to steal our planet from under our noses! We can't leave things as they are!"

"I was thinking...," Bronya said. "Do you think it might be worth trying to get in touch with the Xianzhou Alliance? If it's a problem that originated from them, they might be willing to help resolve it."

Dan Heng hesitated.

"I think they would be willing."

"So what's the problem?" March asked.

"The problem is that they are very zealous when it comes to the Denizens of Abundance. I don't know what they might do if they even suspect that the infection is more widespread than it is. Or worse, that the entire planet is compromised."

March, who hadn't even considered this possibility, jumped in surprise.

"You mean they might decide to — I don't know — invade the planet?! But it's not compromised to that extent, right?! And General Jing Yuan would never do that! He's a righteous guy!"

"I don't think he would, if it were up to him," Dan Heng conceded. "But he doesn't decide for the whole fleet. And the fact remains that we're not completely sure of the situation."

"I understand. It makes sense," Bronya said with a sigh. "Then we'll have to find another solution."

"Well, you can count on us to investigate! Right, guys?! We've already solved a bunch of other stuff like this!"

March turned to her companions, seeking their agreement. Naturally, she didn't have to wait for long. They both nodded without an inkling of hesitation.

Bronya beamed, while Seele and Natasha exchanged a relieved look.

"Thank you. After all the help you've already given us, I would never have dared to ask for more. Yet you've offered your support once again. I am indebted to you, as is Belobog."

Stelle waved away her thanks.

"Oh, don't mention it! We're among friends here, right? But if you really want to repay us, a permit for unrestricted access to all the city's trash cans is all I need. And one for the Fort library for Dan Heng..."

"Agreed," he immediately replied.

"And a voucher to raid all the pastry shops for March."

"Hey! I don't eat that many sweets!" she protested.

Stelle grinned mischievously.

"So you don't want it? You would be able to taste all the local cakes..."

Suddenly, March didn't seem so sure anymore.

"...whenever you want..."

She wavered even more.

"...as many you want."

Finally, her resolve crumbled. With a frustrated sound, she gave in.

"Alright! I'm in! Unlimited voucher it is!"

Finally, the tension in the room eased, as it filled with laughter. Even Dan Heng smiled, and Bronya relaxed.

Stelle laughed along with the others, but when the spotlight was no longer on her, the mirth immediately transformed into concern.

As she had anticipated, it seemed that the loose ends of their adventure on the Luofu were still there. And this could prove to be quite a challenge.

Having decided to gather information, the group set into motion. First, they established that someone should constantly stay beside Bronya. After all, one of their enemies already managed to get close to her, and someone else might try again. In the end, the choice fell on March. She was an expert at appearing non-threatening, so her presence would not alert a potential spy.

Seele would have liked to take care of it personally, but Bronya herself had deemed her more useful on the field. She would focus on investigating the Vagrant community. Dan Heng offered to go with her, given the rather large territory they would have to cover.

Natasha, on her part, intended to mobilize the most trusted members of Wildfire to investigate the Underworld. Before the attack on Bronya, she heard gossip about a miraculous cure. It could be the usual charlatans — she said — but it was worth investigating. After all, the Mara had a positive reaction on short-life species, until the side effects kicked in.

So, with the major roles covered, Stelle was left with the task of investigating the Overworld. The upper class could be involved, as they would be the ones benefitting the most from a direct attack on Bronya. Therefore, she intended to seek the support of Serval and Gepard. The Landau siblings were in the perfect position to know this sort of information. There was the matter that Serval was a little out of the loop due to her situation. And involving Gepard meant involving the Silvermane Guards at least to an extent. Still, it looked like the better option at the moment.

In short, they had at least a basic outline of the plan, and all that remained was to put it into action. So, it was with a certain optimism that Stelle left Fort Qlipoth, ready to throw herself into the investigative game. 

She was welcomed by the familiar Administrative District of Belobog, with its streetcars slowly traversing their rails, and people coming and going along the street. The weather was not kind that day: the sky was white, heralding a heavy snowfall. Perhaps that was why people seemed particularly busy: no one wanted to be caught unprepared when it would hit.

And it was also for this reason that, passing by a small café facing the main street, three unusual figures immediately caught her eye. The three weren't in a hurry to leave or seek shelter. They sat there, at a table on the outside, with drink cups in front of them.

Waiting.

Stelle stopped in front of the café, her gaze drawn to the strangers. They dressed suitably for the climate, but in a style a bit more urban than the average citizen of Belobog.

Stelle approached to get a better look. One of them was a tall man in a black trench coat. The other was a slender and elegant woman. And lastly, a petite girl bundled up in a thick feather coat, complete with a heavy scarf and earmuffs. And when they noticed she was there, the woman waved her hand in her direction.

What on earth were they doing there?!

Compared to her companions, Stelle was lenient toward the Stellaron Hunters. Still, she realized that meeting them in the midst of a crisis was not a good sign. In her experience, it could mean two things: they had orchestrated the whole affair, or the situation was really dire.

Since she didn't move, Kafka gestured to her again, this time inviting her to approach. To avoid drawing too much attention, Stelle approached them, cautiously dropping onto the only free chair at their table.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, skipping the pleasantries.

Kafka clicked her tongue like a disappointed mother.

"Come on, dear, be polite! Greetings first, and then we can start a conversation."

Stelle rolled her eyes.

"Good day to you, oh honorable Stellaron Hunters. Could Your Honors enlighten me on why you are here?"

A brief flicker passed through Blade's eyes. For a moment, she could have sworn he found the response amusing. But his expression remained neutral, and in the end, Stelle figured she must have imagined it.

Silver Wolf groaned, her nose peeking out from under the layers of winter clothes.

"I'm wondering the same thing. It's so cold on this hole of a planet! I'm not used to these temperatures. It's not my habitat. I need to work in a comfortable room, with all the new tech gadgets and at least three or four video games to play in the background. Not in the middle of the street, with a snowstorm coming."

She lowered the heavy woolen scarf to take a sip of her drink — something akin to hot chocolate, judging by the color — but immediately recoiled, disgusted.

"It's already cold! Blade, you finish it."

And, without further ado, she pushed the cup towards the companion sitting next to her.

"I'm not your trash can," he retorted. Still, he accepted the cup without resistance.

Stelle forced herself not to be swayed by the cuteness of the scene. If she wanted answers from them, she had to be persistent and unyielding.

"You haven't answered my question."

"I guess that you're not happy to see us," sighed Kafka.

"It's not a matter of being happy or not. The last time you appeared in the middle of a mission, we ended up fighting a Lord Ravager from the Antimatter Legion."

Kafka traced the edge of her empty coffee cup with her fingertip.

"Technically, the whole Phantylia affair developed on its own. We just lured you there."

Stelle didn't get baited and the woman surrendered, adopting a more conciliatory tone.

"Stelle, you can relax. You have my word that we're not plotting anything this time. Don't you trust me?"

"Nope."

From under the thick scarf, Silver Wolf made a sound that was meant to be a laugh but turned into an annoyed groan. The cold had stiffened her jaw.

Kafka shook her head, resigned.

"Alright, alright. I understand your confusion and we'll answer all your questions."

"Good. First of all, what are you doing here? Aren't you wanted criminals?"

"Oh, don't worry about it," said Silver Wolf. "The authorities of Belobog haven't received information about us from the IPC yet. I think it will take a while before they can transmit it. Or transmit anything, really."

Stelle couldn't see her mouth from under the scarf, but she was sure she was smirking. She appeared self-assured, which was never a good sign.

"...Silver Wolf, what have you done?"

"You know how these things go. I wanted to send them a bug to mess with their communications. A harmless little thing, really. So, I sent them an email with a virus to serve as a decoy, while I worked on disrupting the signal. And then, someone opened it." She grew serious, as if she couldn't quite fathom how was it even possible. "I mean, who the hell is dumb enough to open an obviously suspicious email? You'd have to have the IQ of a Voidranger. And I assure you, that's an insult to the poor Voidrangers!"

"So what happened?" Stelle asked, immediately regretting the question. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Well, you know that stupidity annoys me, right? So I lost it and destroyed their entire primary communication system."

Stelle was horrified. What had she done?!

"Silver Wolf, the IPC has a lot of ships, some of them full of innocent people! If they can't communicate, they could get lost in space, or worse!"

The hacker shrugged.

"Oh, it's not that serious. They have secondary and emergency communication systems, and I didn't touch those. They'll manage."

Stelle exhaled, a little relieved but still shaken. It was easy to see Silver Wolf only as an eccentric gamer, and forget that there was a reason for those five billion credits on her head. That small, cute girl was perfectly capable of condemning hundreds and hundreds of people to death.

"The point is, as far as Belobog's authorities are concerned, the three of us are normal people. Basically tourists. And since their communication systems are outdated, I doubt they'll receive news about us from other sources for the time being."

Stelle wanted to ask what they would do if the information arrived anyway, but she preferred to avoid that minefield. The less she knew about the Hunters' activities, the better.

"...And you did all this because...?"

"For the same reason you're here, I suspect," Kafka replied, shooting an allusive glance her way.

Stelle's heart skipped a beat and her stomach dropped.

"The Disciples of Sanctus Medicus."

"Exactly."

Out of the corner of her eye, Stelle saw Blade's hand clench on the table, and when she looked up at him, she noticed that his jaw had tightened. He was clearly in a bad mood. The cult wasn't to his liking. Not that it was a surprise: from his point of view, they were madmen playing with Mara. And frankly, she didn't like them either.

"We intercepted a transmission from some Disciples towards their contacts in the Xianzhou Alliance," Kafka explained. "The cell led by Dan Shu was severely hit after your intervention, but some of them managed to escape and have set up a temporary base here on Belobog. Judging from the message, they intend to infiltrate the planet's leadership, to turn Jarilo-VI into a sort of support base. From here, once they've replenished their numbers, they intend to return in force to the Alliance and... well, try to take control, or whatever other nefarious plan their twisted brains have conceived. I don't expect coherence from people who willingly get infected with Mara."

What Kafka said was in line with what they themselves had speculated, so Stelle had no trouble believing it. Except for one detail.

"How do they plan to replenish their numbers? Belobog's inhabitants are all short-life species. They deteriorate too fast! Even with the drugs to slow down the effect, they would be costly to maintain. And they are far from the Alliance now. Where do they get the resources? Where will they get the Vidyadhara bone marrow here on Belobog, for crying out loud?!"

"You don't need infinite resources to create cannon fodder". Blade emerged from the irritated silence he had cloaked himself in since they started talking. "You just need the right amount, and wait for the appropriate moment to use it."

"And, if they were to succeed in affecting the planet's leadership, they could round up as many people as they need. Nobody would stop them" Kafka concluded. "They could recruit them, or straight up kidnap them. If they are desperate enough, they won't care about their normal rituals and subtleties."

Stelle gritted her teeth. As if she didn't have enough reasons to dislike those guys!

"So they want to replace or control Bronya, before they move unto the bulk of their plan, right? It means we still have time."

Kafka wasn't entirely convinced.

"That was their plan, originally. But your friend emerged unscathed from their first attack and knows about them. This might push them to act more erratically. We might have far less time than you assume. It would be best to flush them out as soon as possible."

...Yes, it made sense. Still, there was one last point to clarify with the Hunters.

"I appreciate the information," she said, "but there's still something I don't understand. Why did you decide to get involved? This isn't something that concerns you, right? And don't tell me it's out of the goodness of your heart, Kafka, because I don't believe it."

Kafka smiled. For some reason, she seemed proud of her answer.

"Alright. I won't beat around the bush. This matter would be irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Oh, don't get me wrong!" she added, seeing that Stelle was about to protest. "These Sanctus Medicus stragglers could cause immense damage to Belobog, but it won't last long. Even if they were to take control of the planet, the Xianzhou Alliance would immediately be on their trail. As far as we know, they might be coming here at this very moment. After all, just as we intercepted their message, they might have done the same. And when they're here, they'll put an end to this matter, one way or another."

"Is this what Elio predicted?"

Kafka smiled her mysterious smile, and Stelle decided to take it as confirmation.

"Well, all the more reason I don't understand why you decided to get involved."

"We are here to protect you."

Stelle turned towards Blade with a whip of her head, surprised to hear his voice. He was looking at her, as impassive as ever, and there was nothing to suggest he was joking.

"...Protect me?"

"Yes, as Bladie said," confirmed Kafka. "There is a chance you could end up in danger."

"This was also predicted by Elio?"

"Yes. So we decided to intervene with full force."

Silver Wolf grunted, rubbing her gloved hands together.

"So much so that they dragged me here in person. But I guess it was inevitable. The technology here is so outdated that remote work is impossible."

Stelle didn't know if she should feel flattered. She knew that Elio had something in store for her. And that in itself was increasingly unsettling. Still, a group of intergalactic criminals rushed to a backwater planet, just because there was a small chance she might be in danger. How important was she, exactly?

...And, now that she thought about it, the chance of her getting hurt must have been quite big. Due to her adventures, she often ended up in trouble, but the Hunters didn't rush to her aid every single time. This time, it was different.

She tried to mask the discomfort. Danger or not, she had no intention of stopping. Not when Belobog and her local friends were at risk.

"So, what do you plan to do?"

"Help you, of course!" Kafka replied. "Don't worry, we know how to deal with this type of situation."

"We've also caused quite a few," Silver Wolf added.

The woman chuckled, unfazed.

"Exactly. So, what do you say, Stelle? Are you up for working with us?"

Stelle looked from one to the other, searching for a sign. If she refused, there was no way they would just leave. It was more likely they would stay and act on their own. By accepting, she could at least establish a bit of control over them. Not to mention that Dan Heng and Blade were on the same planet, and this could make the situation even more unpredictable. Therefore...

"Alright. I'm in. But I have conditions."

"Perfect. What are they?"

"First, no sabotage or destruction of Belobog's infrastructure."

Silver Wolf let out a frustrated groan.

"Second, no killing unless it's in self-defense."

Blade clicked his tongue, disappointed.

"Lastly, no inciting riots, revolutions, or other catastrophic events for Belobog's society."

Kafka sighed.

"You're really tying our hands here, Stelle."

"Take it or leave it."

In the end, reluctantly, all three agreed, and Stelle was satisfied. Now she hoped that the Hunters kept their word.

"Alright, then. I'll inform my companions about the change of circumstances."

Without waiting for a response, Stelle took out her phone and initiated a group call with March and Dan Heng. Of course, given who was present, she made sure not to put it on speaker.

"Stelle! Why so soon?"

March was the first to answer. Dan Heng joined the call soon after.

"Have you already found something?"

"Hey, guys! There's something I need to tell you."

"Okay, shoot!"

March sounded enthusiastic, probably hoping for some lead on the case. Oh, how disappointed she was going to be!

"Is there anyone else listening?" Stelle asked cautiously.

"I'm in the office with Bronya, but she's talking to some important-looking guys. She's not listening," March said.

It wasn't much different on Dan Heng's side.

"Seele is nearby, but is currently busy with something. I'm not on speaker."

Good. At least she wouldn't have to explain herself to them as well. It would be too complicated.

"Well, I wanted to warn you that...". Stelle paused and took a deep breath, well aware that the news wouldn't be well received. "The Stellaron Hunters are here."

"WHAT?!"

March's scream was so loud that even the three Hunters heard it. Stelle had to move the phone away from her ear to avoid permanent damage to her eardrums.

"March, keep it down!"

Her friend didn't respond, but Stelle distinctly heard her apologize to Bronya for interrupting her meeting. When she returned to the line, her voice was fortunately a few octaves lower.

"How?! Where?! When?! And above all, why?!"

"It's a long story." 

Trying to keep it as short as possible, Stelle reported the additional information the Hunters gave her, and their intention to help them. The others listened and luckily March managed not to scream for the entire time. Even if she could feel her panicking even from there.

"Anyway, I think it's better to collaborate rather than get in each other's way."

There was a short silence as the other two processed the news. Dan Heng was the first to break it.

"Who are we talking about exactly?"

His low and cautious tone spoke volumes about what he was going through right now. Unfortunately, she couldn't give him good news.

"Kafka, Silver Wolf, and Blade."

A long sigh echoed from the other end, and although the current circumstances weren't her fault, Stelle felt a bit guilty.

"I'm sorry. But even if I told them to leave, I don't think they would."

Kafka directed her a meaningful smile, signifying that no, they wouldn't. Stelle ignored her. She wanted to make things easier for Dan Heng, but even talking to him was difficult with Blade sitting right in front of her. For a moment, she regretted not stepping away to make the call. But she quickly changed her mind: she couldn't risk Silver Wolf hacking her phone to eavesdrop on the call. If she put it on speaker, Blade could recognize the voice of his preferred target. At that point, his reaction would be completely unpredictable.

"Listen, if this time you want to bail out and go back to the Express —" 

"No," he interrupted immediately. "No, it's fine. It's not the first time we end up on the same planet, and he's not actively looking for me. I'll just have to avoid him." 

"I'll keep the phone locator on at all times. That way, you'll always know where we are," Stelle said.

And how to avoid us, she thought.

"Alright," he replied, even though he sounded far from convinced. "Now I have to go, Seele is calling me. We are planning to see Svarog. Maybe he knows something."

"Talk to you later, then. And be careful."

"You too."

Dan Heng ended his side of the call. Left alone on the line, March groaned.

"This is a real tragedy."

Stelle tried to comfort her.

"Come on, don't say that. We've handled much worse situations."

"I don't like the idea of you still having to deal with those guys! I've already told you, and I'm telling you again: don't fraternitize with the enemy!"

"It's 'fraternize', March. 'Fraternize'."

"You know what I meant! I'm panicking here, and you're focusing on grammar! You're spending way too much time with the Hunters! It was already bad when I thought I only had to worry about Kafka, but now Mr. Hot&Psycho is joining in too! Now I'll have to worry about both you and Dan Heng! If I get wrinkles, I'll hold those guys responsible!"

While she doubted that the Hunters cared about March's wrinkles, Stelle appreciated that she worried for her. Therefore, she tried to reassure her.

"Relax! We can both take care of ourselves."

"It's not that I don't trust you. I don't trust them! Promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise."

"And no fraternizing!"

Stelle smiled to herself. March was so worried that she even got the word right!

"See you later, March."

She ended the call. She feared that if she gave her the opportunity to reply, she would keep her there forever.

Putting her phone back in her pocket, she leaned on the table, focusing her full attention on the Hunters.

"So, do you already have a plan? A lead? Something to start with?"

"Well, I have a couple of options". Kafka tapped her finger on the table, thoughtful. "But first, there's another issue to resolve."

It seemed that neither of the other two heard about it. Both Blade and Silver Wolf perked up, perplexed. Pleased with the attention, she smiled and, with a theatrical flourish, indicated the companion sitting at her side.

"Let me introduce you to your new bodyguard! For as long as we work together, Bladie will stick to you like glue, not leaving you alone for a second, to make sure nothing bad happens!"

Stelle blinked. Blade turned towards Kafka with a whip of his head, his impassive mask slipping away.

"You didn't tell me anything about this."

Kafka dismissed the protest with a casual wave of her hand.

"It's part of the 'script' for this mission, Bladie. I didn't decide it."

"Elio again?" Stelle inquired. She didn't even know the guy, and she already found him annoying.

Her question received no answer. Instead, Silver Wolf whistled, impressed.

"I think it's a good idea. Blade has the makings of a bodyguard. After all, he has his 'special skill'."

Kafka nodded.

"Exactly. The 'special skill' by itself should be enough to avoid most troubles."

Stelle exchanged a look with Blade, but was only met with frustration. So, she had no choice but to ask.

"What 'special skill'?"

As if by mutual agreement, the other two answered in unison:

"Standing there and looking threatening!"

It was such a stupid answer that Stelle's annoyance melted away. She stifled a burst of laughter, but she believed she broke a rib or two in the attempt. And, of course, she also received a death glare from Blade.

"In any case, I hope it's not a problem for you, Stelle," Kafka said. She sounded conciliatory, but she was sure that, even if she refused, the situation wouldn't change much.

Well, no harm done. It actually had its advantages. If Blade stayed with her at all times, and she kept the locator on, Dan Heng would know exactly which places to avoid minute by minute. Furthermore, from a personal point of view, she had nothing against spending time with him.

It was quite the opposite, actually.

"I'm fine with it, if he is."

She looked towards Blade, who, after a very brief moment of hesitation, nodded. He showed no sign of enthusiasm, but at that point, Stelle had dealt with him enough not to be discouraged. After all, as Silver Wolf said, 'don't be afraid and persist'.

"I hope we'll work well together, partner," she told him, beaming.

He stared at her for a moment, then looked away without responding.

... Apparently, there was still a lot of work to do on that front.

With her conditions, Stelle effectively ruled out most of the plans that Kafka devised to solve the crisis. Luckily, anticipating this, she also had backup options. Specifically, what Silver Wolf dubbed 'The Goody Two-Shoes Plan', because it was the most moral and least criminal thing they had ever cooked up. It was so moral it was boring, she said. So barely criminal that it wouldn't add even a single credit to their bounties, she insisted.

Said plan involved kidnapping someone. 

If that was what they considered boring and moral, one had to wonder what the Hunters would find 'immoral'. In any case, Stelle refrained from asking too many questions, just as she refrained from vetoing the plan. She feared that any alternative would be worse.

Their target was one Nikolai Lebedev, the youngest son of an influential noble family in Belobog. During her investigations, Kafka discovered that he had been in contact with outsiders. Which wouldn't have been incriminating in and of itself. However, Silver Wolf tracked down some messages from him to unknown individuals. Encrypted communications, to be precise. But Silver Wolf was the Queen of Hackers, and the outdated technology of Belobog was certainly not enough to stop her.

The messages were short and vague, but they referred to an exchange of 'goods' between him and an individual named Qin Jian. A name that did not appear among any registered visitors. Nikolai would receive 'something' from this Qin Jian, and in return, his family would offer protection to his 'relatives'.

The matter was very suspicious. Moreover, the Lebedev family had shown a strong ambition to move closer to positions of power for years. They had never been directly linked to anything illegal, but there were rumors of corruption. And Bronya had recently decided to reopen some investigations into it, giving them a motive to get rid of her.

Normally, Kafka said, a situation like this would require a certain degree of 'finesse'. But they didn't have the time for subtleties, so getting information directly from Nikolai seemed like the quickest thing to do.

The plan was set in motion. Silver Wolf would continue to search for information through communication channels, and Kafka would visit 'a couple of contacts'. In the end, the dirty work of approaching the scoundrel had been handed over to Stelle and, by extension, to her new 'bodyguard'. The order was to take him into custody by any means necessary, as long as he was 'still alive and able to talk'. A rather broad definition, but one that Stelle suspected was on the generous side for the Hunters.

So, the two makeshift partners set off, keeping in mind the information provided to them by Kafka and Silver Wolf. Nikolai was a young man of average height, around twenty-five years old, with blond hair and green eyes. He was a big fan of Tamila, a local performer, and when her shows were scheduled, he usually went to the Administrative District flower shop to personally select a bouquet for her.

Coincidentally, a performance by Tamila was scheduled for that evening. Not only that, according to a phone conversation with a friend of his, he intended to be at the shop in about an hour. So, at least they wouldn't have to wait long.

As they made their way to the flower shop, Blade walked half a step ahead of her, courtesy of his long legs. As she trotted to keep up, Stelle observed that what Kafka and Silver Wolf said about his 'special skill' was true. Blade wasn't doing anything wrong. He was serious and quiet, nothing more. Yet, for some reason, people tended to avoid him, instinctively making way for him. As if they felt some kind of instinctual aversion.

It was rather bizarre. Usually, good-looking people tend to attract others, not repel them. In that regard, Blade was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. In her humble opinion, they'd have to turn to look at him as he passed. In fact, she felt a little offended that they didn't, as if they were somehow questioning her taste in male beauty.

As she chased these silly thoughts, she found herself indulging in one of her favorite pastimes: staring at him and trying to decipher his expression. As usual, he wasn't making it easy for her. He was inscrutable.

She was still squinting in his direction when she felt a void under her foot. They reached the edge of the sidewalk, and since she wasn't looking where she was going, Stelle stumbled forward. She waved her arms trying to regain balance, just as a streetcar approached. The driver honked to warn her, but she would have fallen anyway if something hadn't grabbed her by the collar, yanking her back.

The streetcar passed by and Stelle, safe and sound on the sidewalk, watched it go by, her heart still pounding from the scare. 

It was close! If Blade hadn't grabbed her, she would have ended up right on the tracks. She turned to him, overflowing with gratitude.

"Blade, thank—"

"You are troublesome." 

He didn't even let her finish, his eyebrows so furrowed they almost became one line.

Bluntness aside, he was right. Stelle scratched her neck with an embarrassed smile.

"Sorry. I'll be more careful."

He didn't seem convinced, but he didn't comment. Instead, he started walking again, and she hurried after him, like a puppy following its owner. Blade realized that their paces were mismatched and once they crossed the street, he slowed down, allowing her to catch up. At the same time, he moved to her right, positioning himself as a barrier between her and the traffic.

...He probably feared she'd find a way to get under a streetcar again. Not that she gave him any reason to think otherwise.

Oh well! That way, she had to pay even less attention to where she was going and could return to staring at him.

She almost immediately noticed that something had shifted. He wasn't as stoic anymore: a wrinkle had formed between his eyebrows, and the corners of his mouth were downturned. And as she stood there wondering why — was he angry about having to save her from the streetcar? — Blade suddenly turned toward her.

"You are staring."

Oh. Was that why he was grumpy?

"Does it bother you?"

He turned forward without speaking. Stelle wondered if he would respond, or leave her hanging as he often did. Surprisingly, that wasn't the case.

"That's not the point."

"Then what is it?"

Blade hesitated. Maybe he was trying to find the best way to explain. Or maybe he was just annoyed that he had to do it.

"It's not normal for someone to watch me constantly. In general, my goal is not to be noticed. If I feel observed, it's usually because there's some hostile presence nearby."

"So, when I look at you, I trigger your 'fight or flight' instincts, or something?"

"Yes."

So it did bother him. And it made some sense, at least. If one was used to constantly being on guard, it was normal that the instinct would take over even outside hostile situations.

It followed that she had to be careful not to get caught!

At that point, she believed he would drop the topic. Instead, Blade surprised her once again.

"Also, I don't understand what's so interesting about my face."

"Well, you are handsome."

Blade blinked at her bluntness and looked at her as if she had completely lost her mind. She wondered why. It was the truth! Was there anything wrong with it?

"But aside from that, when I woke up at the Space Station, I didn't remember much about how human interactions worked," she continued. "Understanding emotions, I mean. So, I started studying other people's reactions, associating them with mine, and giving them meaning. Now it comes more naturally, but observing people is still a habit of mine. Sometimes I don't even realize I'm doing it!"

Blade's expression softened, and he got back to staring ahead, his gaze lost in the void. If her observation was correct, he was considering something.

"It must have been difficult," he finally said.

"I was lucky," she admitted. "I immediately met some wonderful people. If I had been completely alone, I don't know how it would have turned out."

It was a thought that bothered her sometimes. What would have happened if March and Dan Heng hadn't found her when they did? What would have become of her, alone and confused in a world she knew absolutely nothing about? Who would she have asked for help? Who would she have trusted? Anyone could have taken advantage of her — hurt her, even — and she wouldn't have been able to do much about it.

A shiver ran down her spine, and as she hugged herself tightly to suppress it, she looked up at her companion.

Blade didn't comment, seemingly focused on their destination, but there was something dark in his gaze. Something she had never seen before. It wasn't like the veil of madness caused by the Mara. It was something so deeply rooted in him that nothing would ever be able to eradicate it. And Stelle remembered what Kafka told her about his past.

Waking up alone, with no memories.  Being found later on by someone who abused him, whatever her reasons were. And who knows if he understood why it was happening at the time.

She realized that, if not for a fortunate series of circumstances, that could have been her fate as well. And the revelation, in turn, heightened her horror at what he had to endure.

In a way, they were the different sides of the same coin. But only one of them was allowed to fall face up.

"Blade, you..." she began, not knowing exactly how she would continue. How could she possibly approach that kind of subject?

"We have arrived."

Stelle shook herself from her thoughts, realizing that they reached their destination. The flower shop, perched above an underpass, wasn't very busy at that moment. There was no coming and going, and the passersby didn't pay it any mind. 

Of course, there was no sign of their target either.

While Silver Wold said he'd be there in an hour, he didn't have an appointment. He could be there in five minutes, or make them wait far longer than that. They'd just have to be patient and ready.

Something cold and wet landed on Stelle's nose. As she looked up, she saw a few snowflakes falling gently, carried by the chilly breeze. She extended her hand, letting them fall onto her palm to examine them closely. She wanted to see if they really looked like the tiny crystal stars she saw in the books. Unfortunately, the flakes melted too quickly upon contact with her warm skin, preventing her from confirming it.

The people around them, too accustomed to snow to be fascinated by it, continued with their own business. This didn't stop a few glances from darting towards them. The fact that they didn't seem engaged in anything, nor sought shelter from the cold, was a source of curiosity for more than one person.

"We can't stay here," Blade said, pointing towards a couple of passersby who had given them a long stare. Stelle agreed, but there weren't any hiding spots nearby. Sure, they could stand directly in front of the shop, but they'd look like mobsters waiting for their victim. They'd draw even more attention.

"Come." 

Without waiting for her response, he started walking.

"Where are we going?"

As she trotted after him to keep up with his long strides, a group of people crossed their paths. To avoid being jostled around, she grabbed Blade's sleeve, using it as a guide to reach the edge of the sidewalk. He gave her a sidelong glance but didn't reject her.

"In the shop. There is only one entrance, and the windows are perfectly positioned to see whether someone is approaching. We'll see the target arrive before he sees us. Also, by pretending to be customers, we'll attract less attention."

"But we're not sure when Nikolai will arrive. We might have to stay there for a long time!"

"We will stall. You are the sociable one here, are you not? Is acting the indecisive customer not up your alley?"

Something about his demeanor—perhaps the narrowed eyes or the slight hint of smugness—reminded her of a cat.

Was he teasing her, by any chance?

She should have been annoyed. Instead, she was pleased to see him show something other than indifference. Tearing a reaction out of him felt like a victory in and of itself.

"Just watch me! I'm a master at wasting other people's time!"

"...Is it something to be proud of?"

"Right now? Definitely!"

The door of the flower shop chimed as they entered. Every free wall of the small, narrow room was filled to the brim with shelves and tables, each of them displaying various types of colorful flowers. Their scent filled the air, and the warmth from the heaters enveloped them, melting the snowflakes in their hair. 

The shopkeeper—a kindly young woman—looked away from a couple of customers she was serving to greet the newcomers.

"Welcome..." she began with a small smile. But it faltered as her gaze fell on the tall, dark, and imposing stranger who had just entered. Seeing her discomfort, the other couple turned to see what was going on, and their expressions tensed too.

The 'special skill' struck again. At that rate, it would be hard not to stand out.

To ease the tension, Stelle put on her best smile.

"Oh, don't mind him! He may look a bit gruff, but he's a real softie!"

Blade gave her an incredulous glare, but all the others relaxed. The customers chuckled, and the shopkeeper's smile regained its warmth.

"I'll be with you in a moment. In the meantime, you can take a look around and see if there's anything in particular you like."

Stelle agreed, and the two of them moved close to the windows to survey the surroundings of the shop.

"A 'softie'?" Blade hissed in a low voice.

"Look, I had to say something! Besides, you could try to be less intimidating!" she whispered back.

"I haven't done anything wrong."

"I know, but you're tall. And big. And imposing."

"...Next time I enter a shop, I'll do it on my knees, then."

Stelle was preparing to retort in kind when a realization hit her like a sledgehammer. Were they bantering right now? And wasn't that the biggest progress they ever made up until that moment?!

...This mission was starting to grow on her.

"Great idea!"

With her good mood doubled, she gave him two thumbs up, and he huffed. He stepped away from her to better survey the area, muttering by himself. She didn't hear most of it, though she distinguished the words  'bothersome,' 'nuisance,' and 'weird.'

Smiling to herself, Stelle followed his example, peering outside while pretending to look at the flowers. 

Still no sign of Nikolai. Only few rare passersby and snowflakes slowly settling on the ground. The upside, at least, was that the other pair of customers still seemed quite indecisive, so they had a bit more time. Playing spies was even kind of fun.

She wondered if the Hunters did things like that often. If so, had she ever done them, along with Kafka?

She quickly pushed that bothersome thought out of her head. She was in the midst of something important. She couldn't get lost in those reflections right now.

She moved a little closer to the door, when suddenly a familiar scent caressed her nostrils. A scent she associated with a person. But said person was now far enough from her that it couldn't come from him.

Her heart raced as she sniffed the air like a hound, trying to trace its source. The task was made difficult by the intense scent of all the flowers in the shop, but she eventually succeeded. 

The aroma came from a vase on a shelf dedicated to exotic plants. It held the strangest flowers she'd ever seen: perched on top of long, leafless stems, they weren't too large themselves. And still, they were striking, of a beautiful intense red, with thin, long petals. The corolla didn't even look like a real corolla. It was more like a series of spider legs reaching upward.

Stelle leaned towards the vase, the delicate fragrance filling her nostrils.

Nostalgic as always.

Melancholic as always.

For some reason, reality around her went blurry. She imagined a white room. A table filled with objects. And the gentle voice of a woman.

"Now let's see if you've learned what I explained last time. If you manage to do everything right, I'll let you keep these objects. Remember: name of the object and color."

...Kafka?

She couldn't recall the woman's face, but the voice sounded just like Kafka's. She couldn't be mistaken—it was literally the first memory she had.

"Black pen. Green notebook. Gray pencil..."

This time it was her voice, not much different from how it was now. But, the way she spoke was uncertain, like a small child who's just learning to talk coherently.

"Red flowers."

There were red flowers on the table. Three of them, inside of a small glass vase. They were identical to the ones she just saw.

The woman with the gentle voice—Kafka—applauded.

"Very good! Here's your reward. Try using them to draw something, and tomorrow you'll show me."

"Flowers?"

Her hand reached out towards the red flowers, touching their strange petals.

"Do you want to try drawing the flowers?"

"Yes."

"They're beautiful, aren't they? Do you like them?"

"Smell."

"Oh, you like their scent! It's good, isn't it? If you like them so much, next time I'll bring them to you in a pot with soil. Maybe you could learn to take care of them. But don't try to eat them, like you did with the last plant I brought you."

"No!"

Her voice protested, scandalized, and Kafka laughed.

"Alright, alright. Don't be offended, Stelle. I know you've gotten much better since then. You know, there's a friend of mine who likes these flowers too. Maybe I'll bring them to him too."

"Stelle?"

The daydream faded away. The voices vanished. Stelle found herself again in the middle of Belobog's flower shop, her gaze fixed on those familiar red flowers.

"Are you alright?"

She reluctantly tore her gaze away from the flowers and lifted it towards Blade. Her companion noticed that something was wrong and left his observation post to approach her. Her sudden stillness must have worried him.

Not that he was wrong. It felt like her blood had stopped flowing, and she was sure that she looked like a corpse.

"I think I remembered something," she told him, her voice hoarse from her dry throat. "Something from before."

"Before?"

"Before waking up at the Space Station. When I was with you all."

A brief silence fell between them, only broken by the background chatter of the shopkeeper and the other customers.

"What did you remember?" Blade asked her.

"I was with Kafka. I think she was teaching me to talk. She brought some objects, and I had to say their name and color. Among other things, there were these flowers."

Blade's gaze shifted towards the red flowers, standing tall and proud in their vase, their color so vibrant it almost seemed arrogant.

"Spider lilies."

"...What?"

"Red spider lilies. That's what they're called."

There was a hint of melancholy in his voice, and it almost seemed like he wanted to add something. In the end, he refrained.

Stelle examined the vase and saw a small sign stuck in the soil. 'Lycoris radiata', it said. Probably the plant's scientific name.

She remembered how the petals felt under her fingers. The way her hand reached for them in an almost pathetic gesture. And she felt herself sinking.

"I was like a child. But I wasn't. My hands were the same as they are now. My voice was like it is now. I wasn't a child. I was already..."

Her breath caught in her throat as another piece of the puzzle fell into place. She didn't like those memories. She wasn't prepared. It was one thing to think about what being an artificial being implies. Seeing it was something else entirely.

She really had no family. No one out there was looking for her. It was likely that she didn't even have a childhood.

She felt like she was losing her mind.

Blade watched her closely, without saying a word. Then, unexpectedly, he gave her a light pat on the head. Whether it was encouragement or understanding, it was hard to say. But it was calm and steady like an anchor to reality, and it cut through her shock like a knife.  A wave of warmth rushed to her head, burning around her ears, leaving her wordless.

After all, Silver Wolf was right. He was kind. Perhaps more than he gave himself credit for.

"I'm fine" she finally said. "Don't worry. I can keep doing this."

Thank you.

His hand slipped away from her hair, leaving her with a light head and a confused mind. He returned his gaze to the window, and Stelle tried to do the same. But her eyes kept returning to him and the spider lilies in front of her, a thousand questions swirling in her mind.

"Blade," she whispered, moving half a step closer to him so he could hear her better.

He didn't look at her, but a slight nod of his head let her know he was listening.

"Those flowers. Do you like them?"

"...Why?"

Stelle sniffed the air, seeking confirmation. She found it immediately. It was around him, like an aura. She could barely feel it unless she searched for it, but whenever she did, it was there.

"You have the same scent as them."

Blade sniffed his shoulder, perplexed.

"I don't smell it. I might have absorbed it in here."

"No. You always have that scent. Maybe you don't notice because you're used to it."

He didn't answer, and she decided not to press him on the matter. Before looking away, she just added:

"I like it a lot."

He didn't show any reaction, his face entirely still. Only out of the corner of her eye did Stelle see his hand clench into a fist.

"You really are weird," he said, an edge in his voice she had never heard before. He didn't sound angry, or anything of the sort. 

He sounded sad.

"Sorry for the wait. Have you seen something that interests you?"

The cheerful voice of the shopkeeper made them both turn, and they found themselves face to face with her friendly smile. The previous customers had left, and their target had not yet arrived. It was time to buy themselves more time.

Her emotions were still in turmoil, but Stelle forced herself to appear as innocent and unassuming as possible.

"Oh, there are so many beautiful flowers! I'd like a bouquet, but they're all so lovely that I wouldn't know which ones to choose!"

"Maybe I can help! Do you need flowers for a specific occasion?"

Ah, good question! She hadn't thought about it at all.

A birthday? A graduation party? A gift for a sick person? A...

"...A wedding?"

She blurted out a celebration at random, not particularly thinking about the implications. Immediately, she sensed Blade's glare at the back of her head, and she saw the shopkeeper's eyes widen. The young woman contemplated her, then him, and a smile of understanding lit up her face.

"Oh, I see!"

For a moment, Stelle didn't understand the reason for those reactions. What was so strange about a wedding gift?

"First of all, allow me to offer my congratulations," said the shopkeeper.

At that point, she realized.

...She wanted to disappear underground. Disappear underground and die there, without anyone ever finding her body again. Desperate, she tried to think of a way to clarify the misunderstanding, but it was already too late.

"If you're unsure about the arrangement, I can give you some advice. If you've seen a specific flower that interests you, I can recommend others that go well with it," the shopkeeper continued, enthusiastic.

...By now, the timing was too off to clear up the misunderstanding, and for the sake of the mission, one excuse was as good as the other. Might as well continue in that vein. And since he did nothing to oppose it, Blade probably saw it the same way.

With blood pounding in her ears, Stelle forced herself to smile, hoping she didn't look like she had facial paralysis.

"I was thinking of... those."

On impulse, she pointed to the red spider lilies. Blade, who was taking advantage of the distraction to continue surveying the street, let out a barely perceptible scoff. Stelle wondered what the problem was.

"Oh, the spider lilies. You have really good taste, miss. We've recently reopened trade with the outside, and since they don't grow here, we've imported and cultivated them in the greenhouse. They're very beautiful. But...". She hesitated, reluctant to disappoint a customer. "...But I'm afraid they're not very suitable for a wedding bouquet."

"No? Why?" she asked, both to keep stalling for time and out of genuine curiosity.

"Well, they're strongly associated with death, abandonment, and farewells. They're usually used for...". The saleswoman hesitated again, desolate. "...For funerals."

"Oh. I see."

Even though she was just trying to keep her talking, Stelle was a bit disappointed. She looked at the flowers again — so vibrant and proud — and wondered how those radiant plants could have such a macabre meaning.

"They can still be used as an ornamental plant!" the saleswoman continued, perhaps wanting to defend the honor of her flowers. "Although... well, it's not advisable to keep them if there are small animals or children at home, because they're rather..."

"'Rather'?" Stelle pressed, unable to imagine what could be worse than being associated with death.

"...Rather poisonous."

Stelle deflated like a balloon. So, in addition to having a macabre meaning, they were also dangerous! And if her memory was correct, Kafka let her keep them! She didn't even seem capable of taking care of herself! What an irresponsible guardian she had!

With a sigh, Stelle looked at the flowers one last time.

"It's a shame, though. They're so beautiful."

Beautiful and deadly.

Her gaze instinctively went to Blade, who continued to watch the outside with the corner of his eye. Serious and focused in everything he did.

As far as she was concerned, those flowers would forever be associated with him. No matter what happened.

"Yes, that's true. But we have many other equally beautiful flowers. If you want, I can recommend something more easily associated with love and happiness..." the saleswoman said.

At that point, though, Stelle was only half-listening. Blade had suddenly averted his gaze from the window to look straight at her, a look of urgency in his eyes.

It was time.

A few moments later, the shop door burst open. A blond young man with a fur-trimmed coat stormed into the room, followed by a gust of cold wind and a spray of snowflakes.

"I'm here for a bouquet. Hurry up and serve me, I don't have time to waste," he announced without a greeting, in the most arrogant tone Stelle had ever heard outside of a movie. In fact, he reminded her of a gender-swapped version of the heroine's rival in a romantic comedy. Or one of those presumptuous lords who always met a bad end in period dramas.

"Oh, Mr. Lebedev!" the saleswoman said, taken aback by the sudden entrance. "Of course, as you wish. Let me just serve these customers and I'm..."

Nikolai Lebedev shot Blade and Stelle a condescending glance.

"They can wait. My matters are more urgent."

In any other circumstance, Stelle would have given him a piece of her mind. She didn't like bullies, and putting them in their place was something she reveled in. But Blade nudged her foot with his own to get her attention, and without saying a word, gestured towards the door.

They needed to move.

"Oh, no problem!" Stelle said to the mortified shopkeeper. "My... uh, fiancé... and I would like to consult for a moment. It wouldn't be fair to make the gentleman wait too long. Go ahead and help him. We'll be back shortly."

After apologizing to them, the shopkeeper returned to the counter with Nikolai, while the two hurriedly left the shop. As soon as they opened the door, the icy wind slipped through their clothes, indifferent to any protection the fabric might offer.

The weather was deteriorating rapidly, and the few passersby had disappeared, leaving the street deserted. Stelle pulled the edges of her jacket closer to shield herself and slipped her hands into her pockets to keep her fingers from freezing. Blade, more at ease than her, raised the collar of his coat to protect his face from the wind. Then he gave her the typical impassive look he reserved for when he was judging her.

"Wedding..." he said, shaking his head. Stelle felt her cheeks growing hot and looked away to hide it.

"I said the first thing that came to mind. And besides, I was thinking about a wedding gift. It's the shopkeeper who misunderstood!"

He didn't say anything but let out an eloquent sigh. Stelle pouted, offended.

"Next time, come up with something yourself!"

"Alright. Next time, I'll stab the shopkeeper and wait for the target while sitting comfortably on the counter" Blade said, without the slightest hint of humor.

The fact that she couldn't tell if he was joking or not was rather unsettling.

"Psychopath," she muttered under her breath.

"Goody two-shoes" he retorted in kind, and they both turned away without saying anything else.

In the silence, the snow continued to settle around them, swirling in the gusts of wind. It was cold, and the inability to move made it even more annoying. Stelle was just wondering how Blade could remain so still, without even blinking, when finally — finally! — the doorbell rang again.

Their eyes locked in a silent exchange, while the door opened and their target emerged, a large bouquet of flowers partially obscuring his view. He was about to pass by without even looking at them when, with a quick understanding nod to his partner, Stelle stepped in front of him, hands on her hips.

"Good morning, Mr. Lebedev," she greeted him, imitating the attitude of the gangsters she saw not long ago in a movie. "I have a proposal to discuss with you. Could you spare me a moment?"

"Get out of my way, girl. I have no time to waste on second-rate citizens."

Barely glancing in her direction, the arrogant young man tried to pass her, but Stelle blocked him again.

"Are you sure? It's something that you can't refuse."

Nikolai stopped, his face paling with realization. He finally looked directly at Stelle, assessing both her and the short bat hanging at her side. What was going through his mind was quite easy to understand, as he looked around for someone to ask for help. When he saw the street was empty, he immediately dropped the bouquet of flowers and tried to lunge forward to ram into Stelle.

He didn't have time to take a step.

A flash of steel shot in front of him, stopping at his throat. Taking advantage of the distraction provided by Stelle, Blade moved behind him. Now his sword was against the young man's throat, the edge grazing the soft skin.

Enough to feel its bite, not enough to harm. For now, at least.

Nikolai froze, while Stelle welcomed the development with a crooked grin.

So, this was how they were going to play it, huh? The good cop and the bad cop? Well, she didn't mind. In fact, after watching a couple of movies about it, she found the idea quite amusing. The situation forced her into the role of the 'good cop,' but with Blade as her partner, it was inevitable. He was too perfect a 'bad cop' for her to take the role away from him.

"I'm very sorry for my companion, good sir. As you can see, he's trigger-happy. Or sword-happy. Does it sound better?"

Blade responded with a grimace, and she shrugged.

"In any case, I would advise against provoking him. I wouldn't want his arm to slip."

She ran a finger across her throat suggestively, and Nikolai made a frightened squeak.

...This was fun! She still didn't like bullies, but stepping into their shoes could be useful in the long run. At the very least, she could learn what made them thick and find new ways to break them!

"What do you want from me?! How dare you attack an honest citizen in this way...!"

"As I said, we want to have a chat. Follow us, and the consequences will be more... tolerable."

Yes, she was definitely enjoying herself. Maybe she was cut out for the criminal life, after all!

Blade rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm, but made no comments. Instead, he shoved Nikolai forward to make him walk. The young nobleman's resistance level couldn't be exceptional, as he almost fell flat on his face on the sidewalk. He turned, indignant, perhaps with the intention to protest... but he transformed into a trembling ball of nerves the moment he found himself face-to-face with the swordsman.

"Alright, alright! I get it! I'll do as you say! But get your behemoth off of me!" he whined at Stelle. If not for what was left of his dignity, he would have clung to her legs.

"Heard that?" she laughed, turning to her partner. "You're 'my behemoth'!"

She definitely felt like a girlboss right now.

"Don't get ahead of yourself" he said and, without further ado, he grabbed Nikolai by the collar, forcing him to walk in front of them. He pointed the sword at his back, the tip raised against the base of his neck. The street was deserted, but even if someone had seen them, their hostage was positioned in such a way that no one would notice the weapon.

Stelle imagined the Hunters had a hideout in that area, since Blade seemed to know where they were going. So, she allowed herself to be guided by him, walking at his side to provide an additional barrier to prying eyes.

Unfortunately, Nikolai wasn't the brightest person in the world. He started to ramble, mixing whines and protests.

"Where are you taking me? Be aware that you will pay dearly for your audacity! And then, who are you? A couple of psychopaths? As soon as my family finds out what you're doing...!"

Blade, who stoically endured the continuous complaints, turned towards his companion and, with utmost calmness, said:

"Can I stab him?"

Stelle, who endured the complaints with much less stoicism and was deeply tempted to shut the guy up with a well-placed kick to the teeth, replied:

"No. You know the rules."

"Saving my ears from this torture should count as self-defense."

"Oh, believe me, you have all my understanding. But no means no."

"I can stab him without killing him, if necessary" he said, perfectly serious.

Stelle massaged her temples, exasperated.

"...Please, stop tempting me. Unless he gives us a reason, you are not going to touch him."

"Stop talking as if I'm not present! Let me remind you that...!" the hostage complained.

His words died in his throat when Blade turned towards him with a whip of his head, nailing him with a glare so menacing it could have melted a glacier.

"Give me a reason."

Nikolai fell silent instantly.

While Blade silenced the prisoner, Stelle took the opportunity to glance around to make sure there was no one nearby. It seemed that everything was deserted and she was about to declare herself satisfied when something flashed at the edge of her vision.

A subtle movement. A shadow that disappeared behind the corner of a building.

"Blade!" she whispered frantically, grabbing his sleeve.

He looked at her and nodded. He must have noticed it too.

"Act like nothing has happened."

Using the tip of his sword to guide Nikolai, Blade redirected him in the direction from which they had seen the shadow.

"Proceed without making a sound," he hissed, raising the sword just enough for the steel to graze the base of the young man's neck.

The hostage dared not to reply and quickened his pace according to his captor's directions. They moved just a little faster than before and soon the silhouette of a person appeared at the end of the street.

It was hard to make out the details from that distance. They wore a heavy cloak that disguised most of their features and had a slightly hunched gait, as if they were walking with their head down.

Stelle kept her eyes glued to the figure, ignoring the snow whipping her face, her fingers still anchored to Blade's sleeve. Even without looking at him, she could sense his tension, and she imagined he was as focused as she was.

Nikolai, on the other hand, was as pale as a ghost and silently chattering his teeth. He too was watching the figure. And the fact that he didn't seem surprised said a lot.

"Is it an acquaintance of yours, Nikolai?" Stelle whispered to him, leaning in from behind so that no one outside of the three of them could hear her. "One of the people you secretly associate with?"

He didn't answer, but he paled even further. She didn't need to ask him anything else.

It happened in an instant. The figure stopped abruptly, and Stelle felt Blade tense beside her. The next moment, she was yanked backward, behind the wall of a building, a hand pressed against her mouth to stifle a surprised gasp.

Blade had grabbed both her and Nikolai, pushing the latter to the ground behind the safety of the wall and dragging her along. Their hostage found himself sprawled on the concrete, the tip of the Hunter's sword pointed at him. Blade pressed his back against the wall, while holding Stelle with her back against his chest.

It had all happened so quickly that for a moment she wondered what had occurred. Then she understood: Blade pushed them there because he feared the figure might turn and notice them.

As the adrenaline subsided, she relaxed into her companion's grip. When he felt the tension ease, his hand slid away from her mouth, resting on her shoulder. Still, he didn't release her immediately. And, for a long moment, Stelle was painfully aware of every movement of his chest against her shoulders. His breath brushed against her ear and neck, making her shiver.

A sensation that was hard to put into words swept through her. It was as if she was simultaneously hot and cold, as if electric charges had filled the air. She wanted to slip away from his grasp, and at the same time, she didn't want to. She could smell him — that faint, familiar scent of spider lilies. But there was something else too: that rougher, rugged note that she had only caught a fleeting whiff of for half a second. 

A scent that belonged to him alone.

For a wild moment, she felt the urge to turn and bury her nose in his neck to savor it better. After all, it was the first time she had ever smelled him this close.

Nothing else in the world — no one else in the world — could have a scent so intoxicating.

But that was definitely not the right moment!

A sense of embarrassment — of shame, even — hit her like a punch to the stomach, and the spell was broken. Blade's hold around her shoulders loosened, and she found herself free. When she turned to look at him, she saw that his attention was entirely focused on Nikolai, who was still being held at sword-point.

"Check what they are doing," he whispered to her.

With her legs still shaking, Stelle complied, thanking the icy air a million times over for helping clear her head. She cautiously peered around the edge of the wall, careful not to be seen.

The hooded figure had indeed turned back. However, they must not have noticed them. After a few seconds, they turned back again, continuing towards the gates and disappearing from their sight.

"They are gone," Stelle announced. "It's possible they intended to leave the city."

Blade relaxed, lowering his weapon, and grabbed Nikolai by the collar, forcing him to stand. The young nobleman shrunk against the wall, muttering something unintelligible.

Stelle looked up at the sky, the snow falling faster every second. Then she looked at their hostage, who didn't look like he would survive a storm.

"Going out there is not an option, I guess. We'd end up dying, or getting lost" she sighed.

Blade didn't argue. He knew she was right.

"Would you have the courage to drag me into a snowstorm?!" Nikolai continued to complain, now so pale that he almost looked blue. "How dare you, dirty peasants?! Ah, as soon as my family finds out...!"

...That guy was a damn broken record.

"Are you absolutely sure I can't stab him?" Blade asked again, his thumb casually caressing the hilt of his sword.

"No, no unauthorized stabbings."

The spoiled brat — who clearly cared little for his own survival — made a contemptuous sound.

"Ah! Of course! You cowards would never have the courage to...!"

Stelle never found out what they wouldn't have the courage to do, because she lost her patience. She was tired, stressed, and still shaken by what had happened a moment ago. So she had no desire to put up with his whining.

In an instant, she unsheathed her bat, and a faint blue glow illuminated its surface.

"But still" she hissed through clenched teeth, "a blow to the head is not a stabbing!"

Nikolai fell silent immediately. Not only that, he was so terrified that it seemed like he wouldn't speak for the rest of his life.

Stelle put the bat away, finally satisfied.

"Come on, let's go back. I can't wait to wrap up this business once and for all."

She turned with a toss of her hair worthy of a movie heroine, while Blade shoved the nobleman without much ceremony to make him lead the way. He adjusted his pace to hers, and Stelle grabbed his sleeve again in an automatic gesture, letting him guide her to their destination.

As they walked, she looked up to sneak a glance at his expression. She found it as neutral as always, but when he realized she was looking at him, he met her gaze for a moment. And this time, he didn't reproach her for staring.

Stelle smiled. She didn't know exactly what happened, but she had the feeling she scored another victory.

Chapter Text

As Stelle had imagined, the Stellaron Hunters had a hideout in Belobog. A 'safe house', as they called it. That didn't surprise her. She imagined that a group like theirs, always moving from one place to another, would need temporary bases. Especially when retreating to their main headquarters would be impossible or impractical. What surprised her was that, given the recent rediscovery of Jarilo-VI, they had already managed to establish one.

When she asked Blade for an explanation, he told her that Elio knew about the resolution of the crisis before it happened. So, he deemed it necessary to establish a base there. When Cocolia was defeated and Bronya became the new Supreme Guardian, they were already prepared.

"That's why Kafka and I were in Belobog while you were still here," he told her.

And that's how the two of them met.

Stelle wondered why Destiny's Slave had decided to send not one, but two of his agents for such a small mission. When she asked Blade about it, he said it was a personal request from Kafka to go and be accompanied by him. A request Elio decided to grant.

After that, he didn't add anything. Stelle imagined that if there was more to it, he either didn't know or didn't want to talk about it. So she decided to mind her own business and not press him. She knew that he generally didn't lie, and she didn't want to be the one to force him to.

Anyway, this was the first time Stelle found herself in one of the Stellaron Hunters' bases. And if she had expected some kind of hyper-technological underground and medieval torture chambers, she was quickly disappointed.

The base was modest in size, suitable to accommodate a group of no more than four or five people. It was comfortable but without frills, in the style of the middle class of Belobog. The technological equipment was there, but it was limited to the 'toys' requested by Silver Wolf. And, at least from what Stelle could see, there were no torture chambers.

It was a normal house, not far from the passages leading to the Underworld — undoubtedly for practical and strategic reasons. It was consistent with their idea of hiding in plain sight, where conditions allowed it. Anyone could find it, but no one was interested in doing so. After all, who would have ever imagined that a group of criminals would hide right there?

The Hunters themselves seemed quite relaxed about security. Blade made sure to blindfold their hostage before they approached the safe house, but it never even occurred to him to do the same to her. Just like, back on the Luofu, Kafka sent her the coordinates of their base without hesitation. They trusted her that much or didn't consider her a threat at all? Or had Elio told them that she wouldn't betray them?

In any case, she was there now. Not only that, but she had been allowed to wander around the house while Blade and Silver Wolf took care of the hostage. They had taken Nikolai to a room, where they bound and gagged him while they waited for Kafka's return. They didn't want to interrogate him without her, and they expected her to return at any moment.

So while they were busy with the dirty work, she finally had the opportunity to satisfy her curiosity.

She explored everywhere, from the common areas to the private rooms. It was obvious that the hunters had just arrived and didn't intend to stay long, as the latter were rather bare. Silver Wolf's was the most recognizable. It was the richest in electronic equipment, not to mention the graffiti she had plastered on the walls. In her wastebasket, Stelle found various types of junk food boxes, which she snacked on while working or playing video games.

Kafka's room, which she stumbled upon second, was the most mysterious. There were traces of her here and there: cases with various types of weapons and ammunition, and some accessories for maintaining her katana. There was also a small portable music player that, when she tried to turn it on, started playing classical music. Still, her wardrobe and most of her drawers were locked, their contents a total mystery. Stelle found boxes of ammunition and cosmetics in her wastebasket.

Finally, she stumbled upon Blade's room. The door was unlocked, and when she looked inside, she immediately noticed that it was by far the most sterile. The walls were white, the bed was perfectly made. It could have passed for an unoccupied room were it not for one crucial detail.

Four swords were at the back of the room, carefully laid out against the wall.

Stelle tiptoed inside, feeling like a thief. She hadn't been too worried about invading the other two rooms, but Blade's was a bit different. Maybe because she knew he wouldn't appreciate an excessive invasion of his privacy. But he wasn't stupid. If there was something he didn't want her to see, he would have forbidden her to enter. Or he would have locked the door. So, by that logic, she wasn't doing anything wrong.

She went straight to the swords and bent down to examine them. They were all very different: one was a curved saber, another was long and slender, the third was short and stubby, and the last was a heavy two-handed greatsword. None of them looked like the kind of weapon Blade would use. She had never seen him use anything other than his usual sword. Even though it was barely holding together.

...In fact, now that she looked more closely, the four swords were all in better condition than his own. The blades were worn and had seen better days, but they weren't on the verge of breaking any time soon.

With a thoughtful sound, she straightened up. Perhaps she could ask him directly later. She was sure there was a story behind this peculiar collection.

Her gaze wandered around the room, searching for inspiration, until she found exactly what she was looking for: the wastebasket. She brightened up, anticipating what she might find inside. It was finally time to take a peek into Blade's most intimate secrets, and piece together another part of the enigmatic man!

Without any restraint, she dove into the wastebasket, rubbing her hands together in delight... and her smile faded.

It was empty. Clean. Pristine. As if it had never been used.

How could it be empty?! It was unfair! She had been waiting for that moment ever since she set foot in there! Now the pleasure had been cruelly snatched away from her!

She plopped down on the floor. It was a disappointment she would never recover from. How could he have emptied the wastebasket before she had a chance to look inside? She was convinced that when she accepted him as her bodyguard, going through his trash was part of the deal! This was a blatant violation of all the principles upon which their alliance was built!

Disheartened, she looked around, searching for something else to satisfy her curiosity, but nothing caught her eye. And while she expected it from Blade, it didn't mean she had to like it.

But since she was there, she might as well make sure the room was safe for its occupant. After all, she was a considerate partner who cared about her companion's well-being!

Filled with newfound determination, she leaped to her feet and threw herself onto the bed. From there, she leaned upside down over the edge, the tips of her hair brushing the floor. From this position, she could inspect under the bed, but apart from the shadows, she found nothing. Not even a speck of dust.

It seemed that the monster who lived under the bed wasn't there. However, she wasn't entirely convinced. She read all about it — from the manual 'Bedtime Stories for Preschoolers' to the anthology 'Horror Tales for Kids' — and it was clear that the monster was quite cunning. As far as she knew, it would only appear at night, ready to grab its prey the moment a hand or foot extended over the edge of the bed.

She made a mental note to warn Blade to be careful and always keep all limbs within the borders of the mattress. She could teach him her secret technique: tucking the sheets under the mattress to form a protective cocoon.

Considering the bedding sufficiently secure, her attention turned to a new potential source of danger. In front of the bed, there was a wooden wardrobe, the oldest piece of furniture in the room. And, as far as she was concerned, it was definitely fishy.

One of the first books she read when she got on the Express was about a group of kids who ended up in a parallel world by going through a wardrobe. In this world, they encountered a bunch of strange creatures and dangers.

The wardrobe in Blade's room reminded her frighteningly of the one in the story. So, what if there was a portal to another dimension in there? What would happen, if Blade accidentally walked into it and couldn't get out? Or, even worse, if some creatures broke in while he was asleep and tried to kill him?

She could not allow that. Until the end of that mission, Blade was her partner. Of course, he could not die, but that didn't mean he wouldn't suffer. So, it was her responsibility to safeguard his well-being.

Grabbing her bat, she climbed down from the bed and approached the wardrobe, ready for action. She placed her hand on the handle and with a quick movement threw the door wide open.  She expected something to leap out, and was already imagining an epic battle against a large, hairy Minotaur.

Instead, the only thing that hit her was a familiar smell. A sweet, light smell that was now no longer a mystery to her.

Spider lilies.

Temporarily forgetting about her 'mission', Stelle peered inside the wardrobe. Like the rest of the room, it was almost empty. There were a few clothes — enough for a few days — and nothing else. Still, there was a single item that completely clashed with her idea of Blade. Something she never imagined to find among his belongings.

A red embroidered bag, no larger than the palm of a hand, hung in the middle of his clothing.

Stelle leaned into the wardrobe and grabbed it. She did not even have to bring it to her nostrils to realize that this was the source of the scent. She opened it to check the contents and found a handful of dried petals of a burnished red. And when she closed it again to get a better look, she saw that the red cloth had a black 'K' embroidered in the lower left corner.

'K'.

'Kafka'?

"What are you doing?"

At the call of the familiar deep voice, Stelle turned around. Blade stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her suspiciously. In fact, there was reason to be suspicious, since he caught her halfway stuck in his wardrobe with her weapon drawn.

"Oh. Hey, Blade," she greeted him as if the whole situation was completely normal. "I was making sure your room was safe."

He was silent for a moment, looking from her to the wardrobe. Then, with a heavy sigh, he said:

"Why are you inside my wardrobe?"

"I'm making sure there is no portal to a parallel dimension," she replied, dead serious.

"Have you found it?"

"So far, no."

"Is that so?"

There was that look again. That impassive, unmoving, yet so terribly judgmental look he always gave her in those situations. It was one of the few occasions when she could read what was going through his mind. And it wasn't flattering.

"But I found this."

Partly out of genuine curiosity and partly to divert his attention, she tossed him the red bag. He caught it on the fly.

"What is it?"

So her first idea was not wrong. Blade didn't know what it was. Meaning, he didn't put it there.

"It's for perfuming the wardrobe and clothes, I think. It's made of spider lily petals. This explains why I can always smell it on you. Mystery solved!"

He did not comment, turning the bag in his hands. At that point, he must have noticed the 'K' embroidered in the corner, because he shook his head and sighed.

"Kafka."

"Did she put that in your wardrobe?"

"She likes this sort of thing."

He said nothing more, tossing the bag absentmindedly onto the bed. Stelle watched it land on the white sheets, contrasting with them like a bloodstain. And her stomach twisted in the grip of an inexplicable uneasiness.

Why would Kafka leave such a thing in Blade's wardrobe? Wasn't that a bit too personal? She had observed the interactions between them and always had the impression that they got along very well. They were almost always together. They worked together. From what she could see, they had a great synergy. Maybe they were friends? 

...Then again, she was friends with March and Dan Heng, and they didn't do that for her. Besides, Kafka called him by a nickname, and he let her. And when she was the one who called him the same way, he got angry...

Her stomach clenched even tighter as her thoughts spiraled out of control. She did not know how to describe how she felt. It resembled anger, but it was not. It had something in common with grief, but it wasn't that either. Besides, she had no reason to be angry or sad. Nor could she expect Blade to treat her the way he treated Kafka. She had known him much longer, and Stelle certainly had no claim on him. Besides, Kafka was beautiful, elegant, independent, and tough. She couldn't exactly compete with her, could she? And why would she have to compete with her, anyway?!

"Are you going to come out of my wardrobe now?"

Remembering why she was there, Stelle pushed aside her dark thoughts and tightened her grip on the bat.

"Of course, but only after I make sure there's no portal in here."

With that, she slid all the way into the furniture, feeling its walls with her free hand. Everything seemed normal, but she still didn't quite trust it. For all she knew, the portal could be on the other side of the bottom wall, and all she had to do was smash it open to find it.

She drew the bat back, ready to strike... and something grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, yanking her back. Suspecting that she was going to do exactly what she was about to do, Blade caught up with her in a few quick strides, stopping her just in time.

"What are you thinking?"

Stelle looked over her shoulder at him.

"I need to destroy the wardrobe to make sure the portal is not back there." She shrugged out of his grasp. "Now let me do my job. It's for your own good."

She tried to dive in again. And again, she was grabbed by the scruff of the neck like a cat and forcibly dragged outside.

"How is destroying my things for my own good?" Blade said, impatient.

"The other dimension could be full of hostile creatures. What if they decide to attack you while you're sleeping?"

"Stelle, there is no parallel dimension in the closet."

"How can you be so sure?"

Blade closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"If it was there," he replied, "you would have found it by now."

Stelle hesitated, her grip on the bat loosening. He had a point. After all, they were talking about a portal to a whole other dimension! It should have been a big one, right? Maybe if she hadn't found it, it was because it wasn't there.

...But then again, why risk it? She had to be absolutely sure!

"Perhaps you are right, but I don't want to have any regrets."

She broke free of his grip again and lunged for the open door. She was almost there when she felt something grab her wrists. In the next instant, the world spun around her. Before she knew it, she found herself pinned against the wardrobe door, her hands held above her head. The bat fell and rolled to the floor as Blade loomed over her, one hand holding her wrists, the other pressed right next to her head. His body formed a cage around her, and although the only physical contact was around her wrists, the distance between them was minimal. She could have touched him by bending her torso a little bit.

At first, she felt disoriented due to the sudden closeness. Through the fabric of his clothes, she could see the muscles in his arms contracting while he held her still. She could hear the sound of his every breath, and his scent came to her nostrils stronger and clearer than ever.

And then, it was that same scent that set her free. The thought of the bag with the embroidered 'K' flashed through her mind, and she felt more spirited than ever.

"Is this how you treat a lady?" she complained and began to squirm with all the energy in her body.

"I don't see any lady: just some crazy, overgrown raccoon."

Oh, that was a good one! Stelle could accept the fact that she was a little 'eccentric', but she didn't want to hear that from the Mara-struck guy. So she squirmed with even more vigor.

"Let me go! I must finish checking the wardrobe!"

"I don't see why—"

"I'm trying to protect you! That's why!"

Her voice echoed through the room, lost in the silence. 

Blade did not reply, hesitating. His expression became even more serious, in a way that almost frightened her. His eyes swept over her face, darker and deeper than usual, and she wondered what on earth he was thinking. He seemed to be searching for something, but she had no way of knowing what it was.

Trying to read his expression, she stared back at him. She was so focused that she stopped struggling, her body relaxing despite his grip. A small, rational corner of her mind realized that the position was compromising and that they were very close. But curiosity and fascination were stronger than reason. Nor did he seem to have any intention of letting her go or backing away. He just watched her, without moving closer or further away. Without speaking. And Stelle wondered if his mind was as jammed as hers was.

The strange tension was broken when a sharp click rang out in the room, startling them. They turned toward the door, where Silver Wolf was watching them contentedly, her cell phone pointed at them.

"Oh, don't mind me! Pretend I'm not here". She ran her fingers over the screen a few times, and they heard the beep of the camera starting to record a video.

Blade let Stelle go so abruptly that the wardrobe door shook behind her. He put a safe distance between them, making sure not to look at her.

"What is it, Silver Wolf?" he asked his companion.

His tone was measured and calm as if nothing had happened. And it was the truth. In fact, he had only tried to stop her from destroying his wardrobe. He had barely even touched her. So why did she feel that slight pang of disappointment?

Struggling to compose herself, she straightened her shoulders and pulled away from the wardrobe. Unconsciously, she began to massage her wrists where he had grabbed her. They didn't hurt, but she could still feel the warmth of his fingers.

Silver Wolf, who hadn't missed a move, smiled but didn't press them further. After all, she was there for a reason.

"Kafka is back. It's time to have a chat with our hostage. And we better do it fast, because I can't stand him anymore. Since you left, Blade, he's done nothing but whining. Clearly, he's not scared of me."

Without another word, she turned on her heels and walked away, leaving them alone.

As soon as she was gone, Blade approached Stelle in a few quick strides. She froze, expecting against all logic that he would grab her again. Instead, he walked past her and closed the wardrobe, giving her only a sidelong glance.

"There are no parallel dimensions in there," he said sternly, and she nodded like a schoolgirl being scolded by the teacher. 

...She still wasn't convinced that the parallel dimension wasn't there, but it didn't seem appropriate for her to insist any further.

Just then, her phone rang and when she unlocked the screen, she saw that it was a message from Natasha.

Her sense of priorities returned to the issue at hand and, forgetting her embarrassment, she grabbed Blade's sleeve to get his attention.

"What is it?" he asked, and when she tilted the screen in his direction, he bent his head to read over her shoulder.

"I have received some information from my patients. It seems that not long ago, some foreigners were seen walking around Boulder Town. They said they were scientists from another planet who had come to test a new kind of medicine. They claimed it could improve the physical and mental abilities of those who took it. Several people said they were interested in trying it, but they chose a very limited sample. Just three or four people, I heard. One of them was the cook who tried to give those strange pills to Bronya. Both she and the others disappeared a few days after the test."

Once the message was finished, Blade and Stelle exchanged a meaningful look.

"We have to tell the others," she said, and he nodded in agreement.

"Let's go, then."

Without waiting for her answer, he strode out of the room. Stelle was about to follow him when the cell phone buzzed again. Expecting another message from one of her companions, she saw with a mixture of surprise and disappointment that it was from Silver Wolf. Why was she texting when she could talk to her directly?

But knowing that Silver Wolf rarely acted without a reason, she opened the message. And her stomach twisted.

It was the photo she had taken of her and Blade a few minutes earlier. There she was, nailed to the closet door, her wrists pinned by the man's hand. There he was, partially turned away from the camera, standing over her at full height, preventing her from moving. The photo did not show his face, but she remembered it in the smallest detail, from the dark gaze to the thin line between his eyebrows.

Seen without context, they looked like a couple in the middle of an intimate moment. Even the lack of physical contact did nothing to diminish the impression. But the worst thing — at least from her point of view — was her own expression! The chin raised to look straight at him, the lips slightly parted, the hazy eyes...

Was that her face when she looked at him? Was it always like that?

Fire rose to her face and ears, and she felt like she would melt from the embarrassment. She closed the message and put her phone back in her pocket, but the image was now carved in her mind. She couldn't get it out of her head.

What the hell was wrong with her? First, there was that odd feeling when he dragged her behind the wall, and now this! She seemed to have lost control of her reactions, and it was terrifying. The fact that the common denominator of it all was Blade scared her even more.

She had no idea when it started. She didn't even know what it was!

Maybe March was right. Maybe she had fraternized too much and for too long. It would be better if she let go, reducing any contact with him. It was the most rational decision. He himself would agree!

Then why did the thought of ending it make her feel like she had a black hole in her chest?

She took a deep breath, trying to push these thoughts out of her head. Fortunately, she had a planet to save from a cult of psychopaths, and that had to be her priority. How to handle her relationship with Blade would be a matter for a more appropriate time. And no, she was definitely not running away or avoiding the problem!

So, with a semblance of dignity restored, she recovered her bat from the floor and left Blade's room. And she tried her best not to feel like a complete coward.

"So that's our little bird," Kafka said as she entered the living room, a heavy coat still draped over her arm.

Nikolai, bound in a chair in the middle of the room, twisted and tried to mumble something. The sound, though, was almost completely muffled by the gag that held his mouth shut. Ignoring his protest, she threw her coat on the edge of an armchair and smiled at Blade and Stelle, who were watching the scene from a corner of the room.

"Great job! I see you two work well together."

"Be careful, Kafka. Remember the rules," Stelle said, ignoring the compliment. She actually liked it. But getting one for having carried out a kidnapping didn't seem like something to be proud of. No matter how much fun it was in the moment.

"Sure, sure. Don't worry about it. I know what I'm doing."

Silver Wolf, leaning against the wall on the other side of the room — where the stove happened to be — tapped the floor with her foot.

"So let's get this bird singing, shall we?" she muttered. "I want to go back to bed. I'm cold"

"How impatient! I literally just got back, you know?"

Kafka sighed at the haste of her companions and took a few seconds blowing on her hands, still numb from the cold. She wasn't as sensitive as Silver Wolf, but the climate on Jarilo-VI wasn't kind to anyone. From the living room window, Stelle could see the snow swirling, the wind hissing so loud that its sound resembled a scream. Even in the city, protected as it was, the blizzard caused discomfort and uneasiness. She didn't dare imagine what it was like outside the gates.

"Well, let's get on with it," Kafka finally decided. She approached Nikolai and gently removed the gag from his mouth.

Of course, he started to whimper as soon as his mouth was free.

"I have no idea who you are, you criminal scum, but this is outrageous! Know that you will get nothing from me! And when my family finds out..."

"I doubt your family will do much, dear Nikolai," Kafka purred, twisting the gag between her fingers. "After all, you were put in this situation on purpose."

The young man turned pale.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said," Kafka replied. "Tell me. Was this whole situation your idea?"

He remained silent, but his face turned from white to red in an instant. She didn't need further answers.

"As I thought." She leaned towards him, lowered her head to the level of his eyes, and whispered: "Then listen, Nikolai. Why don't you tell us what's going on? Talking about it will make you feel better, you have my word."

Stelle felt the vibration in her voice and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, while the hostage's gaze became vacant, yielding. As if a spider had spun its web around his mind.

The way the Spirit Whisper worked never failed to disturb her. Such a powerful ability with so few limitations was a dangerous tool. And Kafka was not afraid to use it.

"My father orchestrated it all," Nikolai said immediately, without hesitation.

The woman did not seem surprised. "Vasily Lebedev."

Nikolai nodded and remained silent, waiting for another question.

"Who is it?" asked Stelle.

"Well, apart from the father of our little bird," she replied, "he's a minister and the head of the Lebedev family. Very rich, very influential, and very corrupt. And he doesn't like your friend Bronya at all. We've already talked about the corruption charges, haven't we? The previous Guardian was too busy with... other things, but Bronya wants to reopen all the investigations. And the one who would suffer is him. Isn't that right, Nikolai?"

Kafka gently traced a finger down his cheek, and the young man nodded without resistance.

"Then tell us what your father intended to do. Go on."

"Some time ago, some foreigners came to Belobog. At first, they were active in the Underworld, but after a while, they came to us with a special kind of drug. It increased the physical and mental abilities of those who took it. But after some time, people began to deteriorate. They lost their minds, suffered, and mutated... unless they were constantly taking another drug to mitigate the effects. They brought us test subjects to show us how it worked."

"The missing people Natasha mentioned!" Stelle exclaimed.

She pulled out her phone and quickly showed Kafka the message she had received. The woman read it and nodded.

"Yes, that seems to be the case. Your friend is good at gathering information."

She gave her the phone back and turned to Nikolai.

"So what happened next?"

"My father knew that he couldn't replace the Guardian because of how the succession works. So he decided to control the current one. If he could get her infected with the foreigners' drugs, he would make her dependent on their antidote to keep her sane and healthy. At that point, she would be forced to do whatever he wanted. He would effectively become the highest authority in Belobog."

"Except that Bronya would rather jump off a cliff than be subjected to such conditions," Stelle said, a gust of irritation boiling in her chest.

"It would be preferable," Blade agreed. He had remained silent until that moment, watching the interrogation without speaking. But that didn't mean he wasn't thinking about it. And when she glanced in his direction, Stelle noticed that his eyes burned. Despite his calm voice and controlled demeanor, he was furious.

It was not hard to understand why. If there was one person in there who knew what it was like to be Mara-struck, it was him.

"According to my father, she wouldn't," Nikolai replied. "The Guardian loves Belobog. If she had taken her own life, she would have left this place without a leader, and chaos would ensue. According to him, she would rather take her time and try to find a cure. But the foreigners assured us that it doesn't exist. And when she deteriorated, he could manipulate the circumstances to put a Guardian of his choice in charge of Belobog. A more malleable one."

Silver Wolf whistled, impressed despite herself.

"Wow. This guy deserves a mention as the worst asshole in the galaxy. And I assure you, I've seen a lot of assholes."

Kafka hid a quiet laugh behind her hand.

"A good chunk of monarchs and almost all politicians?"

"Oh yeah. Politicians turn into assholes as soon as they get in charge, somehow. I still have to get over the trauma of the things I found in their correspondence," Silver Wolf agreed. "Except for Bronya. She's basically a saint."

"And tell us, Nikolai," Kafka continued the interrogation, "how would the foreigners benefit from the situation?"

"They needed people. Expendable people to use for their own plan. I don't know what it is. My father promised them that they could take people from the Underworld without repercussions. People no one would miss. He pulled some strings to make sure the Silvermane Guards never found out about this. He would have bribed the Captain, if it was anyone else. But Gepard Landau is incorruptible. So he had to make sure he simply didn't hear about all this. Luckily, the presence of the Guards in the Underworld is still very slim. Going around them would not be a problem."

The young man's tone was completely indifferent, as if he were discussing what to eat for dinner. Perhaps it was a consequence of the Spirit Whisper, but Stelle felt her blood boil. Infecting innocent people with Mara — the most horrible affliction she knew — would have been enough to infuriate her. Defining the inhabitants of the Underworld as 'people no one would miss' only added fuel to the fire.

They lived in horrible conditions for years because of Cocolia's misguided decisions. They fought with them to solve the Stellaron crisis, and only now had they begun to rebuild a normal life. Clara, little Hook, Oleg, Natasha, Seele and all the people she met were worthless in the eyes of these people? She wanted to slap him for even suggesting such a thing.

She stepped forward without thinking. She only realized what she had just done when a hand rested firmly on her shoulder. Stelle turned to protest and met Blade's gaze.

In a moment, her fury subsided. Not because she was any less angry than before, but because her rage was nothing — literally nothing! — compared to what she saw in his eyes. He was tense, his muscles contracted, his jaw clenched. His posture was that of a tiger, ready to snap. And — worst of all — she saw in his eyes that shadow that had always frightened her, that fixed and empty expression that was the prelude to an explosion.

He didn't stop her to keep her from doing something stupid. He was stopping her so she could stop him.

Stelle had no idea what he expected of her or why he thought she could stop him. In any case, she would not disappoint him. She stood at his side and grabbed his sleeve.

"We will stop them," she said in a whisper. "And they will pay for everything."

He did not answer her, just looked at her in silence. Still, he must have understood. The hard line of his jaw relaxed, and his posture became a little less rigid. Stelle held back a small sigh of relief and, without releasing her grip on his sleeve, returned to the interrogation.

"And tell me, Nikolai. What part did you play in this plan and how far did these foreigners go?"

"I had to stay in touch with them. Act as a mediator. It was my father who gave me the task. He usually says I'm good for nothing, but this time he wanted to trust me. Give me a chance to do something good for the family."

From her corner by the stove, Silver Wolf snorted.

"Yeah, yeah. And of course, you believed him."

Kafka silenced her with a wave of her hand, allowing Nikolai to continue.

"I had to exchange information with the foreigners, let them know how our plan was going, and pick up the drugs when they brought them in. Things like that. Then my father planned to infiltrate one of the foreigners' first guinea pigs at Fort Qliphoth. An already infected woman. She was told to put the drugs in the Guardian's food, and if she was successful, they would give her the antidote."

"The cook," Stelle remarked.

"Yes," Nikolai replied, always in the same empty and indifferent tone. "But things went wrong. The plan failed, and the Guardian escaped unharmed. The foreigners panicked: they feared that the Guardian would hunt them down after the failed attempt. My father sent me to speak with one of their representatives. He was afraid they would do something stupid. I was to meet him later at Tamila's play, but I was captured by you instead."

"His contact must be the one we followed to the gates."

Stelle tugged at Blade's sleeve to get his attention. He didn't look at her, as he was fully focused on Nikolai. Still, he nodded in response.

"If they saw you," Kafka considered, "they'll know their contact is compromised. Whatever they had in mind, they'll do it without consulting anyone."

"I agree," Silver Wolf added. "I've been keeping an eye on Nikolai's communication channels. No one has tried to contact him since. Nor have they opened any more channels."

This did not bode well. Nikolai said that the Disciples were already in a panic because of the failed attempt. They couldn't risk them doing anything rash.

At that moment Stelle's phone rang, catching her off guard. Dan Heng's name flashed on the screen. A video call.

"It's one of my companions," she said to the Hunters. "I have to answer. It could be new information."

"Sure, honey. Let us know if there's any news," Kafka agreed.

Without adding anything, Stelle left the living room, making sure to get as far away from prying ears as possible. She found a reasonable refuge in the bathroom, and after closing the door behind her, she answered the call.

Dan Heng's face immediately appeared on the screen, along with Seele's. Behind them, she could make out the Vagrants' camp.

"Stelle, are you alone? Can you talk?" Dan Heng asked, putting pleasantries aside.

"Is that a bathroom?" Seele added, looking into the room behind her.

"Yes, I am alone, and yes, it's a bathroom. I will explain some other time. Is there any news?"

"We spoke to Svarog, and... well, we have a problem," he replied, nervously running his free hand through his hair.

She had a bad feeling about this. Dan Heng was the most rational and controlled person she knew. If he was worried, it couldn't be good.

"What is it?"

"According to Svarog and Clara, several people have disappeared from the camp in the last few days. It's usually two or three at a time" he explained. "It started about..."

"...After the attack on Bronya," she completed the sentence, seeing her fear condense into reality.

Dan Heng hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"The guy we kidnapped said something about it."

Again, Dan Heng stared at her through the screen, more and more astonished.

"'Have you kidnapped someone?!"

"Again, it's a long story."

Trying to be as concise as possible, Stelle told them of their kidnapping of Nikolai and the information they obtained. In doing so, she was forced to reveal that she was working with others, though she refrained from going into details. Fortunately, Seele trusted her enough not to press the matter too far. As far as she was concerned, if Stelle trusted the Hunters, they were worthy of her respect. Which made her feel quite guilty. She hated to deceive her, but telling her that they were a group of intergalactic criminals didn't seem like a good idea. Dan Heng refrained from commenting on the matter, a sign that he probably agreed.

But, when it came to the agreement between Vasily Lebedev and the Disciples, Seele was far less understanding.

"So those bastards are kidnapping people to infect them with Mara, or whatever that 'thing' is?! But you said there was no cure!"

"In fact, the process is irreversible," Dan Heng said. "If your hostage said they would start recruiting after defanging Bronya, they must have started right after the failed attack. They started before warning the Lebedevs."

"Maybe they feared that if the Lebedevs were discovered, they wouldn't be able to protect them. When they contacted Nikolai, they wanted to present him with a done deed," Stelle speculated, leaning her back against the bathroom door. The bad feeling had turned into an urgent sense of threat, and her legs were shaking. "Exactly how many people have disappeared?"

"About twenty," replied Dan Heng.

Twenty people. And they were only talking about the disappearances among the Vagrants. There could easily be more. And they were all in danger, assuming it wasn't already too late.

"Svarog started looking for them as soon as he noticed the disappearances, but he couldn't find them," he continued to explain. "If the hooded guy you saw left the city, it's likely they're hiding somewhere out there. It would explain the difficulty in tracking them down."

"Is there anything that can be done about it?"

"He's already sent out some of his robots, but it might take time to flush them out with no information on where to look."

"And in that time, those people could already be infected!" snarled Seele. "We need to find out where those bastards are hiding, and we need to do it now! Even if it means scouring the snowy expanses myself...!"

"Seele, calm down. Getting agitated won't solve the situation," Dan Heng interrupted her calmly.

Of course, it had no effect.

"Now you're starting to talk like Bronya!" the girl burst out, even more irritated than before.

"That's because she's right. What good would it do to go out there in the middle of a snowstorm? You'd risk your life, and those people wouldn't gain anything from it."

"What am I supposed to do then? Sit here and do nothing?!"

Stelle intervened, interrupting their discussion.

"We have a hostage here who might know something. We'll ask him."

At least her idea managed to somewhat calm Seele's fiery spirit. She hesitated, but eventually relented.

"Alright. I'm counting on you. If you find out anything, let us know immediately."

She agreed and, after saying goodbye to her two friends, ended the call. She hadn't even put her phone back in her pocket before she was out of the bathroom and hurrying to the interrogation room. There was no time to waste if they were going to try to save those people.

Crossing the short corridor in long strides, she burst into the room, drawing the attention of everyone present.

"The Disciples have already started kidnapping people!" she announced. "We need to find out where they're hiding, and we need to do it now!"

Silver Wolf received the news with a small, unreadable grimace, and Blade narrowed his eyes to slits. Kafka, for her part, didn't seem surprised at all, and with a calm that seemed maddening in her agitation, she said:

"Yes, that's what we were just working on. Unfortunately, Nikolai doesn't know the location of their hideout, except for the fact that it's outside the city."

"My father should know, but he'll never tell you," the young nobleman added in his usual vacant tone.

"Oh, that remains to be seen!" Kafka chuckled and turned to her younger companion. "Wolfie, would you mind doing what I asked?"

Silver Wolf popped the chewing gum she had been working on and knelt in front of a table next to the hostage's chair, where a powered-up laptop sat. Stelle couldn't see what she was doing, but she saw her fingers moving across the keyboard at an incredible speed. When she stopped, a satisfied smile spread across her face.

"There you go. Nikolai's entire speech has been recorded, as you requested. I've edited out all the parts that could be compromising for us, leaving only those that are of interest to the authorities. And now the recording is being sent through an encrypted channel to the Silvermane Guards headquarters. Directly to the Captain, no less. Even with the archaic technology here, it should be there in seconds. It's only a matter of time until he sees it. Basically, game over!"

The young hacker snapped her fingers, the sound echoing like a judge's verdict in a courtroom.

For the first few seconds, Nikolai remained completely unresponsive, as if it were someone else's business. Gradually, however, his gaze became more aware and the color drained from his face. Soon he began to writhe against his bonds, angry and frightened.

The effect of the Spirit Whisper had worn off.

"What have you done to me?!"

"What are you talking about?" Kafka said, feigning astonishment. "You did all this willingly! After all, you had every motive for wanting to condemn your father. In this whole affair, you were his sacrificial lamb."

Nikolai stopped squirming and looked at her incredulously.

"You're lying."

"Oh, I'm not!" she laughed. "In your father's eyes, you were a tool. A spoiled, good-for-nothing brat whose only redeeming quality was the desire to be accepted by him. He needed someone loyal enough to be his pawn, but disposable enough if things went wrong. Who better than you for that? Besides..." She leaned forward with a sneer. "Your older brothers are too smart to get involved. I've had the pleasure of meeting them, and they're delightful people. Just the right amount of ambition, and more pragmatic than your father. Don't you think so?"

So that's where she had been while they were dealing with Nikolai! She had been negotiating with his older brothers to frame his father. In practice, the whole situation in that family was one of constant betrayal. The father stabbed his son in the back, while the other sons framed the father and the younger brother. Something worthy of one of those shows she and March occasionally watched, only in real life!

"What a family of scoundrels!" Silver Wolf sighed. 

"So, about the Disciples' hideout?" Stelle intervened, trying to steer the conversation in a more urgent direction.

"We'll find out directly from Vasily. Once Nikolai's confession is in the hands of the authorities, it will be in his best interest to talk if he wants leniency," Kafka said, smiling reassuringly at her. "I wouldn't be surprised if the guards are on their way there as we speak. Besides, I'll personally see to it that everything goes smoothly. If you want to save the hostages, we'll save them. Have no doubt about it."

Stelle knew that Kafka probably didn't care much about the hostages themselves. Still, she was grateful. After all, help was always welcome, and the Hunters had been reliable companions during this whole ordeal.

"Thank you for everything."

Kafka nodded, a sparkle in her eyes. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, and Stelle began to feel cautiously optimistic. But her happiness was shattered by Nikolai's grating voice.

"I will deny everything."

Everyone turned to him, their expressions ranging from bored to annoyed to furious. Especially Blade, Stelle noticed. The traces of anger she had glimpsed earlier during the interrogation had subsided when the case was turning in their favor. But Nikolai's words were enough to wake them up again. If the young man had been a little more observant, he might have noticed. He would have felt the murderous aura that filled the room, and seen the sinister light in those blood-colored eyes. He would have realized that there was a monster steps away from him, ready to awaken at any moment.

"I will deny this confession. I'll say that you forced it out of me. That you made me say those things," he continued, undeterred, his voice hysterical. "I will waste your time. And then you can say goodbye to all the people you're trying to save."

It was the tantrum of a spoiled child. To punish the people who had put an end to his 'mischief', he hoped to make them pay by ruining their plan. He didn't care about the people who would suffer a fate worse than death. He only cared about himself and his father's approval.

Stelle wanted to kick him herself, anger and frustration boiling inside her. But her mind was still cool enough to make her hesitate.

The same couldn't be said for someone else. And when she felt him move, it was already too late.

Quick as a cat, Blade crossed the room in a flash. When Stelle realized what happened, he was already lunging at Nikolai, grabbing him by the collar with such force that the chair he was tied to tilted. The ink-black sword was already pointed straight at the nobleman's throat.

"People like you make me sick."

The swordsman's voice was deep, unnaturally calm. Yet Stelle felt a vibration in it that she hadn't felt in a long time, a rage that neither actions nor words could express. He smiled, but there was no joy in his expression. His eyes were dull, as if he didn't really see Nikolai.

Whichever way you looked at it, this was a Mara spike.

Her heart raced, her anger towards the noble replaced by a touch of panic. Instinctively, she moved towards them. She felt she had to do something to keep the situation from escalating, even if she wasn't sure what. Blade seemed ready to dismember Nikolai if he had the chance! 

Before she could do anything, Kafka positioned herself between her and the two men and gave her a quick look of understanding. She was not concerned about the situation at all. In fact, she seemed vaguely amused. The same was true for Silver Wolf, who watched the scene with the same excitement as someone watching a very boring TV show.

None of them planned to stop him.

Nikolai let out a frightened squeal. His eyes darted around, hoping for someone to help him, but realizing that no rescue would come.

"You play with powers you do not understand and run away from the consequences. And you never learn the lesson," Blade hissed, the edge of the sword grazing Nikolai's throat. A small scratch appeared on his skin and he began to tremble. "But this time at least one of you will learn."

The blade sank a little deeper as the hostage began to mumble incoherently. Only then did Kafka decide to intervene.

"Bladie, let's not waste resources here."

With a serpentine movement, he turned to look at her over his shoulder. His face was horribly still, his gaze fixed, muscles tensed like a beast about to pounce.

Kafka remained calm, like a skilled tamer in front of a wild tiger. But the same couldn't be said for Stelle. Despite her best efforts to remain calm, she couldn't help but flinch slightly. She already knew that expression, because it had been directed at her once. And it had been one of the few moments in her life — at least in the short time she could remember — when she had been truly afraid.

The involuntary movement, however small, caught Blade's attention. For a terrible moment, his fiery eyes bore into her, opaque and deep as wells. Then, slowly, he turned back to Nikolai and gave him a jolt.

"You will do as you are told, and you will accept every single consequence," he said in a deadly, soft hiss. "If I find out — and I will find out — that you tried to escape or save your miserable life even for a moment, I will come for you. I will seek you out. You and everything you hold dear, wherever it may be. And I will force you to watch me destroy it. Do you understand?"

The question sounded almost friendly, but Nikolai began to sob uncontrollably.

"You better accept the deal, young man," Kafka added, inspecting her manicured nails. "When it comes to this sort of thing, our friend here is a real hellhound."

He didn't need to be told twice. Between sobs, he began to nod convulsively, giving up any pretense of courage. Disgusted, Blade released him with such force that the chair nearly toppled over, but the hostage was so shaken that he paid no attention to it. He continued to cry and mutter incoherently. The only thing Stelle could understand was a shaking: "Who the hell are you?!"

Blade, for his part, didn't even spare him a look and left the room with long strides. He didn't meet anyone's eyes or look back. Stelle watched him go until she couldn't see him anymore, worried and intimidated at the same time.

Once they were alone again, Kafka clapped her hands, pleased. She was so calm that it seemed like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Good! We can proceed," she said. "I'll take care of this young man here. And, as promised, I'll make sure Vasily talks in a timely manner. I don't want to go out in a storm, but these are exceptional circumstances."

She grabbed the coat she had taken off earlier and put it back on. Then she untied Nikolai and forced him to stand.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Stelle offered, as the idea of staying there doing nothing didn't appeal to her at all.

Kafka shook her head.

"No, stay here and rest. When we have the information we need, someone must be ready to act. Leave the 'finishing touches' to me. Oh, and you, Wolfie," she added, addressing the hacker, "you already know what you have to do.

Silver Wolf rolled her eyes, but didn't protest, instead giving a parody of a military salute.

"Yes, ma'am."

Satisfied that everything was going according to plan, Kafka left the room, dragging Nikolai along. Shortly after, they heard the click of the front door, and Stelle and Silver Wolf were alone again.

"Well, I might as well get to work," the latter said, stretching. "Looks like that RPG I was playing will have to wait a little longer."

"Silver Wolf, is there no chance of finding the Disciples' hideout by tracing their communication or something?" Stelle asked.

"Already tried it, and no. Too much interference as soon as the signal exits the city. I know waiting is annoying, but we have no other choice."

"...Okay. Do you need help with anything?"

She replied with a sarcastic grin.

"Unless you're a genius with computers, you'd just be in the way. As Kafka said, you and Blade need to be well-rested and sharp for later. After all, we have no idea what to expect."

Stelle nodded, her eyes wandering absently to the door. Where had Blade gone? She hadn't heard the front door when he left the room, so he had to be in the safe house somewhere.

"He'll be all right," Silver Wolf said, answering the unspoken question.

"Are you sure?"

"Yup. It has happened before. If he couldn't handle even small Mara spikes like this, it wouldn't be worth it to keep him around."

Stelle was taken aback. 

"That was a minor attack?!"

"Yeah. He was really angry, but he still knew what he was doing. Otherwise, he wouldn't have stopped."

So how did the attack against her classify? At the time, he didn't seem in control. He had implied that it wasn't something he wanted or planned.

"So, what would a major attack be like?" she asked, not entirely sure she wanted to know.

Silver Wolf shrugged.

"He's never had a really big one in front of me. The worst I've seen him was when you were on the Luofu."

So it was when Kafka had to ask for her help to erase a large chunk of his memory. It could go worse than that, apparently.

"Kafka told me she's seen him completely out of control once. He was basically feral, from what she says. It doesn't sound like it was a pleasant experience," Silver Wolf continued. "But it was before I joined, so I wouldn't know. It probably doesn't happen often."

Stelle responded with a distracted noise, her gaze returning to the door.

Feral. Essentially so out of control as to become a beast. After seeing what Mara did to most people, she wasn't so much surprised as horrified. The more she learned about what it was capable of, the more she feared it. And the more she saw its effect on Blade, the more she loathed it.

"Well, I'd better get to work. There are people to save and everything, so don't bother me," Silver Wolf announced. "But if you need to talk to someone, Blade is probably in his room. I don't think he'll mind if you go see him."

The irony of her statement made Stelle smile.

"'Talk' and 'Blade' shouldn't be in the same sentence, Silver Wolf."

The hacker laughed under her breath but made no further comment and left the room with a vague gesture of farewell. She would probably lock herself in her 'lair' and work tirelessly, while complaining about how inferior Belobog's technology was.

Now alone, Stelle approached the living room window and peered out. It was already dark, and though the streets were lit, she could see nothing but the vague halos of the streetlights. The blizzard showed no signs of abating, and the swirling flakes stuck to the glass, creating a thin layer of ice and mist on the transparent surface.

These were definitely the worst conditions for any kind of mission. And yet, she would have faced the storm head-on if it meant not having to stay there and wait while everyone else seemed to be doing something productive. Not to mention Blade. She wanted to talk to him, but at the same time, she wasn't sure if it would be appropriate.

She sighed and drew a sad face on the fogged window, a perfect reflection of her mood. She feared it was going to be a very long night.

Wolves.

He didn't know why, of all the things he could have imagined, he thought of wolves. Wolves hunting, hidden in the shadows of the night. Wolves surrounding their prey, attacking the weakest of the group. Wolves clawing, killing, devouring, leaving blood and terror in their wake.

The Disciples of Sanctus Medicus and their allies were like them. And he didn't like wolves.

That was what flashed through his mind just before he pounced on the hostage. The last clear thought before he plunged into the shadows.

In retrospect, he realized that the breakdown was in the air from the moment he found out who they were dealing with. His mood was already dark when he set foot on Jarilo-VI, so he should have expected it to get worse. But during the kidnapping operation, he had almost managed to forget about it. Concentrating on the task, combined with Stelle's presence, created a barrier between him and his Mara. That's why he dropped his guard.

Perhaps he thought it wasn't that serious. Maybe he didn't think at all. And it was a stupid mistake.

The dark emotions returned as soon as the interrogation began. They grew worse with every word the brat said, until his self-control shattered. The fact that it wasn't a strong spike made it worse, because he was aware of what was happening around him. Every single thing, from Kafka's calculated coldness to the brat's fear.

And, last but not least, the shock on Stelle's face.

He exhaled, letting the tension drain from his body. Sitting on the edge of the bed with his eyes closed, he couldn't see out the window, but he could hear the wind howling. Somehow, feeling the storm raging made him feel calmer, as if his turmoil was being projected elsewhere. As if everything was under control and he didn't have to worry about anything anymore. An illusion that would crumble at the first strong negative emotion, until he stopped breathing.

He didn't know how long he had been in that position, trapped in his silent battle against the Mara. He heard the movements of the others in the living room and Kafka leaving the house with their hostage, but he paid little attention. He hadn't heard anything since, and he didn't expect that to change. At least not until he had news on how to proceed with their mission.

Instead, his concentration was broken by the sound of light footsteps in the hallway. He hadn't bothered to close the door — now half open to the corridor — so there was nothing to muffle it. So when the footsteps stopped right in front of the door, he noticed it immediately. The room was dark — he hadn't turned on the light, since it gave him a headache — but still, someone was silently peering in.

He didn't have to look to know who it was. The sound of her footsteps had been the very first thing he heard from her, the day he met her right there, on that very planet.

"You can come in if you want."

An awkward movement, the rustle of her clothes somewhere behind him. Then her footsteps crossed the threshold.

"If you want to turn on the light, use the lamp on the nightstand," he advised her. His senses were still too heightened for the ceiling light.

He felt her step towards the bedside table and the soft click of the lamp switch. A moment later, a faint red glow appeared under his eyelids. He felt her move closer to him, and finally, the mattress lowered beside him, accompanied by the faint creaking of the bed frame.

And, finally, her voice.

"Are you okay?"

Blade opened his eyes, giving them time to adjust to the dim light of the lamp. A pair of golden irises twinkled in his direction, bright as a cat's. And they looked at him with concern.

And kindness.

"Yes."

Some of the concern melted away and Stelle offered a relieved smile. Sitting on the edge of the bed, facing him with one knee bent on the mattress, she showed none of the fear he saw earlier. Still, he knew he hadn't imagined it, and the thought kept nagging at him.

"If I frightened you, I'm sorry," he told her. "It wasn't my intention."

He wouldn't have hurt her. Even as he sank into the shadows, he had known that. But she didn't.

Stelle shook her head.

"I'm glad you're all right."

Blade noticed that she didn't deny being scared, but he wasn't surprised. Anyone with a little common sense would have found what happened unpleasant.

"Besides, Nikolai got on my nerves too," she continued, "so I can't imagine what it was like for you. You know, because of the — what was it? — 'heightened emotional threshold'?"

"Right."

Stelle was silent for a few seconds, lost in thought. It was hard to tell if she was thinking about how to continue the conversation or if she was trying to change the subject. He gave no hint in either direction, waiting for her to speak. Or not. If she spoke, he would respond. If she didn't, he would remain silent. If she left, he would let her go. It all depended on her will.

"I can't imagine what it must be like," she finally said, scratching the side of her head. "I try to picture what it might feel like to have your feelings out of proportion, but I don't think I can wrap my head around it. For example, when you're angry, do you feel like you're really, really angry? And when you're sad, do you feel like you're very, very sad?"

It was a rather crude simplification, but not necessarily wrong. Honestly, he wouldn't have been able to explain it any better. He was vaguely aware that his emotions tended to be amplified, but for him, it was just the way it was. Too much time had passed for his understanding of what was normal and what wasn't to still hold. It was only when he felt the shadows approaching that he realized they were out of control. And often it was already too late.

"I suppose so," he finally replied.

Stelle nodded to herself. She stared at him again, with that inquisitive look that had become familiar to him.

It was always like that with her. She got lost in staring at him, as if there was nothing more interesting in the world. It made him uncomfortable. And the worst part was that it wasn't necessarily an unpleasant kind of uncomfortable.

'Well, you are handsome.'

The memory of her answer when he asked her about it flashed through his mind, as well as the way she tilted her head. As if it was completely normal. As if nothing was wrong.

Such a thing to say...

Something twisted inside him and he had to push the thought to the back of his mind. It wasn't worth dwelling on: Stelle was just very direct. She always had been. He doubted that there was an ulterior motive in her statement, and even if there was, it shouldn't matter to him.

Whether she found him pleasant to look at or not was completely irrelevant.

"So, looking at things from another perspective," she continued after a long pause, "if you're happy, you should be very, very happy. Am I wrong?"

It was an interesting observation. In theory, it should be true. If Mara changed the perception of emotions, it should apply to both positive and negative ones. But he couldn't confirm it. Had he ever been happy since he became immortal? He imagined that he must have been before, because he had a concept of what happiness was. But after that?

The more he searched for an answer, the more a black void expanded in his mind. Empty, dark, and frightening. He had never thought about it, and he probably had a good reason not to.

"It should be correct," he replied, just to end the conversation as soon as possible. He didn't like the direction it was taking.

Stelle didn't notice his discomfort. In fact, she lit up as if struck by a sudden revelation.

"So what makes you happy, Blade?"

There it was, the question he hoped she wouldn't ask. One for which he had no answer.

He tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. He could have made something up on the spot, but it would have been a lie. He could have told her that it was none of her business and ended it forcibly, but he didn't want to. Not when she was looking at him with that hopeful, unguarded expression. So in the end, he remained silent. As usual.

"Even a small thing is fine. For example, what's your favorite dish? Or what do you like to do when you're not on some mysterious mission for Elio?"

She encouraged him, undeterred by his silence. It seemed that this information was important to her, but he struggled to understand why. He didn't comprehend why she bothered to ask, nor why she cared so much.

"Are these things supposed to make me happy?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Well, they make me happy. Doing something fun or eating something good reminds you that you're alive."

There was no malice in her answer, but it was enough to solve the puzzle. He couldn't appreciate the little things that made him feel alive if he didn't want to be. But Stelle didn't know that, and he doubted she would be happy to hear it. So he fell silent again, watching the snow swirling outside the window. There was something comforting about knowing that they were sheltered from the storm. At least for now.

"Speaking of hobbies," Stelle continued after a short silence, "there's something I wanted to ask you."

"What is it?"

"Do you collect weapons or something like that?"

Where did she get that?

"No."

"Then what are those?" She pointed to a corner of the room where four swords — his most recent acquisitions — were lined up against the wall. "They don't seem like your style, and I've never seen you use a weapon other than your own. So I was curious."

It was another question he didn't want to answer. Not so much because he could not, but because he knew she would not like the answer. But maybe, he thought, he had to do it for that very reason.

In a way, both he and Kafka and Silver Wolf kept Stelle in a sort of limbo. She knew they were criminals, and perhaps she heard about some of their more famous exploits. However, it had become an unspoken rule that their less orthodox activities should not be mentioned in her presence. The reason was simple: none of them wanted to expose her to the dark side of their organization, albeit for different reasons. Kafka didn't want to be hated by the girl she had taught everything to — the one she considered a sort of little sister. Silver Wolf didn't want to give up the closest thing she had to a friend outside of their group. As for him... well, he wanted to preserve at least a hint of the trust and kindness that defined her.

In theory, their motives could be considered good. The fact that there was no conflict of interest between them and the Astral Express helped, at least for now. But it remained a facade. And he realized that, for Stelle's sake, it would be much fairer if she knew everything. Even if it was something she preferred to ignore. If it meant that she would hate him or never speak to him again, then that was a small price to pay.

"They are not mine," he replied, his gaze fixed on the window.

A moment of silence as she weighed his words. When she spoke again, there was a slight hesitation in her voice, as if she feared the answer.

"Then whose are they?"

Blade stopped watching the falling snow to turn toward her. To see her reaction. To find out what she would think of him afterward.

"They belong to the people I killed on the way here."

The air in the room froze as if the storm outside managed to penetrate the walls. Stelle's expression stiffened, and she stared at him almost without blinking. Her lips parted, searching for something to say, but finding nothing. In the end, the only sound that came out was an expressionless "oh" as her gaze lowered.

Blade thought he was prepared for any eventuality. He didn't think she would throw a fit, but he expected anger or disgust or both. At the very least, he thought she would ask him some questions. But he realized that he was not prepared for her quiet disappointment. Worst of all, there was no trace of reproach in her, as if she wasn't disappointed in him, but in herself for expecting better.

He watched as she turned back to the window without a word, as if hypnotized by the snowflakes. Maybe she was looking for something to say. Maybe she didn't want to talk to him. And he felt a dull, nameless ache.

She was the first person in who knows how long to show him genuine kindness. She never asked for anything in return, never judged him. And now he was forcing her to. No matter how good his intentions were.

"They were bounty hunters," he said, breaking the oppressive silence.

Coward.

Stelle turned to him again. She didn't say anything, but a glimmer of interest had rekindled in her eyes.

"Sometimes the good ones manage to find us. They attacked us when we stopped before Jarilo-VI."

"They attacked you first?"

"Yes."

Coward.

Blade could be many things, but he had never considered himself a weakling. Apparently, he was.

He didn't lie. Those swords belonged to a group of bounty hunters, and it was true that those particular four murders were done in self-defense. But he didn't tell her that out of love for the truth, and he was well aware of that. He did it to soften the blow. Both for her and — most of all — for himself. Because he didn't want her to ever look at him that way again. And when he saw Stelle's expression soften a little, he felt like a hypocrite.

"I see," she said, looking at the swords. "Why did you keep them? Are they some sort of trophy, or...?"

He shook his head.

"They are not trophies. They weren't my prey, and even if they were, mere objects wouldn't mean anything."

He didn't elaborate further. Those swords had a purpose, but it wasn't something he wanted to share right now. Luckily, she didn't try to probe. And since she didn't look disgusted or suspicious, she must have decided to believe him. Yet there was a hint of melancholy in the way she looked at him. Assessing. Weighing. And perhaps coming to a conclusion of which he was unaware.

"It happens a lot, doesn't it?" she finally asked.

"To be attacked by bounty hunters?"

"To kill people."

Even without saying it, she probably already knew the answer. And Blade was no liar.

"Yes."

Every time he was ordered. Every time it was necessary. Every time someone got in his way. And that was as true of him as it was of Kafka and the others.

Stelle turned back to the window, the silence descending like a fog. She was completely lost in thought, her features expressionless, her gaze wandering off into the void. She looked at the snow, but seemed not to see it at all.

Blade was beginning to think she wouldn't speak again when she resumed:

"A friend of mine told me that sometimes you can like a person for all the right reasons, while forgetting why you shouldn't like them."

Her friend, whoever they were, was right. You could admire — or even love — a person for their good qualities, despite any adverse circumstances. Circumstances in which getting close to that person would only cause pain.

"Every time I'm with you — and with Kafka and Silver Wolf — I realize that it's the truth. But I'm a coward. And since the right choice wouldn't get me the result I want, I try to buy time," she said, a small self-deprecating smile playing on her lips.

"What is the result you want?"

He couldn't stop himself from asking. The words slipped out before he could stop them. Perhaps it was his ego taking over. Or maybe — and this sounded unbelievable even to himself — hope.

She looked at him, her expression softening. And there, in the dimness of the room, with the lamp casting soft shadows on her face, she looked more beautiful than ever. More than anything he had ever seen in his long life.

"I want things to stay the way they are. To never change."

Blade's heart trembled and he was forced to look away from her. He couldn't bear her gaze right now. Not with a storm raging inside and outside of him.

"Do you mind if I stay here while we wait for news of Kafka? Since we have to wait anyway, I'd rather not do it alone."

It would have been much wiser for her to stay alone. Infinitely wiser if, at the end of this story, she decided to stay away from them. She was part of Elio's plan, so it was inevitable that they would cross paths with her again. But there would be less pain, and less conflict, by creating some distance now. He knew that he should have pushed her away. It was the most sensible thing to do.

But he was a coward.

"Then stay."

Even without seeing her, he could feel her smile, like a bright ray at the edge of his vision.

"Thank you."

She said nothing more, and the room fell back into silence. Neither of them spoke. It wasn't a heavy, stifling silence. There was simply no need to speak. Sitting side by side, far enough away from each other not to touch, but close enough for him to feel her presence, they waited.

Seconds were hours, minutes stretched into eternity, while the snow showed no sign of stopping and the call didn't come. Blade didn't know how much time had passed, and the darkness beyond the window didn't help him get an idea. It could be the early hours of the night, or it could be almost morning. If it was that late, it might be better for Stelle to get some rest. After all, she was much more worried than he was.

He was wondering if he should suggest it when something warm and soft leaned against him. The sudden contact startled him, and when he turned to look, he saw that Stelle was leaning against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

For a moment he didn't know what to do as an uncomfortable warmth spread in his stomach. Then he heard the soft and slow sound of her breathing and noticed how her body relaxed against his.

She had fallen asleep. The tension and worry must have exhausted her nerves, and she must not be used to these long waits.

Blade relaxed and carefully lifted her from his shoulder, tipping her to the opposite side. He guided her body until she was lying on the mattress. At first, Stelle gave a small protest, but as soon as she rested her head on the pillow, she curled up like a cat and hugged it. Her breathing became quiet again as she settled into a seemingly peaceful sleep.

Without taking his eyes off her, Blade moved closer so he could see her face. The ashen hair fell in unruly curls around her cheeks, the long lashes fluttering slightly as her eyes moved beneath her lids. From time to time, her eyebrows furrowed a few millimeters, only to relax again.

She looked so defenseless when she slept. And even though he knew she was capable of taking care of herself, he couldn't help but think that anyone could hurt her right now. It would be easy to catch her off guard and smother her in her sleep, or beat her with a blunt object while she couldn't defend herself. Just as it would be easy to shatter her trust and destroy her innocence with a few words.

Stelle was no fool. She could be quirky and flighty, but she was also intelligent and perceptive. She was perfectly capable of understanding what was right and what was wrong. But she had little experience and an innate curiosity towards everything. Even things she was supposed to stay away from. And if that wasn't enough, she didn't judge people.

It was something he noticed almost immediately and that day he received further confirmation of that. For her, people and their actions were two separate things. She could despise what he did and want his company at the same time. She could think his actions were evil, but she didn't use them as a measure to determine if he was.

An admirable and generous way of thinking, but also very exploitable.

And now she was there, vulnerable in front of him, without the slightest suspicion that he could harm her. Blade wondered what he would do if Elio told him right then and there that they didn't need her anymore. That he had to get rid of her.

Would he do what he had sworn to do? Would he hurt this innocent girl who had always been kind to him? The girl who judged him for who he was and not for what he did, and who tried to protect him from the monsters in the wardrobe?

Would he follow orders this time, like so many others? After all, he had caused the deaths of so many people. Why should it be different this time?

With a gesture so spontaneous that he barely noticed, he touched her hair, brushing the gray strands away from her cheek. It was soft and smooth, just as he imagined it, and as his fingers brushed her warm skin, she sighed in her sleep, the corners of her lips curving into a faint smile.

A tightness in his chest, accompanied by a metallic taste in his mouth, forced him to put an end to those dark thoughts. It was pointless to ask himself these questions now. The likelihood that Elio would decide to get rid of Stelle was practically non-existent, so why dwell on it? His job now was to protect her and that's what he would do. And he would do it meticulously, just like any other mission.

No one would touch her. No one would harm a hair on her head. Not while he was there.

Chapter Text

"Stelle, wake up."

At the sound of the familiar voice - so calm, beautiful, and deep - Stelle's first reaction was to turn over and go back to sleep. She was so tired, and it felt like she had only fallen asleep a few minutes ago. It seemed only fair that she should be allowed to sleep a little longer. The voice could keep talking if it wanted to, though. It didn't bother her at all. In fact, she found it kind of relaxing.

"Wake up. It's time."

This time the voice was accompanied by a touch on her shoulder. A hand, large and warm. That was okay, too; it could stay there as long as it wanted. 

And then, something shook her so violently that she was launched out of her dream world. If someone had thrown a bucket of water at her, it couldn't have been more traumatic.

She sat up, her head swirling as her brain focused on her surroundings. A half-empty room. Morning light filtering through the window. A suspicious-looking wardrobe. A criminally empty wastebasket. And last but not least, the beautiful man with black hair standing at her bedside.

"You finally woke up."

It took her a moment to remember that she was in the Hunters' safe house, specifically in Blade's room. She remembered staying with him to wait for news from Kafka. At some point, she must have dozed off.

And speaking of Kafka...

"Do we have news?!" she exclaimed, her mind working feverishly to get back on track.

"I received a message from Kafka. The same must be true for you."

Stelle dug into her pocket and anxiously checked her phone. Sure enough, there was a message dated a few minutes before. Opening it, the first thing she saw was a photograph of Kafka in what looked like an interrogation room, sitting cross-legged on the edge of a table. Behind her was a middle-aged man who resembled Nikolai: the blond hair was the same, except for some heavy gray streaks, and the features were similar enough to suggest that the young man would look roughly the same in twenty or thirty years. And he was positively terrified.

Below the photo was a message:

"Our man has talked. Not that I expected anything less, given my brilliant negotiating skills. I'm sending you the coordinates of the Disciples' hideout. The rest is up to you."

As promised, the coordinates were in the next message. And given Kafka's 'powers of persuasion', there was no doubt they were accurate.

"Yes!" she cheered, barely keeping herself from throwing her phone in the air with joy. Had Kafka been there, she would have hugged her. "We got them! Do you think Silver Wolf can track them now that we have accurate information?"

"I already sent her the coordinates before I woke you. It's only a matter of time before--"

A triumphant shout echoed through the halls.

"I GOT YOU, YOU PATHETIC NPCs! NOW YOU WILL FACE MY PLOT ARMOR!"

"...she finds them," Blade concluded, while Stelle chuckled. Finally, things were going their way.

"So, are we going to flush them out?" she asked, jumping from the bed with a vigor one would not expect from someone who had just woken up.

"Of course."

Stelle noticed a spark in Blade's eyes and a determination usually absent from his voice. It seemed that at this point, the matter had become personal for him as well. And though their motivations were undoubtedly different, she was glad. It was nice to know that they were on the same wavelength.

"Okay. I'll inform my comrades right away. Now that we know where they are, Bronya will surely want to mobilize the Guards...". She was already starting to send the coordinates to everyone when she paused. "Unless it's a problem. Given your situation, I mean."

Blade shook his head. "Notify them. The authorities don't know about us yet. Besides, we don't know exactly what to expect. It's better if they are prepared. We will arrive before them anyway. If they are something we can handle, we will have taken care of them before they arrive. If not, we can scout and gather information to cooperate later."

As reasonable as his plan was, he didn't seem to think it would be necessary. There was a confidence in him she had never seen before. He was in his element and seemed to enjoy it.

"I will go see how Silver Wolf is doing. Join me when you are ready," he said and started to leave the room.

Seeing him go, Stelle felt a lump in her throat, and before she could stop herself, she called his name.

"Blade!"

He stopped on the doorstep, waiting, and she felt her courage failing. After last night, she felt as if something was left unresolved between them. But this was the most inappropriate moment to discuss it. So she shook her head and smiled at him.

"...It's nothing. I'll join you in a moment."

Blade gave her a quick glance over his shoulder, his feet hesitating on the threshold for a moment. Then, without further ado, he walked on and disappeared into the hallway.

Alone in the room, Stelle confirmed the coordinates and sent another message to everyone else.

'We found them. These are the coordinates to their hideout. Time to mobilize the Silvermane Guards: we don't know how many there are and what we're up against. Blade and I will scout ahead.'

She made sure to mention his name, knowing that it was unknown to most except for March and Dan Heng. But at least they would understand and adapt accordingly. Especially the latter.

Trying to keep the two men at a safe distance was starting to become stressful. Another detail added to the list of reasons why it would be unwise to continue dealing with the Hunters.

She waited a moment as confirmation messages from her friends began to arrive. Bronya agreed to mobilize the Guards immediately, and March said she would go with them. Dan Heng wrote that he and Seele would go right after them, checking for any secondary access routes to prevent any of the Disciples from escaping.

Very clever, she thought. If they were looking for secondary access, they would follow a different path than Stelle and Blade. That way, they would avoid meeting each other and still all contribute to the mission. Years of practice on how to get away from Blade had certainly paid off.

Having obtained all the information she needed, Stelle put down her phone and hurried out of the room. She found the others in Silver Wolf's room/office - the warmest room in the house, thanks to her portable electric heater. Sitting at her desk in front of one of her laptops, Silver Wolf was apparently sending maps to their phones and explaining Blade how to access them.

"...So you see, all you have to do is click on this icon. Even a fossil like you should have no problem getting it. And if you have any troubles, let Stelle handle it. Above all, don't touch the red button under any circumstances, or you'll lose the data. Got it?"

"I'm not an idiot," he replied, fiddling with his phone.

Silver Wolf raised an eyebrow. "Two words, Blade: CAPS. LOCK."

A brief moment of silence.

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

The hacker threw her arms up in frustration and, looking away from her companion, noticed Stelle peering into the room. She immediately jumped out of her chair and came over to her.

"At last! My savior!" she exclaimed, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her into the room. "I'm sending you maps as well. I had to rely on data from seven hundred years ago to reconstruct the area, but they should be useful as a reference. Please, I beg you, take care of them yourself! I don't trust Blade with these things one bit!"

"I have no problem with technology," he replied.

"No, as long as it's military technology. Cellphones, though..."

Stelle was about to burst out laughing, but Blade's glare forced her to turn it into a cough. She had the feeling that if she laughed at him, she'd have to answer to his sword or something.

"'Anyway!" Silver Wolf dropped back into her chair. "Since the technology here is terrible, I've prepared everything you might need in the most analog way possible. I wish I could monitor you remotely, but the transmissions on this planet are too poor. Assume that once you leave the city, you'll be on your own."

Once she had her companions' approval, Silver Wolf considered herself satisfied. She pushed her chair over to one of her laptops and pulled out two identical USB drives. She handed them to the others without much ceremony.

"One for each of you, in case you need to split up or one gets destroyed."

"What's this for?" Stelle asked, turning the object in her hands. It was a simple plastic rectangle, outdated for most known worlds, but still advanced enough for Belobog.

"Something I've been working on since we got here," she explained. "It's possible that the Lebedevs provided material goods to the Disciples when they helped them settle in. If you find a computer - or anything with a connection - use it. It's horribly outdated, I know, but it's compatible with the kind of technology you'll find here. If things go as I say, something nice might come of it."

She smiled to herself but said nothing more. She seemed to want to keep the tension up, and the other two didn't interfere with her amusement. They knew her well enough to understand that she would only do what she wanted, when she wanted.

The maps finished loading on Stelle's phone and she opened them. They were a representation of the landscape around Belobog before the Eternal Freeze. Aside from the snow, they could prove useful for orientation. After all, as catastrophic as it was, the Eternal Freeze couldn't change the mountains.

"I'll hack the phones of your companions as well," Silver Wolf added, exchanging glances with Stelle. "Then I'll wait here for new instructions from Kafka. If necessary, we'll come to help you. But make sure it's not necessary: it's too cold for me out there."

Of course, in her eyes, staying warm was more important than being useful to the mission. Stelle wasn't particularly surprised or bothered. She knew it was mostly all talk. Blade seemed to share her opinion, for apart from a brief roll of his eyes, he made no comment.

"And that's it." Silver Wolf concluded, turning back to the screen of her laptop. "Now get moving and finish this mission, okay? I can't wait to leave this hellhole of a planet."

At that point, she stopped paying attention to them. As far as she was concerned, the briefing was over.

Blade, used to this attitude, didn't flinch.

"If you're ready, let's go," he simply said. Stelle nodded, and when he left the room, she followed. They were at the doorstep when Silver Wolf's voice was heard again.

"Good luck."

Stelle turned in surprise, but the young hacker hadn't moved. She was still concentrating on her laptop, typing something so fast she could barely hear the keystrokes.

So that's how she wanted to play it, huh? Stelle was convinced that she was pretending to be indifferent. And it was kind of adorable.

"See you later, Silver Wolf!" she said cheerfully before hurrying out of the room to catch up with Blade. Before she left, she thought she heard her speaking again, this time in a whisper not meant for her ears.

"Mission Start!"

The blizzard had subsided. It was still snowing, but the wind had died down, and the flakes fell sparse and slow. There were no significant obstacles to visibility, and the only real difficulty was the cold. Of course, it was not an insignificant problem. Although the temperature of Jarilo-VI had risen a few degrees after the Stellaron Crisis, it was still chilly. Outside the protective barrier of the city walls, it was almost unbearable.

Both Blade and Stelle had taken precautions against the frost and were dressed accordingly. But this didn't stop her from chattering her teeth as they made their way through the snowy expanses. In some places, the snow reached her knees and crept into her shoes, freezing her toes. As a result, her steps became heavy and clumsy. Not surprising, since her trips outside the city had always been short, while the Space Station and the Luofu were artificial environments. Upon reflection, she realized that she had very little experience in extreme environments. 

Blade, on the other hand, moved forward as if he had spent most of his life exploring snowy landscapes. In fact, Stelle wondered if he had been a mountain goat in a previous life. Keeping up with him was a challenge, and Stelle managed it through sheer stubbornness: she didn't want him to see her as a burden. Still, she hoped to reach their destination quickly. She had no idea when fatigue would overtake her.

As she struggled to keep up, she wondered how Blade had gained so much experience in such traverses. Did the Hunters have to perform missions in hostile places? Most likely, she imagined. Besides, Blade was probably very old. He must have seen all kinds of situations in his long life.

But how old was he, exactly? It was impossible to tell from the way he looked, since he still had the appearance of a young man. Yet, he had to be at least a few centuries old. As far as she knew, the Mara began to manifest when one approached a thousand years.

Suddenly, she felt overwhelmed. She couldn't even imagine living that long. Sure, she had many acquaintances in the Xianzhou Alliance, and she knew that many of them had lived for centuries. But, when they told her that the citizens of the Alliance were immortal, she had just thought, "Hey, cool!" and taken it for granted. Now that she started to think about it, it was something huge. There was a tremendous rift between her meager experiences and the amount of memories, events, and situations Blade must have faced.

Especially compared to a recently created artificial human.

" Where are we?"

Blade had stopped, pulling her out of her thoughts. Stelle pulled out her phone, opened the map and checked the coordinates. The signal was poor outside the city, but fortunately, Silver Wolf's app worked offline.

She looked up from the screen to compare the image with her surroundings. The map showed a valley at the foot of a mountain, just below an overhanging ledge. They were at the top of said ledge, a snow-covered valley below them. And the coordinates pointed exactly to...

"There."

She gestured to the mountain before them, its snow-capped peak jutting like a fang against the sky. Blade studied it, shielding his eyes from the snow's glare.

"Inside or on top of the mountain?"

"I don't know. The coordinates just show the mountain."

Stelle had hoped they would notice something once they arrived: an entrance or some sign that the area was inhabited. It was in vain. There was nothing around them, other than snow and ice. Were the coordinates wrong? Had Vasily lied?

...No, it was impossible. Kafka had taken care of everything. It was impossible to lie under the effect of her Spirit Whisper. There were only two possibilities: either Vasily didn't know that the information was wrong, or it wasn't, and the Disciples were there somewhere.

"They must be inside the mountain," Blade said.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Process of elimination. The Disciples continued to move back and forth through the city. Coming down from the mountain every time would be impractical. "

That made sense. Stelle agreed and continued to scan the valley below them, looking for a clue. There was nothing.

"So how do we get to them? Do you have any ideas?"

Blade didn't answer, continuing to scan the valley as if he hadn't heard her. He was deep in thought and she didn't interrupt him. If he had something on his mind, it was better to let him cook. So she remained silent, wrapping the heavy woolen scarf around her neck to shield herself from the cold.

"The planet's temperature has risen recently," he finally said.

It wasn't a question, but Stelle answered anyway.

"Yes, by a few degrees. Why?"

Again he didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out an unusual pistol with a very short barrel. He loaded it with a cylindrical projectile, unlike anything she had seen before. And though Stelle had little experience with firearms, this one didn't seem to be designed to hurt or kill.

"What is it?"

"A flare gun. Silver Wolf gave it to me before you arrived. It's used to signal your position in case you get lost."

"But we're not lost."

Blade looked at her sternly, but said nothing. Instead, he pushed her back a few steps with his arm. As soon as he thought she was far enough away, he aimed the gun at the mountain in front of them and fired. A bright flare shot out of the weapon, leaving a trail of fire before crashing into a snowy outcropping on the side of the mountain. Then it disappeared.

"What are you doing?" she asked, confused. From her perspective, it didn't make much sense. A flare that small wouldn't have any effect on the mountain. She doubted that even a much larger one would do anything.

He didn't waste time explaining. Instead, he reloaded the pistol and, after a moment's thought, fired again. Another flare flew towards the same protrusion, a few meters away from the first. It, too, hit the target and disappeared.

At this point, Stelle was tired of not understanding.

"Can you tell me what--?" she began, but before she could finish the sentence, a sharp sound echoed through the valley. It resembled the breaking of a branch, only louder. Immediately, an ominous rumble echoed around them, as a large block of snow detached itself from the side of the mountain and fell on a slope nearby. Due to the impact, the fresh snow on the incline started moving, in slow ripples at first. Then, it cascaded downhill.

Blade grabbed Stelle's arm and pulled her to the opposite side of their ledge, as a torrent of snow rushed toward them. It flooded the valley below and came dangerously close to where they were standing moments before. It was like an earthquake. The ground shook, the deafening noise filled their ears, and for a moment it seemed that something terrible might happen.

Then, just like an earthquake, everything ended in a matter of seconds. The snowslide wasn't big to begin with, and after the initial surge, it stopped when it reached the flat ground, leaving a fresh layer of snow on the surface. A wall that blocked the path away from Belobog.

Stelle stood wide-eyed, stunned by what she had witnessed.

"You caused an avalanche!"

"Yes." Blade was calm, seemingly unaware of how reckless what he had done was.

"It could have swept us away!"

"It was too small to reach us."

His tone was measured, as if he knew exactly what he was talking about. But to her, the new wall of snow looked absolutely intimidating.

"How can you be sure?"

"There wasn't enough snow on the slope."

The fact that his answers were so calm made her even more nervous.

"How? Why?" she gasped, looking at the remnants of the avalanche, then back at him.

A slight hint of impatience appeared at the corners of Blade's mouth.

"As for the 'how', the planet's temperature rose. That made the snow layers unstable. The area I hit was already at risk; it would have avalanched on its own eventually. I just gave it a push. As for the 'why'..."

He stopped before finishing the sentence and crouched behind a rock at the edge of the cliff. Stelle followed, and as they looked down into the valley, they noticed movement. Something was happening, not far from where they were. They heard a metallic creaking and part of the rock retreated, revealing a tunnel. Two figures in dark, heavy clothing emerged from it, covered to protect themselves from the biting cold. Both armed with rifles, they scanned their surroundings. One of them noticed the remains of the avalanche and said something unintelligible to the other. Both turned in that direction and examined the damage caused by the snowslide.

"That's the entrance!" Stelle whispered, delighted. "Blade, you are an evil genius!"

It was then that she understood his motives. The avalanche caused enough confusion and noise that the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus sent someone to check it out. So they found the entrance within minutes, instead of wasting time searching for it. Besides, the snow now blocked a potential escape route. It was a drastic and risky plan, but it worked.

Blade focused on the entrance, his jaw clenched in concentration.

"They probably have surveillance equipment," he said in a low voice. "We can go now and catch them off guard, but if we get closer, they'll see us."

"So we should expect resistance, along with all the other inconveniences."

Stelle grimaced. It seemed that a stealth mission was not feasible.

"Fine. Let's go," she finally decided. "The hostages are our priority, of course."

Blade didn't argue and tried to proceed, but Stelle grabbed his sleeve.

"Oh, and one more thing!"

He stopped, despite his obvious impatience, and she continued.

"How do you know how to start an avalanche?"

"I've had to do it before."

He didn't elaborate, and Stelle realized it would be better not to go into the specifics. Instead, she asked, "And could you tell me how it's done?"

Blade immediately became suspicious. "Why would you want to know that?"

"For future reference!" she replied with a big excited smile, complete with stars in her eyes. To which he answered with the inevitable Judgemental Glare of Doom.

"You don't." 

He freed his sleeve from her grasp. A moment later, he was already slinking down the slope, not bothering to check if she was following or not.

"Spoilsport" Stelle grumbled in disappointment. But she followed him immediately anyway.

The two of them descended the slope, avoiding the line of sight of the two Disciples until they reached a group of rocks not far from the entrance. From that position, the sentinels' words became understandable.

"I told you that ledge didn't bode well," said the first, a man, judging by his voice. "Good thing the avalanche didn't hit us. It could've trapped us inside!"

"Afraid of doing a bit of digging?" the second figure, a woman, teased him. The man made a mocking sound.

"Nah. I'm more afraid of what the Belobog people will do to us if they find us. Qin Jian must be crazy to have us kidnap all those people so quickly."

"Shut up! Doubting Qin Jian is not allowed!" his companion silenced him. "He was chosen by Dan Shu. He will soon be the new 'Master Primus'."

"'Yeah, I know, I know," the other sighed. "It's just that I don't like the whole thing. When the earth shook, I thought the Silvermane Guards were surrounding us! And they only sent the two of us to check it out."

"Well, it wasn't a siege after all, so you can relax. Let's go report this. Someone has to know what happened."

The two turned back toward their hideout. Blade and Stelle exchanged glances. There was no need for further communication; they both had the same idea.

As soon as the Disciples were close enough, they jumped out from behind the rocks. Caught off guard, the man tried to raise his rifle and the woman tried to shout a warning. They weren't quick enough: the first was knocked out by a blow from the flat of Blade's sword, and the second from a strike to the head from Stelle's bat. Both fell to the ground, unconscious but otherwise unharmed.

As soon as they touched the ground, Blade kicked them in the side to make sure they were truly incapacitated. When they didn't move, he commanded, "Check the entrance."

Stelle didn't need to be told twice. She leaped towards the door in the mountain. The hideout of the Disciples was a pre-existing cave complex, fortified and adapted by its new inhabitants. The door was armored, and made of metal. Its front was covered with mirror-like panels and small holographic projectors, embedded in the rock on either side. A play of reflections and projections made the door difficult to identify unless one looked closely. Of course, if someone approached, it would be easy to notice. In this case, though, there was another surprise. Upon closer inspection, Stelle noticed two holes on either side of the door, camouflaged among the rocks. In them, she saw the reflection of what were unmistakably two cameras.

Without a second thought, she delivered two well-aimed blows with her bat, shattering the lenses. It was possible that someone had already noticed them, but at least they wouldn't be able to see anything from there anymore.

With her reconnaissance done, she turned to see that Blade had already dragged the two guards into the middle of the snowy path. He used their own scarves as makeshift ropes to bind their hands and feet, immobilizing them. Against the pristine snow, their dark figures stood out like a spot of ink on a clean sheet. If their allies happened to pass by, they would notice them immediately.

"I broke the cameras," she informed him. "If we're lucky, they didn't see us."

"Good."

Blade took a step back, looked at his work for a moment, then turned away from the bound Disciples. Leaving them unconscious in those temperatures could kill them, but he obviously didn't care. And as much as Stelle was inclined to avoid killing, the well-being of the victims was more important than that of the perpetrators. Especially when time was against them.

"Stay alert," he warned her, standing next to the door.

She nodded, keeping her eyes on their destination to quell a hint of nervousness. They were about to enter the belly of the beast, and for all they knew there could be hundreds of Disciples inside. From what Stelle heard when she infiltrated the organization, their total number hovered around the tens of thousands. Of course, she doubted there were that many on Belobog, but the fact remained that they didn't know how big this particular cell was.

"Okay. I'm ready," she finally said and took a deep breath.

Blade stepped inside first, crossing the doorway. She followed, and the two ventured into the depths of the mountain.

As they progressed, moving away from the cone of light from the entrance, the tunnel became darker and narrower. Electric lights were placed at regular intervals along the walls, but their light was dim, barely enough to see where they were going. Probably a generator supplemented the power needs of the refuge, and dim lights used less energy. It was plausible, and having some shadows to hide them was also to their advantage. Still, Stelle had to admit that she would have preferred a little more light. In the silence of the cave, the faint sound of their footsteps echoed, and the shadows painted eerie patterns on the walls. It was like being in a horror story.

Without thinking, she grabbed Blade's sleeve. When he felt her grip, he didn't fight it. Instead, he walked on as if nothing had happened, the sword in his right hand, and his left resting on the wall. In fact, she noticed, he hadn't taken it off there since they entered.

"Why do you keep your hand on the wall?" she asked in a very low whisper so as not to alert any potential eavesdroppers.

"So we do not get lost," he replied briefly, which only caused confusion. So he explained. "If you keep following the same wall, it's impossible to get lost even in a maze. No matter how long it takes, sooner or later you'll find your way back to the exit.

Stelle hummed. That was good to know. She mentally made a note not to forget it. In fact, she was sure that Blade, with his experience as a Stellaron Hunter, knew many such useful tricks. She could learn a lot by working closely with him.

...Not that it was possible, of course. Or even plausible.

"Are you nervous?"

Her hesitation must have been obvious, causing him to ask the question. She shook her head and quickly changed the subject.

"Do you think what those two Disciples said is true? That the leader of this group - Qin Jian, or whatever his name is - was really chosen by Dan Shu to be the next 'Master Primus'?"

"Did she ever mention him?"

"No, but I didn't know her for very long."

"Then I wouldn't know. It could be true, or he could have said it to increase his influence. Maybe he wants the position for himself, and this is just a way to legitimize his claim."

"If it's true and we manage to stop him, it would be a great victory!" she replied with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

"If it's not, we'll be rid of another Sanctus Medicus cell. Which is fine with me."

She saw him clench his jaw, and couldn't help herself.

"You really don't like them."

"No. Should I?" he replied coldly.

"No. I don't like them either. Messed with too many people. Passed too many Moral Event Horizons right in front of my eyes. Tried to hurt my friends. You know how it goes."

At that point, the conversation died down, and neither of them said anything more, concentrating one hundred percent on the mission at hand. They didn't have an exact map of the hideout, so they stuck to following the wall to see where it would lead them. Fortunately, the cave complex wasn't a maze. This was an advantage for the Disciples, as getting lost in their own base would be counterproductive. But it was also an advantage for Blade and Stelle: the tunnels were long, but they all seemed to lead in roughly the same direction.

No one tried to stop them, so maybe they were really lucky and their entrance had gone unnoticed. Or maybe they were walking into a trap. Either way, they would find out soon enough.

The tunnel they entered began to widen, opening into an inner hall. Blade and Stelle separated, flattening themselves on either side of the passageway to observe the interior.

The lights on the walls were brighter, showing a spacious area with several other tunnels branching off. Along the sides of the room were tables, chairs and a metallic control panel, indicating the usual presence of 'personnel'. But right now there was no one. Or at least none of the Disciples. Along the back wall were a series of iron cages, each holding two or three people. They all seemed to be residents of Belobog, and the murmur of their voices was the only real sound in the area.

It had to be an important place if they were holding prisoners there. But why was no one around? Stelle looked at Blade, who was scanning the various exits on the sides of the room, as if he expected something or someone to appear at any moment. He was uncomfortable with the situation as well. But when he turned to her, he motioned for her to continue. At that point, turning back wasn't an option.

As they entered the room, the people in the cages stirred. Some looked at them curiously, but others recoiled in panic, pressing themselves against the backs of their cells.

"Please, don't hurt us!" pleaded an elderly, frail-looking man, stretching out his bony fingers in a pleading gesture. "We just want to go home!"

"Don't be afraid. We're not here to hurt you. We want to help you," Stelle reassured them, raising her hands in the air to appear as harmless as possible.

At first, the prisoners didn't believe her. Most seemed suspicious and frightened, backing away as the two tried to approach. Then another voice rose from the crowd.

"Hey, I've seen that girl before! She was at the camp with little Clara, some time ago!"

It was a woman in her forties, holding a little girl no more than eight years old. Her face was unfamiliar, but her intervention was welcome, as it helped to calm the other prisoners. The fear subsided as they crowded around the bars, hopeful.

Stelle approached the woman, while Blade moved from one cage to another, counting the people inside.

"Yes, Clara is my friend. I'm Stelle and my companion is Blade. We've come to set you free."

The prisoner breathed a sigh of relief.

"May the Amber Lord bless you! I'm Lena, and this is my daughter Anya. We were kidnapped and brought here a few days ago when we strayed from the camp. The others were already here."

So Lena and her child were the latest victims.

"Are you all part of the group of Vagrants who live in the Robot Camp?" Stelle asked.

"Most of us. There are a few people from Boulder Town, but the majority are from the Camp," she explained. "People started disappearing a while ago, one by one. At first, we thought it was an accident: the mining area is dangerous, after all. But it seems we were wrong."

She paused, while little Anya peeked out from behind her mother's skirt, watching Stelle with inquisitive eyes. Meanwhile, Blade had finished his reconnaissance and returned to her.

"I counted twenty-three prisoners. The number matches our information."

"Good. Svarog and Clara will be pleased."

At least it seemed that everyone was safe. At first glance, at least. Considering the methods of the Disciples, there was something else to verify.

"Did they do anything to you while you were here? Tried to make you take pills or something?"

Lena shook her head, but the question didn't seem to confuse or surprise her.

"No. Not to us."

A pang of panic seized Stelle's throat, and she shot a frightened look at Blade. He didn't flinch, but the fingers gripping the sword tightened.

"There were other people here when Anya and I arrived. I'm sorry, but I have no idea how much time has passed. It's hard to keep track here. A few days ago, I think," Lena explained. "There were five people who were taken before us. After we arrived, they brought pills with the food and made them take them. They said that if they swallowed them without making a fuss, they would be released. Then they took them away."

"Any idea where?"

The woman shook her head. "No, I'm sorry."

She had come prepared, knowing that she probably wouldn't be able to save everyone. She knew that, but it wasn't easy to digest. And even though she couldn't do anything about it, even though it happened before they even arrived in Belobog, she couldn't help but feel disgusted.

"Stelle."

Blade's voice brought her back, and when she looked up, he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her a few steps away, out of earshot of the prisoners.

"We can't be sure these people aren't affected as well," he whispered, leaning in so she could hear him better.

She frowned. "I don't think they were lying."

"Neither do I. But for all we know, they could have emptied the pills into their food, like they tried to do with your friend. They could be affected without knowing it. If they are, and we release them, they would be a danger to anyone near them."

She hated having to think about it, but unfortunately, his reasoning made sense. She knew very well what Mara could do, and Blade knew it even better than she did.

"We can't leave them here anyway," she decided after a moment's thought. "We'll get them out. Then I'll explain the situation to Bronya and suggest that they be quarantined for a few days. They're a short-life species: if they're affected, we'll notice."

"If that's what you want," was his laconic reply, and Stelle responded with a grateful smile. If he had found her idea unreasonable, he would have rejected it. She could take it as a sign of approval.

With his support secured, Stelle turned her attention back to the cages. Upon initial examination, they appeared to be sealed with an electronic lock that was remotely controlled. There was no way to open them manually.

"Okay, we'll get you out in a moment," she said, and her announcement was met with sighs of relief and exclamations of joy. "Did anyone see your captors open the cages?"

"One of them fiddled with that computer over there. I don't know if there's a specific procedure," Lena replied, pointing to the console on the other side of the room.

Well, these weren't exact instructions, but at least they knew that the opening mechanism was in the room. Stelle walked purposefully toward the console, but before she reached the center of the room, Blade grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. 

One look was enough to understand that something was wrong. And the moment she began to pay attention to her surroundings, she knew what had disturbed him.

Footsteps, all around them. 

In an instant, the two were shoulder to shoulder, as groups of armed people burst out of each of the tunnels. Or rather, what had once been people. 

The humanoid figures were clad in metal armor, their faces covered by helmets. From every opening in their suits, brown and gold branches protruded like macabre tendrils.

While aboard the Luofu, during the events leading up to the battle against Phantylia, Stelle encountered many Mara-struck enemies. Most of them were Alliance soldiers, Cloud Knights driven mad by the affliction. But the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus had their own personal branch of horrors. 

None of these 'soldiers' were mad or out of control. They were disciplined and calm, moving in an organized fashion. Some of them - the Ballistarius armed with cannon-like weapons - stayed in the rear, while others - the Shape Shifters in heavy armor - moved forward, large shields ready to protect them. There could be as many as twenty of them, all aiming their weapons at the two, while the prisoners huddled in the farthest corners of their cells.

They were expecting a trap, but this was not a pleasant situation.

"And here are our intruders! Welcome to our humble abode."

The speaker, well protected behind the rows of soldiers, was a man with black hair, wrapped in a warm fur cloak. Stelle would not have called him charismatic: he seemed young, but his appearance was ordinary, anonymous. His most striking features were a short, pointed beard and the air of self-confidence one would expect from the villain of a bad movie. Even his greeting seemed copied from one of those.

He wasn't the kind of person she'd imagined as the leader of a cult. In fact, when she thought back to the charismatic and cunning Dan Shu, he seemed anything but the person she would choose to replace her.

"Qin Jian, I presume?" she ventured cautiously, and the man crossed his arms over his chest.

"I see you've done your homework. And..." he paused, examining the 'intruders' from head to toe. "I see you're familiar faces, too. One is a famous criminal, and the other is the Nameless who defeated our honorable Master Primus, Dan Shu. You're both quite a prize. A chance to avenge our leader and collect a nice bounty. Dead or alive, was it?"

The question, directed at Blade, fell on deaf ears. The Hunter wasn't even listening, focusing instead on the enemies around them. Qin Jian didn't like that. With a casual gesture, he gave an order to one of his Ballistarius. It fired a shot right in front of his feet.

This caught his attention.

"I will remember you," was all he said, his voice so deep that it seemed to come straight from the grave. The Disciples' Leader paled and took half a step back. Stelle couldn't blame him. Blade could be terrifying. She knew him well enough to realize that he wasn't always like that, but the same couldn't be said for others.

Emboldened by his advantageous position, however, Qin Jian recovered and gave them a condescending smile.

"You will be pleased to know that your interference in our affairs has caused some complications in our plans. Congratulations."

"Your high-ranking allies have been captured, and the authorities know what you intend to do. I wouldn't call it 'some complications'," Stelle replied sarcastically, while she assessed the situation. All exits were blocked by the Disciples, but even if there had been a way out, leaving the prisoners wasn't a viable option. Now that all the cards were on the table, who knew what would happen to them if they abandoned them?

"You're not wrong," Qin Jian admitted diplomatically, stroking his pointed beard. "With our presence revealed and the Lebedevs compromised, I admit that the climate on this planet has become a bit too 'chilly' for us. Forgive the bad pun, miss."

"It was bad indeed. And I assure you, I have a rather extensive repertoire of bad jokes to compare it to."

The other smiled at her, but continued as if she hadn't spoken at all.

"So we'll leave Jarilo-VI and Belobog alone. Of course, the hostages will come with us. We have a noble use for them."

So that was the plan now? Get as much 'cannon fodder' as possible, and run away with them as soon as their allies couldn't protect them anymore? Then start over elsewhere?

"And let you go and cause the same mayhem on another planet? No way." 

Stelle held out her hand, and Alisa Rand's Lance materialized between her fingers, flames licking the burning steel. At her side, Blade raised his sword in a defensive stance.

"I'm sorry you don't agree, but it's irrelevant since none of you will leave here alive." Qin Jian sighed dramatically, and turned around, heading towards the exit. Before he left, he barked an order to his soldiers. "Get rid of them!"

As their leader retreated from the field, the Ballistarius immediately sprang into action, their cannons trained on the pair.

"Blade, behind me!"

At her companion's warning, Blade stepped back and moved behind her. Stelle planted the Lance in the ground, flames swirling around it as a protective barrier enveloped them. And in the span of a second, the cannon shots hit them head-on as dirt and crushed rock rose in a dusty cloud around them.

An eerie silence fell over the room, broken only by the surprised exclamations of the prisoners. They stared toward the center of the room as the Disciples lowered their weapons, convinced they had accomplished their mission.

But when the dust settled, the figures of the two reappeared, completely unharmed. Stelle lifted the Lance from the ground and let its tip graze the crushed rock at their feet. The impact had been violent enough to create a crater of debris, but it was nothing compared to what she had to endure from Cocolia. The Lance of the Supreme Guardian had protected her - and thus Belobog - once again. A fitting conclusion.

"Stelle," Blade said, leaving his position behind her to stand at her side.

"Yes?"

"Does this count as self-defense?"

Oh, right. The rules. 

She raised the Lance with both hands, flames swirling around it.

"Yup. They attacked us first, didn't they?"

She gave him a playful look, and Blade responded with a fierce smile, all teeth and no mercy. His eyes lit up in a way she had never seen before, his stoic composure replaced by a confidence that bordered on arrogance. He was strong and he knew it. It would be a massacre and he would relish it. Strangely, Stelle realized that she liked seeing him like this. His confidence fueled hers, the adrenaline coursing through her veins made her feel powerful. There was no way they could lose, no matter how many enemies they faced.

The Ballistarius reloaded their cannons. The Shape Shifters raised their shields. 

Stelle tightened her grip on the handle of the Lance. Blade stroked his sword, the black steel glowing golden with his touch.

"SAMURAI and BARBARIANNN back in action?" she offered with a grin, keeping her eyes on the enemy. Blade responded with a barely discernible grunt, but she liked to think that, all things considered, he enjoyed their teamwork as much as she did.

The Shape Shifters advanced first from all sides, defended by their shields like an impenetrable legion. The two waited, letting the enemy come to them. Stelle watched out of the corner of her eye as the first group - the closest - approached Blade, the tips of their spears closing in around him.

Two meters.

One meter.

A few centimeters.

Just before they could touch him, a flash cut through the air. The golden glow of Blade's sword struck the enemies, fast and lingering like a gust of wind. The wooden lances shattered, the shields splintered, the wooden legionaries faltered. And as the second blow fell upon them, three disciples fell, their torsos torn asunder.

A breach had opened in their ranks.

Stelle took it as a signal. Surrounded by flames like a comet, she dashed toward the second group of Shape Shifters. She felt their spears try to strike her, but their tips shattered against the invisible barrier surrounding her body. Shields shattered under the assault, wooden protrusions catching fire amid cries of pain and panic. 

The nearest Ballistarius fired in her direction, but the barrage of bullets was intercepted by her barrier, causing only minor discomfort.

"I'm tired of you already," she growled. After piercing a Shape Shifter who attempted to strike her from behind, she sent a gust of flames their way, incapacitating them in an instant.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, she glanced at Blade. She turned in time to see him dodge a barrage of bullets with a backflip, using the momentum of the landing to impale the nearest Shape Shifter. Three enemies tried to attack him from the side, but he easily deflected them. Three sword strikes - three flashes of red and gold - and the enemies were on the ground.

Agile and meticulous. Powerful and graceful. A deadly combination that almost made her feel sorry for the enemies. She could have watched for hours, but at that moment, a Shape Shifter rose from the ground, forcing her to deal with it. And as they took down one enemy after another - the battle turning in their favor - the two partners found themselves back to back in the center of the room.

"A Lance, huh?" he said, his breathing perfectly controlled despite the physical exertion.

"What do you think? I'm doing pretty well, am I not?"

At her excited smile, Blade's gaze settled on her, still fired with the heat of battle.  Stelle was forced to acknowledge once again how attractive he was.

"Not bad," he finally said, and she felt her face flush with pride. Coming from him, it was a huge compliment.

A new barrage of bullets forced them to separate again and return to the battle. Although the enemies were not at their level, they were difficult to take down. The Mara allowed them to get back up even when wounded, and in the frenzy of battle, it was hard to make sure that the opponent they had defeated was dead. Bit by bit, though, the two managed to decimate them.

Stelle had just emerged victorious from a battle against two Shape Shifters, when she saw the last surviving Ballistarius fire a shot in Blade's direction. But, the Disciple was injured after being knocked down several times. As it fired, the cannon slipped, sending the bullet flying toward the cages. She immediately sprinted in that direction, trying to get there before the bullet and block it with her Lance. But it was a futile effort: it went straight for the first cage, where the woman who helped them and her daughter were.

The two screamed, and Lena hugged little Anya, trying to shield her. Alerted by the scream, Blade - who had just taken down the last Shape Shifter - turned in that direction. Seeing the bullet coming, he ran toward it as well. In one leap, he was in front of it. There was no time to try to stop it or deflect it: he took the hit head-on and was slammed backward against the cage bars.

With a chill settling in her stomach, Stelle instinctively rushed toward him. In the next instant, however, Blade straightened up. He had been hit on the left shoulder, where the torn coat revealed a large bleeding gash. It must have hurt terribly, but he ignored the wound as if it didn't exist.

"Too little...," he said, a hint of frustration in his voice. Then he leapt at the Ballistarius. A single sword strike, a glimmer of gold, and the enemy fell to the ground, defeated.

Every opponent had been vanquished. The battle was won.

The cave fell silent as Blade sheathed his sword. Then the joyous exclamations of the prisoners filled the air, accompanied by Lena's relieved sobs.

Stelle ran to him, her heart still pounding in her chest. She knew he couldn't die, but when she'd seen the bullet hit him directly, she had to admit it was frightening.

"Are you okay?" she asked, still short of breath from the prolonged battle.

Blade looked down at his wounded shoulder and nodded.

"It's nothing."

Ignoring the reassurance, she approached him, standing on tiptoe to get a better look. It might have indeed been nothing for him: the wound hadn't hit anything vital. It was surely painful but, when Stelle examined it closely, she saw that it was already starting to heal.

"I'll never get used to this," she muttered. There was no denying that his ability to regenerate came in handy, but it was both impressive and unsettling.

Blade flinched away from her, shifting his scarf to hide the wound.

"Take care of the prisoners. I'll make sure that..."

He didn't finish the sentence, as hurried footsteps in one of the corridors drew their attention. In an instant, their weapons were at the ready again as four Ballistarius burst into the room.

"Will these things ever end?" Stelle growled, frustrated.

Then she realized. Those Ballistarius weren't reinforcements coming to attack them. Their movements were too hasty, too uncoordinated for that. They were fleeing. And when the sound of a burst of gunfire echoed through the air, the reason became clear.

The Disciples fell to the ground, riddled with bullets, and behind them appeared the slender, elegant figure of a woman, an Uzi in one hand and a katana in the other.

Blade and Stelle lowered their weapons as Kafka entered the room, kicking the bodies of the newly slain enemies as she passed.

"Hello everyone. Sorry for the delay. I hope I didn't miss all the fun."

"Kafka, what are you doing here? You almost gave me a heart attack!" Stelle complained, pressing a hand to her chest as the Lance disappeared.

"I came to help, of course. I know you're skilled, but dealing with unknown numbers is still a challenge. I couldn't just sit around, could I?" she replied. "Not that you needed it, apparently."

She looked around the battlefield, littered with the lifeless bodies of their opponents.

Stelle offered a smile. Kafka's sudden appearance always left her with conflicting feelings, but this time, she was genuinely happy to see her.

"Well, thank you. An extra ally is always welcome."

Blade, no stranger to Kafka's antics, acknowledged her explanation with a nod and reverted to professional mode.

"I will make sure the enemies are dead."

Indeed, the last thing they wanted was to be attacked while the prisoners were vulnerable.

"Agreed. Then we'll take care of these people. Alright, Stelle?"

Stelle responded affirmatively, and while Blade made the rounds of the room, the two women made their way to the console. During the battle, they made sure to keep the fighting as far away from it as possible, so it had remained intact. 

With Kafka watching over her shoulder, Stelle booted up the computer. The graphical interface came up immediately, outdated but not too difficult to navigate. She found controls for a surveillance system, various fortified doors in the facility, prisoner cages, and a communications system. But when she tried to activate them, they didn't respond: each of them required a confirmation code. A code they didn't have.

...Maybe it was time to use Silver Wolf's flash drive. She said to use it if they found an online computer system, and if that computer was able to communicate, it probably met the requirements. Rummaging in her pocket, she was relieved to find that the flash drive hadn't been lost or damaged in the fight. She plugged it into the computer and a loading screen started immediately, with a small bar filling up. They had no choice but to wait for it to finish and see what would happen.

"It seems that you and Bladie are still working well together," Kafka said. Her gaze drifted to her colleague, as he stabbed a Shape Shifter who wasn't dead enough. "If you ever decide to ditch the Express and join us, we might end up fighting over him as a partner."

"Not going to happen," Stelle replied immediately, an uncomfortable feeling settling in her stomach. She thought back to the bag in Blade's closet and how quickly he identified it as Kafka's. She remembered their good chemistry and the trust he seemed to have in her, and the feeling grew stronger.

She didn't want to feel this way. It was awful. So she changed the subject.

"By the way, what's going on out there?"

"From what I could see, there's a lot of movement," Kafka replied, seemingly unaware of her discomfort. "The Disciples - those who aren't already covered in bark, I mean - have been trying to evacuate through an entrance on the other side of the mountain, but they've been intercepted. Specifically, by a group of people led by a woman in medical garb, a cute girl with a scythe, and a pretty boy with a spear."

"Wildfire!"

"I suppose so. As for the front entrance you came through, I saw some of the Disciples - both those with bark and those without - trying to get away from there. But I don't think they'll get very far. The way out of Belobog was blocked by a providential avalanche. Bladie's work, I presume."

"Yes."

Kafka sighed loudly.

"I thought so. That man has the subtlety of a raging Arumaton. You know, when we recruited him, I had half a mind to train him as a spy. With his pretty face, he had great potential. Instead, he is not only incapable of lying, but he scares everyone he meets and solves every problem with a sword. Do you see what I have to deal with?"

She shook her head dramatically, while Blade, who overheard everything, gave her a disapproving look. Stelle had to push back the annoying knot in her stomach at their clear familiarity.

"And what about the way back to Belobog?" she asked, changing the subject again.

"Oh, they won't get far from there. The Silvermane Guards were already on their way when I arrived. The Captain, the Supreme Guardian, and your friend March are leading the group. As far as I know, they may already be laying siege to the front entrance."

In a way, it was done. The operations of the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus on Belobog were practically over. If they could capture their leader and free all the hostages, it would be a total victory.

Bolstered by the excitement of success, Stelle glanced back at the computer screen just as the loading bar filled completely. The screen went black as lines of code began to scroll from top to bottom. After only a few seconds, the doors to the prisoners' cages swung open with a metallic clang.

After an initial moment of confusion, the people from Belobog poured out of their prisons, surrounding them with tears of joy and profuse thanks. Stelle found herself pulled in all directions, with people calling her a hero and some even comparing her to Alisa Rand herself. Even Kafka received several enthusiastic handshakes. Only Blade managed to escape the bulk of the effusions. Not because the prisoners weren't grateful, but because—true to form—his demeanor managed to intimidate them all. So, while people approached and offered polite thanks, they didn't try to jump him.

At least until a certain little girl broke away from the group and clung to his legs in an enthusiastic hug. Blade didn't move, petrified, while little Anya looked up at him adoringly.

"Are you a superhero, sir?"

"What?"

"A superhero! When that evil monster tried to hurt us, you jumped right in front of it! And it couldn't even hurt you!"

His eyes widened as he stood there, unable to push the girl away or accept her words. It was clear that he had never looked at it from that perspective.

"Well, well!" Kafka chuckled. "This is unexpected! Bladie has found an admirer!"

She would definitely remember this scene and use it to tease him for the rest of his days.

It was unexpected. But was it really so strange? No one in Belobog knew about the Stellaron Hunters, and from what those people had seen, he had worked to save them. Apart from a somewhat unsociable attitude, there was nothing to prevent the girl from thinking he was a hero. And Stelle wasn't going to let him destroy her dreams.

"I'm not a..." he started, but she slipped away from her admirers, darted between them, and cut him off before he could finish the sentence.

"Exactly! He's a superhero!"

Her interjection earned her a scowl from Blade, but in return, she got a big smile from Anya. And thankfully, Lena arrived to take control of her daughter before he could contradict her.

"Anya, don't bother these good people. They are blessed by the Aeons," she said gently, taking the girl's hand and giving them both a grateful look. "Thank you so much. I don't think I could ever repay you for what you've done for us."

"Don't worry. We just did the right thing. After all, we are superheroes, aren't we?"

She winked at little Anya, who giggled in response.

At that moment, Kafka stepped forward between two wings of the crowd, clapping her hands to get everyone's attention.

"I suppose at this point I can take care of escorting these people out."

Both Blade and Stelle turned to her in surprise.

"Are you sure?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course. I've opened up a pretty safe route back. We should be able to reach the good people of Wildfire quickly and easily. Or are you worried that I will be overpowered by the Disciples?"

The sarcasm didn't escape him, and he looked away.

"As if."

"Then there's no problem. I'll leave the task of finding the leader to you." Raising her hand to wave to the former prisoners around her, Kafka addressed the crowd. "Come on, folks! All with me! I'll take you home."

The people of Belobog gathered around her, and a young woman took her arm in gratitude.

"Thank you. You're an angel!"

Kafka smiled to herself, amused.

"Well, it's not so bad to be on the side of good for once," she whispered in Stelle's direction. Finally, she positioned herself in front of the group and made her way back to the corridor she had come from. The group headed for the exit, while Anya, one hand in her mother's, waved the other in Blade's direction in a final goodbye. Eventually, they all left the room, heading for safety.

Stelle wasn't worried. She knew what Kafka was capable of, and it was a fact that they could move more freely without having to worry about civilians. In fact, her arrival had been providential, as if she had known from the beginning that they would need her.

...Actually, on second thought, it wasn't out of the question that she had known from the beginning. And maybe Blade thought the same, judging by his expression.

Whatever his theories might have been, she didn't get a chance to ask, because a crackle from the computer caught her attention. And when the noise turned into a familiar voice, they both hurried over.

"Ah, finally!" Silver Wolf exclaimed as her flickering image appeared on the screen. "This technology is a hundred years old, but it works! The signal is still on life support, but at least I got in!"

"Silver Wolf?!" Stelle said. "How did you manage to connect? Didn't you say it was impossible to trace the signal here?"

The image wavered on the screen, the transmission disturbed, but she recognized the satisfied smile the hacker always gave to amateurs.

"Getting in from the outside was impossible, but it's a different story when I can access from the inside. Why do you think I gave you those flash drives? And who do you think opened the cages? It took me a while to get the communications system working, but that's because of the lousy signal over there. And the fact that you're inside a mountain doesn't help either."

"I thought it was a virus or something."

"Well, in a way it is. Do you want me to explain how it works?"

She sounded eager to do so, but Blade cut her off.

"Silver Wolf, what can you do from there?"

"I can access the map of the structure, see all the security cameras, communicate through the intercom, and open and close the doors. Not much else, unfortunately. There are a lot of analog components."

"Can you look through the cameras and find the leader of the cult? Average height, fur cloak, pointed beard."

Silver Wolf didn't answer, but they saw her start tapping something on her keyboard, chewing her lower lip in concentration. Finally, her face lit up.

"Bingo! I found him! He seems to be in some kind of infirmary. He's taking things out of lockers and stuffing them into his pockets. Small jars, it seems. I'm not sure what they are exactly; the picture quality is terrible." She squinted, trying to focus on an image that only she could see. Then she added, "Oh, and there are people on the beds. Five of them."

"The missing prisoners," Stelle said, remembering what Lena told them. Blade met her gaze briefly before turning back to Silver Wolf.

"Where is this infirmary?"

"It's not too far from where you are. If you go down the corridor to your right, you should find it."

With that, it was settled. If they could find both Qin Jian and the remaining captives in one place, they had to seize the opportunity.

"Let's go!" Stelle said, tugging at Blade's sleeve. He obeyed without resistance, but not before addressing Silver Wolf one last time.

"Try to stay in touch."

"Sure, sure," she replied. "I'm not a rookie. I'll follow your every move."

At this point, the most important thing was to get their hands on the mastermind behind this evil operation and save as many people as possible. Assuming it was still possible to save them.

She felt a chill as she remembered Lena's words, but she suppressed it. She had to hope that it wasn't too late. Even if hope defied reason.

Silver Wolf had been right about the so-called 'infirmary' being nearby. But, she had been wrong about two things. First, it was not an infirmary, but rather a laboratory. Not that this was surprising, given the Disciples' habit of infecting themselves with Mara. A dedicated infirmary would have been superfluous. Second, Qin Jian was no longer there. He managed to escape before they could reach him.

But there was one last thing that Silver Wolf had been right about, something Stelle was completely unprepared for. She said that there were five people in the room, and indeed, they were there. But their conditions were inconceivable. She read Dan Shu's reports after her defeat. She was aware of the effects of the 'Draught of Draconic Surge', the drug used by the Disciples to artificially induce Mara. But seeing them in person was something different.

The five people - four men and one woman - had been sedated and tied to their beds. But that didn't stop their bodies from writhing in the grip of unimaginable pain. With every movement, their bones crackled, and upon closer inspection, she noticed traces of bark pushing out from beneath their skin. Some of them seemed vaguely conscious, but they didn't seem to understand what was happening around them.

It was obvious that they had been used for some kind of experiment, perhaps to test the resistance of short-life species to the substance. These particular individuals must not have responded well, or the positive effects must have worn off very quickly.

"Aeons..." she murmured, unable to tear her eyes away from the pitiful scene. How could anyone do this to their fellow human beings? She remembered Dan Shu's speeches, her idealism, and her belief that Mara was an evolutionary step towards something greater. Maybe she believed it. But how could forcing it on other people lead to an enlightened future? It was pure cruelty, plain and simple.

She instinctively sought Blade's gaze, but couldn't meet it. He, too, was looking at the unfortunate souls, his jaw clenched. For a moment, she saw a flash of anger in his eyes and wondered what he was thinking. Stelle had no idea how he had become immortal or how the Mara reached him. It seemed like a small miracle that he hadn't ended up in the same situation, but it was clear that knowing this didn't bring him any relief.

After that moment, however, his impassive mask returned. He tore his gaze away from them, and he strode purposefully toward the cupboards at the back of the room. He examined the empty shelves and stooped to the floor. There was a glass jar that Qin Jian had broken and knocked over during his search. Carefully, he picked up a small pellet from the ground and, after looking at it for a moment, threw it to Stelle. She caught it and recognized it immediately.

"He took their supply of the Draught and fled," she said in disgust, and placed the pill on one of the tables. She wanted to stomp on it, but she didn't want to break it and come into contact with the drug itself.

"Exactly," Silver Wolf's voice crackled from an intercom above their heads. "He escaped before you got there. I wanted to warn you, but there are no intercoms in the corridors, and your phones are dead."

"Where did he go?" Blade asked.

"He's trying to leave the hideout."

"From which entrance? Front or back?"

"There's a third. Secret, I think. It's on the front side of the mountain, but further back from the main entrance. If he manages to escape from there, he could make his way back to Belobog, bypassing the Silvermane Guards."

So, in addition to being a bastard, Qin Jian was also a coward. He actually let his followers be captured en masse in order to escape with their precious drugs. He was probably the slimiest being Stelle had ever met. It almost made her miss Cocolia and even Phantylia, not because of how dangerous he was, but because she liked their attitude better.

"Can you block that exit?" Blade inquired.

"No. I think that particular door is mechanical. But I did block the one right before it. You should have seen his face! I slammed it right in his face. Almost broke his nose!"

Stelle grimaced in disappointment.

"You should have crushed him."

"That's what I was trying to do, but unfortunately the Boss has good reflexes," Silver Wolf lamented. "Give me a moment, and I'll give you instructions on the route to take to reach him. I need to stabilize the signal; this damn map keeps going offline."

The intercom stopped, leaving them in the silence of the lab. Stelle kicked a table leg in frustration. She was itching to go after Qin Jian, but without instructions, they would only risk getting lost and wasting time. It was better to wait for Silver Wolf; after all, Stelle doubted that it would take her more than a few minutes.

Anxious and restless, she glanced back at the poor people chained to the beds, pausing at the closest one: a young man about her age, who stared blankly at the ceiling. He didn't seem awake or asleep, but rather lost in a world that only he could see.

Then she realized exactly what he reminded her. His expression was very similar to Blade's when the Mara took over. In his case, it was more anger than pain, but the feeling that he wasn't there was the same.

The realization shocked her enough to make her step back, but as her feet moved, the young man's arm shifted and a hand clenched around her wrist. His tortured face turned toward her, vacant eyes staring at her without seeing her, lips moving silently to form words.

Kill me.

Stelle's blood ran cold as she frantically freed her wrist, her heart clenching with horror and grief. And as she recoiled, she bumped into Blade's shoulder. She heard his distant voice as he surveyed the unfortunate man before them.

"None of them is here anymore."

"Then where are they?"

"In their own hellscape. But it will end soon."

Stelle didn't need to ask him what would end it. From what little she knew, once they reached that state, it was over. Those five people would die no matter what they did. They didn't have the resilience of long-life species. And there was no cure for the Mara. Even sedatives would not work: they could stop the outward signs of pain, but they would suffer regardless.

"Is there no way to help them? To make them suffer less?"

Even though she already knew the answer, she couldn't help but ask, clinging to a glimmer of hope.

"Just one thing."

Again, she didn't have to ask what that was. She had already seen and heard it in the young man's silent words.

Kill me.

Her fingers trembled, her knees struggling to hold her up. She knew it would be an act of mercy, but she didn't have the courage. Killing in battle, defending herself from an attack or protecting someone else was one thing, but this was too much.

Blade watched her reaction, no emotion showing through his stone mask. Then his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword with the same determination he had when facing a horde of enemies.

"Close your eyes," he said without looking at her face.

Her heart skipped a beat, and despite the request, her eyes widened. The idea that he felt compelled to do such a thing because she was too much of a coward to do it herself disgusted her.

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to. That's not fair! He asked me! You...!"

"I can give these people the relief that no one can give me," he replied with a resignation that broke her heart.

What was he saying? He couldn't possibly mean that-- 

"But I don't want you to do it" he continued. "I don't want you to see it. Don't get used to killing in cold blood. Hold on to your innocence as long as you can. Once it's destroyed, you will never get it back."

Stelle didn't have the strength to argue anymore. Not after such a speech. So, with death in her heart, she closed her eyes and waited, her ears hyper-focused on every sound in the room.

For a while, there was nothing. Then, so suddenly it made her jump, she heard the dull sound of a sharp object sinking into something, followed by a wet groan. A sound of pain, but nothing compared to what the person had endured until that moment. Then a faint, peaceful sigh. And finally silence again.

After a few seconds, the process repeated itself.

And then again. 

And again. 

Five times Stelle heard the sound of a sword falling and a life being snuffed out. And five times she didn't open her eyes, letting someone else carry the weight of it. Only when she heard nothing more did she lift her eyelids.

The sheets had been drawn over the beds, hiding the occupants from view. The executions had been quick, clean, and as painless as possible.

Blade was a few paces away from her. He still held the sword, but it had been cleaned of any trace of blood. Nor she could see any on him. Maybe he was so good at this kind of work that he avoided getting dirty. Maybe it was just the dark clothing.

And he didn't look at her. His gaze was lost in the void, his face inscrutable.

"Everything the Mara touches, it destroys. It doesn't generate anything good. It doesn't create 'superheroes'," he simply said.

Stelle wanted to say something, but she didn't know what. Should she thank him? Apologize? Pretend nothing had happened? Nothing seemed quite right. So, in the end, she didn't say anything. She approached him and tentatively grabbed his sleeve. She felt him stiffen at the touch, but he didn't turn to look at her, nor did he react in any way, lost in who knows what thoughts.

The silence was brutally shattered by the crackling of the intercom coming back to life. It felt like an eternity since Silver Wolf had cut the connection, but it must have been only a few minutes. Stelle expected to hear her voice, bored as usual, giving them instructions on how to reach the 'Boss'. Instead, she was taken completely by surprise when she heard her panicking.

"Blade, Stelle, can you hear me? You have to get out of there! Now!"

"What?! What's happening?" Stelle asked , immediately on alert, while Blade returned to his usual serious and focused self.

"The hideout is about to blow up, that's what! The virtual plant of the hideout kept going offline, so I just noticed that there are explosives scattered in strategic locations. And the Boss has the detonator! It's manual, so I can't disarm it!" she explained in one breath. "Maybe they wanted to blow everything up after the base was evacuated to cover their tracks. I don't know. Anyway, that stupid Boss is less stupid and much crazier than he looks. He realized that the doors are remote-controlled and wanted to force me to open them to let you out. That way, he can escape too!"

"So he's a sly coward. What a great combination!"

At that point, she was so angry at the guy that she couldn't even be scared of the bombs.

"I'll open the doors. You are more important than that guy."

"No way!"

Stelle's voice echoed through the room, a mixture of anger and desperation. After all their efforts, letting the jerk get away was completely unacceptable. Not after everything she had just seen!

"Look, I understand that it bothers you, but we don't have time for...!"

Before she could finish her sentence, a huge explosion shook the cave, closer than they had expected. The ground trembled beneath their feet, while debris and dust rained down from the ceiling.

"Oh, come on!" snapped Silver Wolf. "I want you out of there! Right! Now! No gameovers under my watch."

"Silver Wolf, keep the doors closed until the last moment," Blade countered with the calm of someone used to this sort of situation.

"What?!"

"We'll go in the direction of the third entrance, where Qin Jian is. When you see us arrive through the cameras, open the doors. We'll take him and get out from there."

Stelle brightened up immediately.

"Nice plan! I like it! You have my vote!"

"If I lose the connection or the cameras stop working, you risk being buried alive!" Silver Wolf protested. "And if Stelle dies, Elio will kill us all! Do you realize that?"

Instead of an answer, another explosion echoed through the tunnels, this time close enough to knock over one of the lockers.

"Okay! I got it!" Silver Wolf huffed, realizing she couldn't persuade them without wasting more than necessary. "We'll do it your way, but at the first sign of connection instability, I'll open all the doors, period! Follow the straight corridor and turn right at the bend. You'll find a hole in the wall. The Boss didn't cover it. The secret passage is that way."

"Thank you, Silver Wolf!" said Stelle with a big smile, giving the victory sign to the camera.

"You guys are completely insane," she scoffed, although judging by her voice, she was smiling. "But then again, you're my OTP for a reason."

Even before the intercom disconnected, Blade and Stelle were already dashing down the hallway, running at full speed along the established route. They had just rounded the first corner when he spoke.

"Stelle, a question."

"Yes?" she replied between labored breaths.

"What is an OTP?"

"A 'One Time Password'?"

"What does it have to do with us?" he said, confused.

Stelle shrugged.

"I don't know. Silver Wolf is weird."

Without saying another word, the two continued their mad dash for the exit. They had just entered the secret corridor, when Stelle heard something crash behind her, and adrenaline rushed through her body. She didn't look back, concentrating only on the path ahead, as explosions echoed around them. Some were farther away, some closer. A few times the blast was strong enough to make them collide with the walls, but each time they kept running, never stopping.

The tunnel seemed to go on forever when they finally saw the silhouette of a tightly closed armored door. Qin Jian was standing in front of it, impatient. The moment they spotted him, so did he. He froze in panic and rushed towards the door, punching it repeatedly with his fists.

Come on, Silver Wolf! It's about time!, Stelle thought, knowing that whether they reached him or not, it would be pointless if they all died there. And finally, as if answering her call, the armored door swung open, revealing the way to the last part of the tunnel.

The leader of the Disciples cheered and darted forward, running wildly toward a simple metal door at the end, the other two chasing him relentlessly. He was almost there, hands grasping the heavy iron handle, freedom within reach, a smug grin forming on his lips.

"Don't you dare!"

Stelle heard Blade's growl echo in her ears, as he hurled his sword at Qin Jian. It shot through the corridor like a bullet, piercing him right between the shoulder. The man collapsed with a confused scream, as if he didn't quite understand what happened, and she felt a wave of triumph wash over her. 

They did it! They cut off the head of the snake! He couldn't hurt anyone anymore.

But her triumph was short-lived.

They were almost at the door themselves when another explosion shook the cave and the tunnel began to collapse around them. They stopped just in time as a shower of rocks fell in front of the door, narrowly missing them and blocking the exit.

"No!" Stelle screamed, frustration and terror gripping her stomach. But her voice was completely lost as she heard a sinister crack above her head and, upon looking up, saw a rain of rocks coming straight at her.

It felt as if time had slowed down as they fell towards her, and she realized that she wouldn't have time to avoid them, that she was going to die. Then she heard Blade's voice shouting beside her, and something pushed her with enough force to knock her to the ground. For a split second - just one endless, horrible split second - she saw her companion standing exactly where she was a moment before. Then the rocks crumbled into a pile of dirt and dust, and she didn't see him anymore.

She called his name, but there was no answer. Her voice was drowned out by the roar of the earth as the electric lights in the corridor went out, leaving her in the dark.

She couldn't see anything. She couldn't hear anything except the rocks that continued to fall around her. Instinctively, she covered her head with her hands and lay down on the floor, desperately trying to protect herself. Then something hard hit her head and she felt nothing.

Chapter Text

As Stelle began to regain consciousness, the first thing she perceived was darkness. And the cold. She had no idea where she was, why she was there, or what had happened. All she knew was that she was lying on something hard, that her head hurt, and that she couldn't see. At first she wondered if she had somehow gone blind.

Then she realized that if she couldn't see, it was because there was no source of light. And if there was no source of light, it was because she was buried alive.

She reached out into the darkness, her fingertips touching the rocky ground, and her Lance answered, materializing at her side. Her grip on the shaft was weak, but a flickering light shot through the tip, illuminating her surroundings with an orange glow.

At least it confirmed that she hadn't gone blind. She could see where she was. The tunnel had completely collapsed, but two boulders formed a shelter, shielding her from most of the rocks. Several stones had fallen around her, the largest of which must have been the one that knocked her out. But aside from a painful bump and a few scrapes, she was unharmed. She hadn't been crushed, and as she tried to roll onto her back, she realized that nothing was broken. She was sore, cold, and covered in dust, but she could move. Thinking, however, was another matter; her mind was stuck, unable to focus.

She lay on the floor, her eyes on the ceiling, letting the warmth of the Lance thaw her frozen body. The room she was in was about the size of a small storeroom: wide enough to lie down and tall enough to stand with her head bowed, at least at its highest point. Under the circumstances, it might have been comfortable, were it not for the complete lack of an escape route.

And the fact that she was alone.

The thought broke through her mind like a stream of cold water. The wall of numbness collapsed, as she jumped into a sitting position so fast it made her dizzy.

She saw herself fall to the ground, safe from a rain of boulders, while the same rocks fell where Blade was. She saw his form disappear in the rubble and dust. She heard her own voice calling his name, but received no response. A heavy, lingering chill gripped her, so strong that not even the flames of the Lance could ward it off.

With desperate urgency, she moved to the nearest stone wall, which she assumed led to the exit. With the collapse of the tunnel, the morphology of the room had changed, so she wasn't quite sure. She looked for any sign of him, found nothing, and felt the cold grip of panic tightening around her.

She was alone.

Buried alive.

Her partner was gone, overwhelmed by a landslide of rocks. And it was because he tried to help her!

Her heart pounded in her ears, her breath grew short. The world was spinning wildly around her, the sound growing muffled. For a moment she believed she would suffocate from her own fear and guilt.

But she couldn't afford to. Not there. Not like that.

Gritting her teeth, she curled up, head between her knees, forcing herself to control her breathing. She had to stay calm. It was imperative that she stay calm. If she panicked, it would only make things worse. All was not lost: she was alive and unharmed, and Silver Wolf knew where they had been before the collapse. Even if she couldn't get out on her own, help would come. And — more than anything else — Blade was alive. He had to be. After all, he was immortal! Dan Heng said so, Blade himself confirmed it, and she had seen with her own eyes how quickly he healed. He was impossible to kill, and certainly not by a few boulders.

She clung to that thought until her heart slowed to a regular rhythm, her breathing calmed, and she no longer felt like she was going to die at any moment. Her brain stopped spinning in panic and she was finally free to think.

She had to focus on the present and what she could do right now. And that was helping Blade. He was immortal, but that didn't mean he couldn't get hurt. Since she was unharmed and the only living creature around, she was the only one who could do it. And she would die before she made him suffer after he had endangered himself to save her.

Dragging the Lance like a torch, she crawled even closer to the rock wall, trying to assess the situation. She vaguely remembered that when they ran towards the exit, the floor was inclined towards the door. Even though the walls and ceiling had collapsed, this hadn't changed. That meant she wasn't mistaken, and that was the direction of the exit. So Blade had to be there somewhere. With any luck, he might have been trapped in an air pocket and not badly hurt. Or maybe he had already healed and found a way to free himself. After all, he was no stranger to dangerous missions. Maybe he was just figuring out how to get to her.

Because he wouldn't leave her there. She was one hundred percent sure of it. Kafka ordered him to protect her. He wasn't the type to disobey a direct command, regardless of his personal feelings.

Regaining her courage and composure, she began digging. The good news was that the largest rocks had broken in the fall, making her task easier. The bad news was that she had to go slowly and carefully. Before she moved each rock, she had to be sure that she wouldn't cause another collapse. She was already trapped, and the last thing she wanted was to make things worse.

She didn't know how long had passed since she started digging. Her numb and scratched body was uncooperative and progress was slow. She couldn't move the larger stones without considerable effort, and some were simply beyond her reach. Every time she heard a noise, she feared the ceiling would collapse on her, and she clung to the Lance, hoping its barrier would protect her. But each time nothing happened, and she returned to digging with the determination of a mole.

After what seemed like hours of little significant progress, her determination began to waver. She knew they were close to the door, but there was an endless barrier of rocks and boulders between her and the exit. And there was no sign of Blade. If he was alive, she couldn't see any signs of him.

The dark thoughts she had pushed away began to reappear, like parasites. After all — a voice in her head said — what did she know about the limits of Blade's immortality? As far as she knew, he couldn't die because he healed faster than any affliction could kill him. But if he suffered injuries that damaged every part of his body, would it be the same? For all she knew, he might really be dead.

The mere thought caused a surge of revulsion so strong that it gave her actual physical pain.

She didn't believe it. She refused to believe it. And if she had time for such doubts, she had time to dig deeper.

With her teeth clenched from the effort, her body tense from the pain, she resumed her work. A large, chalky stone was her new obstacle, and when she tried to lift it, she found it too heavy. So she tried to roll it, holding on to it with all her weight. It took all her strength and many scratches on her hands — her gloves, already worn out, offered little protection — but finally, the stone moved. She rolled it aside, clearing it from her path.

And when it was gone, she almost screamed.

Half-buried under a layer of large stones was a hand. A right hand, wrapped in what was left of a black glove she recognized immediately.

Her heart slowed, its beats heavy in her ears, as she crawled to the hand. It lay motionless, palm down. Clearing away the smaller rocks, Stelle managed to free the wrist and part of the arm, but the rest of the body was trapped under the stones. When she tried to touch it, she felt the cold skin through the holes in the fabric.

No sign of life. No reaction. As far as she knew, it was the hand of a corpse.

The knot of despair she had tried so hard to suppress exploded, leaving emptiness in its wake. She could feel nothing. Her vision blurred, and it took her a moment to realize that tears had filled her eyes. Everything was so strange that it felt like she was watching this scene from the outside, as if it were a movie. As if it wasn't happening to her.

Until a short while ago, he had been there. She had talked to him, heard his voice, fought alongside him. And now...

Suddenly, so fast she could barely grasp it, the cold fingers moved. At first, the motion was so faint that she thought she had imagined it. But soon they moved again with a violent spasm, like an involuntary reflex. Stelle had heard that corpses sometimes had spasms, but this didn't seem to be the case. Especially when the fingers flexed deliberately, and the skin became warmer.

All her senses came back into focus. Despair vanished, and without a second thought, she resumed digging. Her hands hurt, but she didn't care. She was cold, but she didn't mind. All that mattered was removing those stones and getting him out, no matter what. And as she removed every obstacle, the movements became more frequent, and something pushed back from underneath the rocks. The hand scraped around for a grip, as something large and decidedly alive tried to emerge. A single boulder stood between him and freedom, and it was too big for Stelle to move on her own. Still, she leaned against it with all her might, trying to push it away. And from below, a force joined hers, pressing against the stone until it tumbled aside.

Freed from the last weight holding him down, Blade's torso emerged. His head lifted as he took a deep breath. Then he began coughing, spitting out dirt mixed with blood. Stelle was on him in an instant, grabbing his arms to help him out, until his legs were free. The momentum sent them both crashing to the ground, him face down on the rocks, her lying on her back at his side.

She remained in that position for a while, calming her ragged breaths, her eyes glued to her companion as he expelled the last of the earth he had swallowed. Then, as soon as she could move again, she rolled onto her stomach and crawled towards him.

"Blade!"

His name escaped her lips like a prayer, full of tearful relief.

He was alive. He made it through. And suddenly she felt that everything would be all right, that nothing bad would happen to them again.

At her call, he lifted his head. The spasmodic cough had subsided, but that simple gesture seemed to take all the strength he had.

"Stelle..."

His voice was broken, hoarse, barely more than an exhausted whisper. And in the faint light of her Lance, she had the chance to look at him properly. Covered in dust from head to toe, his hair dirty and tangled, Blade looked like a zombie. His face was covered in scrapes and bruises. His lips were split, and one eye was too swollen to open. One of his legs was bent unnaturally, and, while she couldn't see the rest of his body, she imagined it wasn't much better. Gone were the grace, strength, and beauty that usually emanated from him. Only traces remained.

Even knowing that he would heal, it was a difficult sight to behold. But, like the first time she met him, he didn't seem to care beyond the physical discomfort it caused him. And this time, his attention was on her.

"Are you hurt?"

Stelle made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. Seeing him in that state made her want to cry, but the question was so absurd that she could have burst out laughing.

"Half a mountain collapsed on you and you're worried about how I'm doing?"

He continued to stare at her, and she realized that he was still waiting for an answer. He would have ignored everything until she gave it to him. So she did.

"I'm fine. I have a bump and a few scratches, but nothing more."

Having learned what he needed, all tension left Blade's body as he slumped back to the ground with a weak sigh. Stelle's first impulse was to shake him to make sure he was still conscious, but her hand stopped a few inches from his shoulder. In his condition, she feared that any touch might cause him pain.

"Is there anything I can do to help? If there's something I can do to make you feel better..."

With the utmost caution, she touched the back of his hand, but he jerked away with a hiss of pain.

"No."

The answer didn't surprise her. She expected a refusal. What startled her was his body language. 

The way he shifted away from her. 

The way he turned slightly to the side, his arms clasped to his torso as if to protect himself. 

Small, unconscious gestures that he might not have noticed himself.

She had seen a similar posture before, the first time she met him. It was the behavior of a wounded animal, expecting more pain. And worse, he seemed to expect her to hurt him.

Rationally, Blade must have known that she was no threat to him. The subconscious, though, was a completely different matter. Stelle didn't know much about his job, but she was sure it was dangerous. If someone found him like that during a mission, it would probably be an enemy. And what could you expect from an enemy?

She recoiled a bit, raising her hands to appear as harmless as possible. He relaxed somewhat, his face still tight with pain. 

Cautiously, she approached him again, leaning over him. His only open eye immediately shifted to her, wary.

If she had renewed her offer of help, she was sure it would have been rejected. So she had to do it in a way that would be understandable and acceptable to him. In a way he would believe.

"Blade, I need you to help me get out of here," she told him in a low voice. "Let me help you so that we can leave here together."

He kept staring at her. Except for the pain, she couldn't read anything in his expression. She felt like she was offering food to a stray cat watching her from a distance, too tempted by the treat to run away, too scared to approach. And as in that situation, she stood still, maintaining eye contact, hoping that he would accept. That he would trust her.

After a few seconds, his eye blinked once, and his gaze shifted away from her face to the pitiful state of his body.

"I broke my back," he finally said, with the same nonchalance with which he referred to everything about himself.

Stelle paled, and though she tried not to show it, he noticed her dismay.

"It's almost healed now, but I can't straighten up. Help me sit. I need to take care of my leg."

He gestured helplessly to his injured right leg, and Stelle's face brightened. After all, he decided to trust her, and she didn't want to make him regret it.

It was difficult to help him move without making him suffer. All she could do was avoid the most sensitive areas and move quickly. For his part, Blade endured the process with the utmost stoicism. When she helped him onto his back, he didn't complain, despite the pain the broken leg must have caused him. The only way Stelle could tell he was hurting was by the quickening of his breath. The same happened when she slipped under his arm to help him sit up. Only a slight involuntary grimace indicated that he was suffering, and when she tried to stop to give him a break, he encouraged her to continue.

When she finally managed to get him to sit against a rock, she noticed that his gaze was slightly unfocused, his breathing broken. He must have suffered much more than he was willing to admit. And yet he immediately tried to lift the broken leg, with little success.

Stelle wanted to tell him to slow down, to catch his breath. She wanted to tell him to stop trying so hard. But she knew he wouldn't listen. So, without saying anything, she moved to his side, kneeled down beside him, and gently grabbed his leg, supporting it. Blade stopped for a moment to give her a quick grateful look. Then, his jaw clenching in determination, he grabbed the injured leg and twisted it.

In the silence of their shelter, Stelle heard the disturbing snap of the bone returning into place. Again, the only thing that escaped Blade was a small, microscopic wince, and she saw him squeeze his eyes shut.

As soon as he was done, he dropped back against the rock he was leaning on, his head tilted back. With the utmost care, she laid his leg back on the ground and placed the Lance by his side to protect him from the cold. Then she sat beside him, hugging her knees and peering cautiously in his direction.

Despite his deathly pallor and shortness of breath, he turned to her and met her gaze gravely.

"Where did you get hit?"

She did not understand what he was referring to, standing there with what she imagined was a very stupid expression on her face.

"You said you had a bump. Where did you get hit?"

Oh. That.

Instinctively, she put a hand to the side of her head, and when her fingers brushed the swollen, throbbing spot, she flinched. Immediately afterward, she felt almost ashamed: she had just seen a human put the bone in his leg back in place almost without blinking, and she jumped for what was little more than a bruise.

"A stone hit me in the head, but it must have just grazed me. It only hurts when I touch it."

"Do you have a headache?" he asked, completely ignoring her reassurance.

"No."

"Nausea?"

"No."

"Vision problems?"

"No. Really, I'm fine."

Finally, Blade seemed to be convinced, and with a weary sigh, he relaxed back against the stone. But it didn't last long. Barely a few seconds later, he straightened up again and looked around with a certain urgency.

"'What's wrong?" she asked.

"...My sword."

As if in a dream, she remembered how he threw it at Qin Jian, impaling him before he could escape. He didn't have it with him when the ceiling collapsed, so it must still be there, beyond the rock wall. Assuming it was still intact. The sword seemed to be holding itself together by sheer willpower, and she wouldn't be surprised if the landslide had dealt it the final blow.

It was a shame. It must have been beautiful once.

"It should be over there somewhere," she said. 

He looked desperately at the rubble that separated him from his weapon.

She spent a considerable amount of time watching Blade. In fact, it had become one of her favorite pastimes of late. Trying to read his emotions was a challenge she was always willing to take on. In the last few days, she felt she was making progress. But she had never seen him look so openly helpless and vulnerable. And this was the same person who would suffer the loss of a limb in silence.

Did the sword have some sentimental value to him? Was that why he insisted on using it despite its sorry state?

"As soon as you feel better and we get out of here, we'll look for it together," she reassured him. "But for now, rest. You need some time to recover, right?"

He wanted to protest, but either decided it wasn't worth it or simply didn't have the energy. With a grim resignation, he turned back to the front, eyes glazed over, breathing heavily.

At least he was calmer. Calm enough that she had a half-idea to start digging while he regained his strength. But in the end, she decided to wait. Even though she wasn't injured, pushing away stones and boulders had worn her out, and it would be more practical to rest for a few minutes.

That, and she wanted to make sure Blade was feeling better before she left him alone.

So she stayed by his side, watching as, under the influence of his accelerated healing, the scrapes on his face began to heal, the swelling to subside. She imagined the rest of his body was healing as well. It didn't come without a price, though. He was motionless, but it was obvious that he was in agony. His muscles were tense, his breathing irregular, and occasionally he was shaken by small spasms, as if his bones were rearranging themselves. Perhaps it wasn't far from reality.

It felt like they were back to the day they met, when she found him in an alley with a hole in his chest.

"Déjà vu..." she murmured with a bitter smile, not realizing she had said it out loud until Blade turned to her with a questioning look. She shook her head at the unspoken question. "I was just thinking it's a bit like the first time we met."

He hummed and closed his eyes. He was so quiet she thought he might have fallen asleep. At least until he spoke again.

"It seems you're destined to see me at my worst."

This time it was Stelle's turn to be confused. She shifted her position to face him, leaning forward to read his expression. "What do you mean?"

"Every time our paths cross, I'm either injured, afflicted by Mara, or in some terrible situation. It's almost like a curse."

She had to admit that it happened quite often. But it was something she didn't dwell on too much. She knew his life was dangerous and complicated, and that was that.

"I've never thought badly of you for it."

"You would have plenty of reasons to think badly of me," he replied, his voice trailing off as his body jerked in pain.

Stelle hesitated. She wished she could disagree, but she knew she couldn't. Many of the reasons she had for disliking the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus applied to the Stellaron Hunters and to Blade.

The Disciples had messed up a lot of people's lives. The Stellaron Hunters had done the same, over and over again.

The Disciples had committed immoral acts. The Stellaron Hunters were far from saints themselves.

The Disciples had tried to harm Bronya. Blade had chased Dan Heng and tried to kill him multiple times.

What was the difference? That all these things hadn't happened in front of her eyes? That their ultimate goals — as they claimed — were good? That they were kind to her? That Blade didn't act like a psychopath when he was with her? That, for the moment, he didn't remember that Dan Heng existed?

If that wasn't hypocrisy, what was? And worst of all, in that brief moment when she feared he was truly dead, all those motivations had ceased to matter. The idea that he wouldn't be there anymore — wouldn't talk to her, wouldn't look at her — seemed much more unbearable than the violation of her morality.

"Well, you're an excellent bodyguard," she finally said in her most casual tone, trying to lighten the mood for him and herself.

He raised his eyelids again, his eyes wandering to the ceiling.

"Am I?"

Stelle nodded vigorously. She was sure of it beyond any doubt. But Blade didn't agree.

"The only job I was given was to protect you. And here we are, buried under a mountain."

That was true, but on the other hand, it could have been much worse. Kafka said that, according to Elio, she would be in danger during the mission. She hated to admit it, but he was right. That was exactly what happened. And the only reason she didn't die was that Blade was with her and pushed her away at the right moment.

"You ended up under a landslide of rocks to save me. I would have died if it wasn't for you. If risking your life for me doesn't make you the best bodyguard, I don't know what does!"

He looked at her — a long, dark, empty stare.

"I cannot die."

Stelle realized she had expressed herself poorly. You couldn't 'risk your life' if you were immortal. Of course, there had been no malice on her part; it was just that the idea of someone who 'couldn't die' was difficult to process. But there was something in Blade's tone that alarmed her. A quiet, resigned desperation that she had never seen in anyone else.

'I can give these people the relief that no one can give me.'

What he said in the lab came back to her, accompanied by the same unease she felt then. She remembered those poor Mara-struck people: their expressions, their suffering, and how one of them begged her to kill him. Was it the same for Blade? Did he also suffer constantly, with no way to escape? Was he fighting something much bigger than himself right now? Did he also wish for someone to end his life, without any chance of achieving it?

" Do you wish to die?"

The question hung between them for a moment as Blade silently watched her. It could be interpreted in more than one way, but he must have understood its true meaning. She could tell by the gravity in his eyes.

"Yes," he finally answered, and she knew what he meant.

It wasn't a 'Yes, one day, when the time comes, I would like to die'. It was a 'Yes, I want to die right now, and if I could end my life at this very moment, I would do so without a second thought.'

"Why?"

He looked away, his body shaken by another spasm of pain, and for a while he was too busy fighting it to answer her question. Stelle was prepared to receive no reply, but when the crisis passed, he spoke again, his voice so low it was barely a whisper.

"Before we came here, you asked me what makes me happy."

"I did," she said, leaning forward.

"Nothing makes me happy."

Coming from anyone else, the statement would have reeked of self-pity. Coming from him, combined with what she knew about Mara, it sounded like a simple fact. And indeed, when he continued, it was in a flat, almost clinical tone.

"Eating good food doesn't give me pleasure. A sunny day doesn't lift my spirits. Reading books, talking to people, or other pastimes don't bring me joy. Experiencing positive emotions in general is very rare for me. And when it happens, it is usually a faint echo. Something faded and distant."

"Is it because of the Mara?"

If that were the case, it would make sense. From what she knew, it was the way Mara worked. Blade, however, shook his head.

"Partly, but it's not only that. I shouldn't be alive. It's something I feel deep in my soul. I should die because it's the only right thing that can happen. It's what I deserve and the only form of redemption I'll ever have."

With his words echoing in her mind, Stelle was afraid to ask more. But the desire to understand, to get to the source, overcame her fears.

"Redemption for what?"

He shook his head again, the frustration clear in his voice.

"I don't remember. It's just what I feel."

At that point, she asked no more questions. In all likelihood, the answer was in the memories Kafka had sealed. She feared that pressing too hard might jeopardize her work. It was very likely that those hidden memories were connected to the reason for his vengeance against Dan Heng. But it wasn't the right time to ask, no matter how much she wanted to know. She didn't want to cause him any more pain.

Only one thing was certain: his situation was something she could not fathom. It was frustrating to admit, but it was true. She couldn't understand what he was going through, nor would she ever. Accepting the inevitability of death and coming to terms with it was something she could relate to, but the desire to die was completely beyond her. After all, she loved life. She was glad to be in the world, to have met her companions, to have so much to see and learn. Even hardships only made her appreciate life more. And the thought that it might not be the same for him — that in his eyes there was nothing worth living for — was terrifying. It was as scary as walking on the edge of a bottomless pit. And not knowing the source of that pain created another barrier between them.

There was only one thing she could do: to accept. Accept that this was what he felt, and accept that, at least for the moment, there was no solution to the problem. Maybe there never would be. Even if there was, maybe it wasn't in her power to find it. But even if she couldn't understand his reasons, she could accept his emotions. After all, sorrow was something she could empathize with.

At that moment, a disturbing snap resonated from Blade's leg. It had been loud enough that she heard it as well. It was the sound of a bone moving, probably adjusting to its original position. His body reacted with a violent jolt, and he inhaled deeply in a desperate attempt to stifle a groan.

He had endured everything stoically so far, but this particular pain had been stronger than the rest. Maybe it caught him off guard.

"I'm sorry," she said when she sensed his breathing returning to a regular pace.

"For what?"

"If you're in this state, it's because you helped me."

"It's not your fault."

No, technically it wasn't. No one could have known that the ceiling would collapse above their heads. No one — except Elio — could have foreseen such a thing. Still, the feeling of helplessness, sympathy and sadness wouldn't let go of her, gripping her like the coils of a snake.

But 'I'm sorry' wasn't the right thing to say. Maybe it was all much simpler than that.

All scruples vanished. Any form of embarrassment ceased to exist. A thought crossed her mind and she acted on it, without hesitation. Carefully, and trying to be as gentle as possible, she reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck in an embrace.

He tensed, his muscles contracting, his hands hovering helplessly from her back. She felt his breath catch as their cheeks brushed, his hair tickling her temples.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice uncertain.

Even without seeing his face, Stelle could sense his confusion. She had taken him by surprise, and perhaps that was the main reason he hadn't pushed her away yet.

"I'm hugging you," she replied, bolder than she actually felt.

"...Why?"

Honestly, she wasn't quite sure herself. There were countless reasons, and choosing one seemed reductive. She wanted to comfort him. She wanted to make him feel appreciated. She wanted him to understand what she was feeling right now. She wanted him to know that at least one person was happy that he was alive. She felt like it. And of course...

"It's my way to thank you for saving my life."

"It was my job."

"It doesn't matter. I'm still grateful. And I'm glad you're here with me."

He sighed — whether in relief, pain or resignation, she couldn't tell. She only felt his warm breath brush against her ear, and it seemed as if the air was filled with sparks. Her body tingled to the point where she wondered if this had been a terrible idea.

They were close. Too close. She could feel his every move, every beat of his heart. She was sure it was the same for him, and it was damn embarrassing. But just at the thought of letting go, her muscles tensed in protest.

Why should she let go? He hadn't rejected her. At least not yet. Maybe he was just humoring her, but if he hadn't pushed her away, maybe he didn't find it so repulsive.

She was still caught between embarrassment and refusal to let go, when he flinched in pain. The only reason she didn't let go immediately was for fear of causing him more suffering.

"Did I hurt you?" she exclaimed. She started to back away, but it was a big mistake. As she retreated, their faces came within inches of each other, and despite her genuine concern, her cheeks immediately flushed. Luckily, in the dim light of the Lance, he probably couldn't tell.

Blade looked up at her, and though his jaw was clenched in pain, his eyes remained on her. Then he shook his head slowly.

"No. Whatever you do, it will hurt regardless."

"So... It doesn't bother you if I stay?"

He remained silent for a long moment, his gaze wandering over her face. Searching. Looking for who knows what. 

"...If that's what you want."

Stelle didn't need to be told twice. She shifted to get into a more comfortable position for both of them and wrapped her arms around his neck. Blade didn't return the embrace. He stayed still, his arms hanging limply at his sides. But when she rested her head on his shoulder, he tilted his slightly toward her. The tip of his nose brushed her neck and with every blink of his eyes, she felt his lashes against her skin.

She liked being like this. It was warm and comforting. And she wasn't sure if the tension and the hammering of her heart were ruining everything or making it better. She couldn't remember ever feeling that way. And she wondered how did he manage to stay so calm. Aside from the brief surges of pain, his breathing was regular, his heartbeat strong and slow. And when she pulled her head back a little to catch a glimpse of his expression, she saw that he closed his eyes.

He was so still that she almost thought he was asleep. Which wasn't a good idea with that cold. But as she was about to nudge him, he lifted his eyelids and looked up at her again.

"Speak," he said, his voice quiet and calm.

"About what?"

"Anything. Give me something to focus on. It will distract me from the pain."

With that, he closed his eyes again, and she leaned against his shoulder, allowing him to do the same.

When she was with her best friends, March did most of the talking. Dan Heng would simply listen until he felt it appropriate to intervene. As for her, she often found herself looking around, her attention drawn to this or that object (mostly trash cans or other such treasures).

This time she had to be the one to speak. And so she did, stringing together sentence after sentence. The topics were irrelevant: trivial facts about her friends from Belobog and the Space Station, or small glimpses of her life aboard the Astral Express. She made sure to choose the lightest and funniest anecdotes to keep the atmosphere relaxed. Sometimes Blade would make a comment to let her know he was paying attention. Most of the time, though, he listened in silence. Occasionally she could feel his body shake, his breath catching in a sharp pain. But the crises became less frequent as his wounds healed.

"...So, since nothing else worked, March came up with the idea of using Himeko's coffee to try to unclog the sink," she told him, lost in the description of yet another misadventure. "The problem is, when we poured it down the drain, it exploded."

"Does your companion have a habit of putting nitroglycerin in her coffee?" he said. Stelle smiled to herself. If he had the energy for sarcasm, it had to be a good sign.

"The recipe for Himeko's coffee is one of the great mysteries of the Astral Express, along with March's mirror and what Pom-Pom really is," was her solemn reply. "Anyway, the good news is that the drain was unclogged by then. The bad news is that we wrecked the bathroom. That's when Pom-Pom walked in and found us sitting in the wreckage of the sink, covered in coffee. They looked at us for a moment with the utmost calm, then walked out of the bathroom without batting an eye, and when they returned, they were wielding a broom like a spear. That was when we started running."

"I can't imagine you got very far."

"Well, no. It's a train, after all, and Pom-Pom knows all the hiding spots. So we ran back and forth through all the cars, with the Conductor chasing after us — and believe me, they are really fast for being so small! All this while Himeko was sipping coffee and enjoying the show, and Mr. Yang was sketching the scene as inspiration for his animations. At one point, he asked us to run while striking 'epic' poses! I'm not really sure what that meant."

Blade remained silent, and Stelle was a little disappointed. She thought it was a pretty funny story. Dan Heng was out on an errand when it happened, and when they told him, he almost smiled! Of course, he lectured them for two hours afterwards, but that was beside the point.

"You must love them a lot," he said, catching her off guard.

"What?"

"Your companions. Do you love them?"

It was an easy question to answer. She didn't even have to think about it.

"Yes. Very much. I don't have a family, and they're the closest thing to it. I think I could do well anywhere, as long as they're with me. But..."

"But?" he pressed. There was no inflection in his voice, but the very fact that he asked betrayed a genuine interest.

"But it's always like something's missing," she admitted. The first sentence was difficult to utter, as if she had to pull it out with forceps. But once done, the dam holding back her emotions burst. And aided by Blade's patient silence, she found herself speaking freely, revealing everything that was on her mind. "I don't want to go anywhere else or have any other companions. I can't even imagine not being a member of the Nameless, or leaving the Astral Express. But there is something else I want, and I don't know what it is. Maybe it has something to do with my past, I don't know. But I feel ungrateful, and I don't want them to think that they're 'not enough' for me. Or worse, to look at me differently than they do now. Maybe that's why I can't tell them what I really am."

He listened to her without speaking, waiting for her to finish. Even when she was done, he remained silent for a while. Maybe to give her space or to think about how to react. He turned his head slightly towards her, and she felt his cheek brush against her own. It was only a little colder than hers.

"If they are worthy of your love," he finally said, "you will always be you to them. They will love you for who you are, even if you are different from them. Or maybe they will love you even more for it."

"Speaking from experience?"

She wondered if he felt the same about his colleagues in the Stellaron Hunters. They looked like they got along, after all.

"No. But this is what a 'family' should be like. And in any case..." A short pause. A moment of hesitation. "'In any case, you're very hard to hate."

A rush of warmth enveloped her body, and she felt as if she were immersed in a warm bath. She was glad that he couldn't see her face in this position. She was pretty sure she had a big, silly grin on her face.

"Thank you."

Unconsciously, she hugged him a little tighter, burying her face in his neck. They were both dirty, and Blade was covered in dust and his own blood. Neither of them smelled good at the moment. But for some reason, his scent still seemed wonderful to her. She inhaled against his skin, her heart pounding hard.

Suddenly, Blade shuddered. The next thing she knew, he was grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her away from him. The hug, so abruptly broken, left her cold and empty. Disoriented, she remained there, held at a safe distance, while he stared at her almost reproachfully. Then she finally came to her senses and panic replaced her surprise.

"Did I hurt you?!" she exclaimed, and if it weren't that they lacked space, she would have jumped up and started pacing. She felt like she had excess energy and didn't know how to release it.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he finally said, straightening his shoulders. Then, he pulled himself together and carefully moved his injured leg.

A wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows, his lips tightened, and it was obvious that he was still in pain. Still, he managed to move it. All in all, he looked much better. Most of the bruising had subsided, and the swelling around his eye had reduced. And the injuries that would have killed or severely disabled anyone else were ready to fade away before the day was out.

"We should try to get out of here."

He pushed himself up with slow, careful movements. The injured leg trembled, and it was obvious that he was struggling to keep his back straight.

"You can lean on me if you want," Stelle intervened immediately, pulling herself up to help him.

Blade ignored the offer, preferring to lean against a nearby rock.

"No need."

It was sad to be rejected and not know why. The disappointment must have shown in her face, because he gave her a long look.

"We'll get out of here and you'll see your companions again. Don't worry."

He misunderstood, but Stelle didn't try to correct him. It would be embarrassing and counterproductive.

"I know," she said instead. "Do you have a plan, by any chance? I mean, we could try digging. But it took me quite a while to get to you. And..."

She grabbed the Lance and lifted it, letting its glow illuminate the mountain of rocks in front of them. Blade followed its trajectory, glancing from one boulder to another, then up to the ceiling above them.

"That won't be necessary. Give me a moment. I need to think."

He let go of his support and began to move toward the stone wall, but his leg trembled again, causing him to stumble. Stelle lunged forward in a flash, slipping under his arm to support him.

"Careful!"

"Thank you."

He immediately tried to pull away. But this time Stelle didn't let him, staying firmly at his side.

"Stop being stubborn!" she chided. "Let me help you."

Blade looked down at her, inscrutable. Then he averted his gaze, and to her great satisfaction, he stopped resisting. Instead, he let himself be led to the rock wall, where he carefully touched some stones at the top. He didn't say what he was thinking, so Stelle had no idea what was going through his mind. But one thing she had learned during this adventure was that it was always good to let him work. She had a feeling that something interesting would come out of it.

Finally, after carefully examining a point on the wall where the stones were smaller, he came to a conclusion. He let go of her grip and took a few steps back. His movements were awkward and unstable, and he had to remain crouched because the ceiling was too low, but the leg seemed to have stabilized enough to allow him some extra effort.

"Hit those three rocks," he said, pointing to three smaller stones at the top of the wall.

Stelle hesitated.

"Is there a risk of the whole thing collapsing on us if I do that?"

Blade shook his head.

"How can you be so sure?" she asked, more curious than skeptical.

He pointed to the two large rocks above their heads, responsible for the relative safety of their hideout.

"These two rocks form a natural keystone. As long as they are not moved, the ceiling cannot collapse."

"A keystone?"

A little impatient, Blade explained:

"Think of it as a key that keeps the other stones from moving."

Stelle nodded to herself and scratched her chin. If things were as he said, the stones he asked her to smash wouldn't affect the structure of the ceiling.

"So the stones you asked me to hit are the 'keystone' of this other wall?"

His furrowed face softened, relieved that she had understood quickly.

"Exactly."

Well, if that was the case, there was nothing to discuss. Leaning the Lance against the wall, she drew her bat, gripping the hilt with both hands. The metallic surface glowed blue, and with a well-aimed blow she struck the first of the stones. It shattered with a satisfying crack.

She repeated the process with the other two stones, and as expected, it caused a small collapse. Stelle took a few steps back and watched anxiously as the rocks came crashing down with a rumble. For a moment, it seemed as if the shower of stones would not stop and they would be back at square one. Instead, after a few seconds, the collapse stopped. The larger stones, higher than the ones she broke, had shifted, forming a new keystone and leaving them with an open passage. It was narrow, twisted, and rocky, but enough to allow them to pass through.

"Blade, have I told you you're a genius?" said Stelle excitedly.

"You have."

"Well, I'll tell you again. You're a genius! May I ask where you learned these things? Are you an architect or an engineer or something like that?"

The question had a strange effect on him. His eyes widened and he seemed disoriented.

"No..." he finally replied, but the hesitation in his voice was so clear that Stelle wondered if she had stumbled upon something important. A memory, perhaps.

She didn't know if it was of the dangerous kind - capable of triggering the Mara inside him and breaking Kafka's seal - or something harmless. Either way, it was better not to risk it.

"Natural talent, then. Which makes you even more of a genius. Can you explain how it's done? Bringing down a wall in a controlled manner, I mean. Recognizing the keystones and everything?"

She looked at him with sparkling eyes and a big, hopeful smile. And fortunately, it was enough to distract him. Less fortunately, he was now looking at her with obvious suspicion.

"Absolutely not," he replied firmly.

"Why?" she complained.

"As soon as we leave here, you'll start tearing down walls indiscriminately to practice."

Yes, she would.

"Of course I wouldn't! Do you have such a low opinion of me?"

"You tried to destroy my wardrobe."

"That was for your own good! That wardrobe is suspicious."

The only response she got was an impassive look. Then, without further ado, Blade began to slip into the newly opened passageway.

This proved to be difficult for him, as the injured leg made it hard to balance on the newly fallen rocks. So Stelle slipped into the opening beside him, sliding under his shoulder again to support him. With one arm wrapped around his waist and the Lance in her free hand, she too was hampered in her movements, but at least she was able to give him stability.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, the mortification evident in his voice.

He was clearly not used to relying on someone else, and accepting help was difficult for him.

"For what? We're a team, right?" she replied.

Blade didn't argue. He must have understood by now that it was pointless. Instead, he concentrated on being as little of a burden as possible.

As they moved closely along the wall, they advanced a few meters until another pile of debris blocked their path. At that point, they had to repeat the process to continue.

As much as they knew they were close to the exit, the task was longer and more arduous than they had hoped. Blade was very good at identifying the 'keystones', but he had to be careful not to compromise the structure. One mistake and they risked being buried again. And the passages they opened were always narrow, short, and strenuous to traverse, especially for someone not in the greatest physical condition. After the first collapse, the next ones only gave up a few tens of centimeters at a time. The only silver lining was that with Blade's healing rate, he was able to move on his own by the time they brought the passage down for the third time.

Stelle was beginning to wonder when they would reach the door when Blade, examining the rock wall, suddenly announced:

"There's air."

She immediately straightened her head and tried to stand at his side, despite the narrow passage. They were so close together that she found herself pressed against his chest. Blade twisted to avoid contact, but she was too excited to notice.

She brought her face close to the wall and felt a very thin breeze filter through the rocks. As she felt the cool air caress her cheeks, she realized how stale the inside of the cave was, and that in addition to the risk of being crushed to death, they were also in danger of suffocating from lack of oxygen.

"Perfect! We're almost out! Which stones do I have to smash?" she asked, ready to grab the bat at the first signal.

"Step back. I need to look a bit more."

At first, Stelle didn't understand why she couldn't stay there while he worked. Then she realized that in that position, she was actually preventing him from moving. Then she noticed that she was practically pressed against him.

"Oh. Sorry."

She stepped back, feeling an oppressive heat around her neck, despite the far-from-pleasant temperature. He, on the other hand, was not as disturbed. He didn't even look at her, but went right back to work. And again Stelle felt completely ridiculous for being the only one who was affected.

Honestly, she didn't know what to think. Her reactions when it came to Blade always surprised her. She liked being around him, but there was a certain part of her mind that went into overdrive every time he was around. Not to mention her physical reactions! She felt like a lightning rod, hypersensitive to every signal, unable to avoid even the smallest electric shock.

The worst part was not knowing what he was thinking. There were times when he seemed to enjoy her company, and others when he erected a wall so high that she couldn't see beyond it. But maybe she was fooling herself and there was nothing to see. Maybe as far as he was concerned, she was nobody. After all, he himself said that he couldn't feel those kinds of emotions. Just as he said that connecting with other people brought him no joy. What meaning could all this have for a person who saw death as the only comfort?

"Stelle."

The sound of her name startled her, and when she came back to reality, Blade was pointing to two more stones on top of the wall. Pushing the dark thoughts from her mind, she put down the Lance in favor of the bat and confidently approached her target.

"Okay, it's time to break out!" she announced. Blade stepped back to give her space — trying to touch her as little as possible — as she took aim.

With the first blow, the stone shattered, and there was a strange clattering sound, as if shards of stone were colliding. As the second stone shattered, the rattling turned into a rumble. Stelle quickly stepped back as the wall collapsed one last time, raising a cloud of dust. When it settled, a passage had opened in front of them, leading straight into an open room.

Open and much brighter.

Too bright.

"I'll go first," Blade said, stepping forward.

"Are you...?"

She wanted to say, 'Are you sure?' but a cold look made the words die in her throat. It wasn't a question, it was an unquestionable statement. He had noticed that something was wrong and had switched back to bodyguard mode.

Because he couldn't die.

Stelle didn't resist, knowing it would be useless. So she stood and watched him climb out of the passageway, slowed by the slight limp in his injured leg, until he was completely outside. Then she waited until she heard his voice.

"You can come out."

He hadn't finished the sentence and she was already crawling out of the gap. She didn't want to let go of the Lance until she was sure there was no danger, so her crossing was quite awkward due to its size. Eventually, though, she managed to cross the rock wall and found herself right next to Blade, facing the exit.

The collapse of the tunnel hadn't hit the area just in front of the door, which remained relatively free of debris. The first thing she noticed was the whiff of fresh air that caressed her nostrils. Then she realized that the reason for the influx of air was that the metal door was open. Which was strange, because when the tunnel collapsed, it was still closed. Finally, she noticed that something was missing.

Or to be more precise, someone.

They were at the place where Qin Jian had been pierced by Blade's sword. And indeed, the sword was there, intact amidst the rocks, encrusted with dried blood. There was also a bloodstain where his body had fallen. But there was no trace of him.

His absence and the open door combined in Stelle's mind to form a most unpleasant scenario.

"How?" she complained. She had saw him impaled! The sword pierced him through and through! He couldn't survive that!

Unless...

"The 'Draught of Draconic Surge'," Blade said, coming to the same conclusion. "He escaped with the pellets. He must have taken one before we got to him. Or he was already Mara-struck and under the influence of a drug that suppressed its effects."

Stelle felt all her energy drain away and she leaned against a wall, exhausted. They had gone to all this trouble just to reach him. She risked being crushed to death, then buried alive. Her companion broke his back and a leg. All this just to allow the snake to escape.

Blade picked up his sword from the ground and delivered a couple of diagonal slashes in the air to check its condition. Then he stroked the hilt, running his fingers down to the ink-colored steel. His touch was careful, delicate, so much so that Stelle wondered if he had ever - or would ever - use such gentleness with a human.

When he was satisfied, he sheathed it, opened the door, and stepped out. Stelle let the Lance disappear and followed, stopping when he bent down to inspect the snow. The inspection didn't last long, though.

When they started the raid, it was morning. She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the sky was turning red and the first stars were peeking out from the few spots not covered by clouds. It was colder, and snowflakes had been falling all the time. If Qin Jian had left any trace, it had long since been washed away.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything, the disappointment settling between them. Then, with a movement so sudden that it startled her, Blade punched the metal door. The sound, like a gong, echoed at the feet of the silent mountain.

"In the end, it was all for nothing," he hissed through clenched teeth. He hadn't raised his voice, but his anger was obvious. Stelle could feel it hovering around him like a poisonous cloud.

"No, it wasn't for nothing," she replied, forcing herself to overcome her own disappointment. "We saved many people, and the Disciples' operation here in Belobog is officially over. Even though Qin Jian escaped, he's alone and without help. He won't be able to do anything." She approached him and carefully placed a hand on his arm. "We won, Blade."

He turned to her with a snap of his head and seemed about to reply in kind. When their eyes met, however, his expression softened, shifting from anger to a more controlled bitterness.

"Yes. We won. You're alive."

Stelle nodded and smiled at him. After all, from her point of view, saving her was the whole point of the mission. It was a victory, one way or the other.

Too bad she didn't believe it herself.

Unable to do anything for the time being, the two had no choice but to try to return to Belobog before dark. It was never a good idea to stay outside the city at nightfall.

Not knowing exactly where the secret exit was, it took them a while to get their bearings, and Silver Wolf's maps came in handy. They managed to determine an approximate direction and headed that way, moving quickly through the snow. Just like when they left in the morning, Stelle was half a step behind Blade. At first, he walked with a slight hunch and a limp. But after a while, she had seen his back straighten, his step become more stable, until he was as agile as a mountain goat again. She didn't think it was an exaggeration to say that at this point he was in better physical shape than she was.

Neither of them spoke, their moods still dark. Blade's wrath had cooled, but that didn't mean he wasn't still angry. And it was about more than wounded pride for letting the prey escape. It had become personal, and Stelle didn't know why. Maybe he didn't know either, considering the way his memory worked. Ultimately, though, she could relate because she felt something similar.

Their silent trip didn't last long. According to Silver Wolf's maps, they were halfway back to the path to the city, when they saw a group of people appear on the horizon. As they approached, Stelle recognized the colors of the Silvermane Guards and realized that it was a small contingent of soldiers. But they were not alone. Leading the group, she recognized a couple of figures: a girl with long silver curls and a familiar pink head. And of course, they quickly noticed the two travelers approaching through the snow.

"Stelle!"

Almost immediately, March's voice echoed across the valley and her figure ran in their direction. Stelle beamed at the sight of her friend and hurried to meet her halfway. The two girls embraced, and March in particular was on the verge of tears.

"Thank the Aeons you're okay! I was so worried! When we heard that the passage in the mountain collapsed, I thought something terrible happened to you!"

She buried her face in her friend's shoulder, and Stelle gave her a few comforting pats on the back, waiting for her to calm down. She was sorry that March had been worried, but there was a part of her that was a little happy. If she had been concerned, it was because she cared about her.

"Don't worry. It's true that the tunnel collapsed on us, but..."

"It collapsed on you?!" March pulled away from the hug, her eyes wide with concern. "I thought you managed to get out before it caved in! How...?!"

"We were trapped for a while, but as you can see, we're all in one piece."

"You look terrible though! Are you sure you're not hurt? And..."

She paused, her eyes wandering over her friend's shoulders to Blade. The swordsman had approached silently, staying a few steps away so as not to interrupt the conversation between the two friends. Now, however, March had noticed him. She also noticed that his appearance was even more ragged than Stelle's, and turned from concern to suspicion.

"She didn't get into trouble because of you, did she?" she said, approaching him. She started off rather boldly, but as soon as Blade turned his attention to her, she became much less confident. Still, she didn't give up. She took another step closer and pointed an accusing finger at him. "Because if I find out that something bad happened to her, or if you harmed a single hair on her head, I..."

Her words died in her throat as he met her passionate threat with an icy stare. Then, as if March were nothing more than a large, annoying ant, Blade ignored everything she said and turned to Stelle.

"Who is this pink person?"

"March 7th. One of my companions."

March stood there open-mouthed, irritated at being completely ignored.

"Hey! The fact that you're tall, dark and scary doesn't give you the right to ignore people like that!"

She pointed her finger at him again. And again, Blade didn't even look at her.

"Is she crazy?" he asked Stelle.

"No, just very protective."

"Will you two stop being buddy-buddy with each other?!" exploded March in exasperation.

Seeing that she had turned blue with annoyance and worry, Stelle decided it was time to mediate. It was an entertaining display, but she didn't want her friend to have a stroke.

"You can relax. Blade saved my life."

March looked at her in disbelief. Then at him. Then back at her. And when she realized she wasn't joking, she blushed. As an open book, it was easy to read her emotions. She was mortified and sorry for jumping to conclusions and accusing him unfairly. At the same time, she didn't like him, so she didn't want to apologize. The two conflicting impulses fought inside her for a while. And since March was too good-hearted to be deliberately unfair, the first one won.

She straightened her shoulders, cleared her throat, and held out her hand.

Blade looked at it, tilting his head. He had the same expression as a cat when a foreign object was placed in front of it. Stelle would not have been surprised if he tried to sniff it.

"I'm sorry. I was unfair," she said, trying to show sincerity without being too lenient. "Thank you for helping my friend."

Blade stared at her, confused. Then he looked at Stelle again. She gave him her best puppy-dog eyes, and he shook March's hand in resignation. But since neither of them was eager to maintain contact, the handshake lasted only a second before they pulled away.

"It's so nice to see you two getting along!" Stelle said enthusiastically, completely missing the hostility in the air.

"Speaking of getting along," March interjected, noticing the strange game of interactions between the two, "when did you two get so chummy?"

"Being buried alive has that effect," Stelle replied wisely. "When you're injured and trapped under rocks..."

"You weren't," Blade replied, his arms crossed over his chest.

"...And you are forced to make your way in the cold and the dark..." she continued, undaunted.

"We had your Lance."

"...Digging our way to the surface with nails and teeth..."

"We didn't have to dig."

March looked from one to the other, squinting.

"And then you say I shouldn't worry..." she muttered to herself.

Stelle heard her, but decided to ignore her, at least for now. She knew that her friend would grill her thoroughly in private. The longer she could postpone that, the better.

"By the way, how did you know the cave collapsed?" she changed the subject.

Before March could answer, another familiar voice spoke on her behalf.

"You should ask our guests about that."

It was Bronya, who had joined them along with the group of Guards. Next to her was Kafka and what looked like a bundle of clothes with legs. A bundle consisting of a blue snowsuit, a huge gray coat, three scarves, earmuffs and a woolen hat, as well as snow goggles. Only when Stelle saw a curly, silvery ponytail peeking out from under the hat did she realize it was Silver Wolf.

What those two were doing with Bronya's group was a mystery. As was the fact that March had started shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

"Oh, it's all thanks to Wolfie here," Kafka explained. "When she lost contact, she got worried about you and crossed the snowy plains alone to warn us. Right, Wolfie?"

Silver Wolf's voice came from the depths of the bundled clothing, muffled by the three scarves.

"I wasn't worried about them. I was afraid of what would happen to us if Stelle died. Of course, I wasn't worried about Blade. He won't die even if you kill him."

"Whatever the motivation," Bronya interjected, "Silver Wolf gave us the coordinates for the third entrance. So I led a group of men to the rescue." She smiled, relieved. "But I see you didn't need it."

Even if it wasn't necessary, it was flattering that they had come to her aid, even in the middle of a crisis.

"Thank you, Bronya," Stelle said. "And what about the Disciples?"

"The operation was a success. Between us and Wildfire, we managed to stop them. Those who tried to attack us were killed, but we managed to capture most of them. The survivors will be imprisoned, and we'll try to contact the Xianzhou Alliance. Now that the crisis has been resolved, they have the right to know what happened. For now, I've left it to the Captain to escort them to the city, and Wildfire is offering to assist."

"And the prisoners are safe, of course," Kafka chimed in, knowing that this was her main concern.

Blade, who had been silent until then, joined the conversation.

"They need to be quarantined."

Bronya shifted her focus to him, puzzled, and Stelle went to assist him.

"Yes, he's right. I don't think that's the case, but there's a possibility that the Disciples gave them some of their drugs. Keeping them under observation for a few days would be the safest thing to do, both for them and their loved ones."

"I understand." Bronya bit her lower lip, dismayed at the thought that these people's suffering might not be over yet. "Very well then. I'll give instructions about this. And what about the group leader?"

Here came the sour notes.

"Unfortunately, he fled in the confusion after the collapse. He's almost certainly under the influence of their drugs and could be dangerous."

Silver Wolf made a frustrated sound, but Bronya nodded in understanding. Her time in leadership had taught her that things rarely worked out for the best. There was always some inconvenience.

"We will be prepared. I'll increase surveillance. You'll see, we will find him."

...Well, at least that was settled. Now they just had to deal with the elephant in the room. Figuratively speaking.

"If I may ask," Stelle began, her eyes shifting from Kafka to Silver Wolf, "why are you here?"

Weren't they the ones who preferred to remain incognito and not draw attention to themselves? Why were they suddenly in cahoots with the Supreme Guardian?

"Worried about us, dear?" Kafka chuckled. "Don't be. The Supreme Guardian is a very reasonable person. After all, she already knew everything."

Stelle blinked. How did she know if the IPC hadn't had a chance to contact her?

Then she noticed March continuing to avoid her gaze, very interested in her shoes. 

She turned to her, shocked. How could she?

"I'm sorry," March whimpered. "When she found out that you were working with a group of strangers, Bronya asked me for information. And you know I'm not good at lying! She knew right away that I was hiding something!"

"To be fair, she didn't tell me much. I had to deduce almost everything on my own," Bronya admitted.

Stelle sighed, imagining the scene. Bronya probably asked the right question, March tried to dodge it, and in trying to avoid the conversation, she let slip the information the Guardian needed.

It was pointless to be angry with her for that. After all, she hadn't done it on purpose. She would just ask Dan Heng to give her a lecture. And Pom-Pom to make her clean the kitchen for a month. And Himeko to make her coffee.

"For my part," the young Guardian added with the measured tone of an experienced diplomat, "I never received any official news about the 'Stellaron Hunters'. Therefore, as far as I know, this group has never set foot on Jarilo-VI. And even if they had, they wouldn't have caused any trouble on our planet. As long as their members don't cause problems, I have no reason to go after them."

Kafka smiled cheerfully, and Stelle got the impression that she kind of liked Bronya. Probably because she was a different type of authority figure than the ones she was used to.

"As far as I know," she said, "I can't imagine that this group has any interest in causing trouble on this planet. What they're interested in is finding and requisitioning Stellarons, and the one here has already been dealt with."

Bronya didn't answer, and it was clear that neither of the two women would say more. The agreement had been reached, and there was nothing more to discuss.

"Well," March said, breaking the brief silence that followed, "since the rescue mission wasn't necessary, can we go back to the city? It's getting pretty cold out here."

"Of course," Bronya agreed. "We will be happy to escort you. All of you."

Her gaze went to the Hunters, but Kafka politely declined and placed her hands on her colleagues' shoulders.

"We appreciate the offer, Supreme Guardian, but my companions and I will return on our own."

Neither Blade nor Silver Wolf spoke a word. They knew full well that this was an order. Bronya did not insist either.

"Thank you for your help. I wish there was something I could do to repay you, but..."

"As I said on the way here," Kafka interrupted her, "we had our reasons for helping, so you owe us nothing. However, we appreciate your gratitude."

The other didn't say anything. She nodded her head and turned to make arrangements for her men.

"Let's go too, Stelle," March said, grabbing her arm.

Stelle hesitated and turned to the trio of Hunters. She assumed they would accompany them all the way to the city, and Kafka's announcement took her by surprise. In fact, part of her assumed they would never leave.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" she asked, anxiety stirring in her chest. Would she see them again when they got to the city? Or would they leave right away?

"Don't worry about us, darling. You're safe now. Go back to your friends," Kafka replied, but her words didn't reassure her at all.

Something was wrong. Something was missing. That something that kept twisting in the depths of her mind, that she could not ignore.

'Why are you sending me away? I don't want to go!'

The voice - her own voice - exploded in her mind. Thoughts that were hers, but at the same time were not. An echo of something she could not remember.

Confused, her eyes darted from Kafka to Silver Wolf, then stopped at Blade. Hoping that one of them would stop her. Hoping he would stop her. 

But of course that did not happen.

Blade met her gaze, his face devoid of expression. When she did not move, he inclined his head in a nod of dismissal. He kept his word: he protected her; brought her out of the cave; she would see all her companions again. There was nothing more to say.

"Stelle!"

March tugged at her sleeve again, impatient. So Stelle waved goodbye and turned, accompanying her friend toward Bronya's group of Guards. 

She did not turn back.

They had already walked quite a distance when March spoke.

"There are some things you need to explain to me."

"What?" she replied, her mind still elsewhere.

"You and Blade. You told me not to worry, but what I saw is a hundred percent worrying! There were so many sparks flying, I almost caught fire."

"He was just doing his job. He was supposed to protect me, and he did."

And if that was the case, she shouldn't be disappointed. After all, she had nothing to complain about in their current relationship, right?

March was far from convinced, but something stopped her from asking further. Instead, she remained silent for a while, tapping her chin with her fingers.

"Tell me," she finally said. "Is he always like that?"

"Like what?"

"Well..." She hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "He's a little different than I imagined."

She had no doubts about that. She was sure that in March's mind, Blade appeared as a bloodthirsty, savage psychopath, foaming at the mouth like a hydrophobic beast. Instead, she found a human being. She doubted that she would change her mind about him so easily, but it was good that she saw reality for what it was.

"Stelle."

At the familiar male voice, the girls turned in time to see Dan Heng emerge from behind a pile of rocks, a little flushed from the cold and a worried expression on his face. He looked breathless, as if he had been running for a long time.

"Are you all right?" he asked, approaching Stelle and holding her shoulders for a closer view.

She looked at him, disoriented. She hadn't expected to see him there. It was a very stupid thing to do. He knew she had been with Blade until five minutes before! What if he saw him? What if he recognized him? What if he tried to kill him?

"Yes," she replied, blinking to clear the confusion. "Why are you here? I thought you were with Wildfire!"

"I was with them, actually. But our group had just joined the Guards when Silver Wolf arrived. I thought you might be in danger."

"And the big brother instinct kicked in?" March teased.

He gave her a look - just the kind an older brother would give his little sister - before returning to Stelle.

"I followed Bronya's group here. If you were in danger, I would have come to help you."

There was no need to say more: she could imagine the rest. As he stealthily followed the others, he saw her and Blade approaching, and when he was sure she was alive and well, he stayed hidden until the Hunters separated from the group.

That idiot! After all the efforts to prevent him and Blade from meeting — efforts made for his own safety! — he rushed there, throwing caution and common sense to the wind, on the vague suspicion that she might be in danger.

"And what would you have done if you met Blade? If he had attacked you?"

He thought for a moment, then shook his head.

"If it happened, it happened. You're more important."

Stelle wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. It was nice to feel loved and accepted. To know that they would always rush to help her, no matter what. And they would never send her away.

'They will love you for who you are, even if you're different from them. Or maybe they will love you even more for it.'

Yes, Blade was right. This was all a 'family' was supposed to be.

Without hesitation, she threw herself into Dan Heng's arms and hugged him tightly. He jumped, taken aback by the sudden gesture. After a moment's hesitation, however, he returned the hug and stroked her back reassuringly.

"Hey, don't leave me out! You can't be all cute without me!"

In less than a second, March hugged them both, her position so awkward that both she and Stelle burst out laughing. Even Dan Heng let out a chuckle.

"I missed you," Stelle said, basking in the warmth of two of the most important people in her life.

Her 'family'.

And while she was there, happy with the people she loved, her thoughts flew back to another person. Someone who didn't know this happiness. Who might never have known it. And she wished more than anything that he could be as happy as she was, even for a little while.

Chapter Text

In the time it had taken them to return to Belobog, Stelle's account of their misadventure had changed drastically. Somehow it turned into an epic tale in which she and Blade found themselves thrown into underground mines after the collapse of the tunnel. They were pursued by Fragmentum monsters, until a fiery Doomsday Beast appeared. It almost slaughtered them, until she stopped it on an underground bridge, using her Lance and shouting "You shall not pass!".

No one took her seriously, of course. March joined her in telling the story, though, because she found it fun. So, during the trip, Stelle's high-fantasy tale was embellished by March's additions and Dan Heng's occasional input. In a way, the only part of the tale that made sense came from him. Despite his better efforts, though, the story still ended with Stelle defeating the formidable foe barehanded. And, of course, she emerged from the mountain carrying the wounded Blade bridal style. March insisted on that particular point.

The story had just ended when they finally arrived inside the city walls. It was with obvious relief that the gatekeepers opened the doors for their Guardian before nightfall. They informed her that the previous group — including Wildfire, the freed hostages, and the prisoners from Sanctus Medicus — had returned sometime earlier. The surviving Disciples had been imprisoned, awaiting judgment. Meanwhile, the hostages were temporarily housed in the Guards' quarters. They would be fed, attended to by a medic, and questioned about their captivity.

Bronya took charge immediately, and there seemed to be no particular need for input from the group from the Express. The three stayed on the sidelines, while their friend issued orders for the quarantine of the former hostages and the search for Qin Jian. It seemed that everything was under control, at least for the moment.

That is, until a soldier ran toward them, trying to get the Guardian's attention.

"My Lady! There's a matter of some urgency!"

She interrupted the ongoing discussion to focus her attention on the Guard.

"What is it?"

The breathless soldier straightened, trying to sound calm.

"Ships have entered the planet's orbit and established communication with us. They claim to be representatives of the Xianzhou Alliance and wish to confer with you about recent events."

"The Alliance is already here?"

Bronya hesitated, surprised by the sudden development, and glanced at the three Nameless for their opinion.

"Whoa, that was fast! How did they get here so quickly?" asked March.

"It makes sense, actually," Dan Heng said. "Remember, hunting down the Denizens of Abundance is their entire calling. They likely received news of Qin Jian's presence on Jarilo-VI before we did. They only arrived afterward because we were closer."

Stelle nodded in agreement. She read enough about the Alliance's past battles to know that they were relentless when it came to such matters. They would be even more unyielding with a group that slipped through their fingers.

"Well, thank the Aeons we got here first," she said. "We saved ourselves a lot of diplomatic headaches."

"Indeed."

Dan Heng's reply was accompanied by a short sigh, but he didn't elaborate further.

Bronya turned back to the soldier.

"Did they say anything else?"

"Yes," the soldier replied. "They said that if we permit them to dock, a high-ranking representative of theirs will personally descend to Belobog. A certain General..." The guard hesitated, stumbling over the syllables before bowing his head. "I'm sorry, but I have a hard time pronouncing his name. It was something like Ching Juan."

"Jing Yuan!" the three from the Express exclaimed in unison, catching Bronya's eye again.

After a glance in their direction, she addressed the Guard.

"I accept their request. Permit them to land. I'll meet the General at Fort Qliphoth."

The Guard gave a military salute and hurried off to relay the order. Bronya wrapped up the remaining instructions with the other guards and, once they were alone, she returned to her friends.

"From your reaction, I assume you're familiar with this General."

Stelle nodded.

"Yes. He's the General of the Xianzhou Luofu, one of the Flagships of the Alliance."

"And he's someone important, I suppose."

"Very important," she confirmed. "He's practically one of the heads of the Luofu."

"And if I may ask," Bronya said, "what kind of person is he? Before I meet him, I'd like to know who I'm dealing with."

The three exchanged glances. Or rather, March and Stelle looked at Dan Heng. And of course, he had to take the lead.

"He is one of the Arbiter Generals, the leaders of the Cloud Knights, the army of the Alliance. He's also one of the Six Charioteers, representing the six Commissions that govern the Luofu. He's an excellent military leader and strategist, and a shrewd diplomat."

"He's tall, handsome, and speaks like a gentleman," March added, wanting to contribute something of her own.

"And he likes cats," Stelle concluded, not wanting to be left out, while Dan Heng rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

Bronya smiled at the explanation, reassured.

"From the way you describe him, he seems trustworthy."

"The General is a great person," March confirmed. She had become a fan of Jing Yuan ever since he had ten boxes of her favorite Xianzhou sweets delivered to the Express pantry.

"Well, that's good to know. Still, I would appreciate it if you'd be present during the meeting. It would make me feel more comfortable."

At Bronya's request, March was the first to enthusiastically agree.

"No problem! Right, guys?"

Her companions followed immediately. Stelle would have preferred to have time to shower and change before meeting the General — she managed to clean up a bit during the trip, but her appearance wasn't at its best. But she couldn't leave Bronya right now. Her friend gratefully accepted their help, and the four of them made their way to Fort Qliphoth together.

On the way, Stelle noticed Dan Heng walking a few steps behind them. Taking advantage of March's engrossed conversation with Bronya, she sidled up to him. It didn't take much to notice that he looked worn out.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked.

He jumped, so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed her. He glanced in her direction, his cerulean eyes shadowed with fatigue.

"I'm fine. I was just thinking that no matter what I do or where I go, these matters keep haunting me."

Stelle knew that Dan Heng wanted to put his past behind him. Yet they kept stumbling upon it, as if cursed. And now, with the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus, Jing Yuan's visit, and Blade roaming free on the same planet, his stress level must have been sky-high.

"Maybe when we get to Penacony, we will shake off your worries for a while."

She smiled reassuringly, and his gaze softened. He patted her head affectionately and managed a small smile.

"Right."

He said nothing more, and Stelle didn't push any further. She just stayed at his side, trying not to look in his direction too often. She was afraid that if he saw her concern, he'd try even harder to appear normal to avoid worrying her. She didn't want to cause him any more stress. She knew she was already doing enough to worry him.

It was frustrating not to be able to do anything to ease his burden. She wanted to protect her family — it was the most natural feeling in the world. But how could she do that when she was torn in two?

Of the many things Stelle had imagined upon returning to Belobog, this was not on the list at all. And yet it happened.

Bronya was sitting at the desk in her office at Fort Qliphoth. Stelle, March, and Dan Heng were at her left side. Even Seele, who had recently returned, insisted on being present and now stood to Bronya's right, like a protective gargoyle.

And of course, General Jing Yuan was in front of them, accompanied by a small retinue of Cloud Knights. He seemed out of place in the austere office of Fort Qliphoth, his tall figure contrasting with Bronya's slender one. Yet he was far from intimidated. Beneath his thick mane of white hair, his gaze was sharp and confident.

"It is an honor to meet you, Supreme Guardian. I'm glad you agreed to meet with us under the current circumstances. As soon as we discovered that this was the destination of the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus, we wasted no time. We were afraid the situation would escalate."

From her position next to Bronya, Seele wrinkled her nose. The General belonged to a category of people she didn't like.

"I appreciate your concern, General," Bronya replied. "I admit that for a while we feared the worst. As you can imagine, we have been isolated for a long time. We had no knowledge of this cult or its capabilities. Fortunately, we received help at the right time."

Her gaze shifted to the three Nameless, and Jing Yuan followed suit. His smile widened as he acknowledged their presence.

"You were in excellent hands, then. Our mutual friends are very good at solving problems."

His eyes lingered on Dan Heng for a second, and Stelle could feel him tense at her side, his hands clenched into fists. But the moment passed quickly, and Jing Yuan turned his attention back to Bronya.

"We came to offer our assistance. However, I'm glad that the situation was resolved before we arrived," he said, and he probably meant it. The fact that they had thwarted the Disciples' plan before it could be carried out undoubtedly saved him a lot of headaches.

Everyone was aware of this, including Seele. And this time, she didn't keep quiet.

"Well, isn't it rather convenient, huh? You didn't have to lift a finger."

Jing Yuan turned to her, and the Cloud Knights of his escort appeared nervous.

"Seele, please...!" Bronya stepped in and tried to silence her. But Seele didn't budge.

"I'm sorry, Bronya, but I won't shut up. Those psychos have hurt our people, and there have been several casualties. None of this would have happened if the Alliance had been more careful with their scum".

The Knights became even more restless at the blatant lack of respect. However, Jing Yuan silenced them with a single authoritative glance.

"Ms. Seele, right? It's always a pleasure to meet someone with strong opinions," he said, as friendly as ever.

"General, I apologize for my friend's impertinence," Bronya said. "What she said is true, but the attitude was uncalled for."

"No need to apologize, Supreme Guardian. If anything, we should. As you may have heard," and his gaze returned to the Trailblazers, "recently my ship, the Luofu, faced a very serious crisis. We're still recovering from the aftermath, and the Disciples have taken advantage of this  to escape our grasp." He turned back to Seele without a trace of resentment. "We came as soon as we got wind of what was going on. Some of our more vocal voices wanted to show up in force and take care of them ourselves. But the moderates among us persuaded them to understand what happened before acting. Showing up here with the entire fleet ready for war would have caused an unpleasant misunderstanding with Belobog's authorities. And none of us wants to start on the wrong foot."

And that was why he was there in person. It was a diplomatic way of making it clear that the Xianzhou Alliance didn't mess around when it came to the Denizens of Abundance. But, at the same time, they wanted to get along. Seele understood this. And of course, so did Bronya.

The former remained silent, while the latter hid her worries behind a stern expression.

"I appreciate it, General. I can assure you that neither of us wants our relationship to sour before it even begins. But there is still a need to discuss the points my friend has raised. We currently have most of the Disciples in custody, but their leader managed to escape. Also, we've suffered civilian casualties due to their atrocities. Unfortunately, this is an enemy we didn't expect to face. Therefore, any information you can give us would be appreciated."

Jing Yuan shook his head in consternation.

"Unfortunately, I can't reveal much about the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus and their practices."

Seele rolled her eyes, unsurprised by the response, while Bronya's shoulders slumped.

"However," the General continued, "I have an alternative solution."

"What is it?"

"We have the staff to deal with this situation. Medical personnel who specialize in identifying the symptoms of the Disciples' affliction, for example. They could assist your personnel in dealing with the former hostages. Not to mention a specialized police force to hunt down these criminals. I'm sure they'd be honored to help you find the leader of the cell. And as for the victims..." His voice trailed off, and for once Stelle was sure that his distress was genuine. "Unfortunately, there is no way to bring them back, and I am sorry that our issues led to the loss of innocent lives. But we can offer compensation to their families. If you don't mind, of course."

He paused, giving Bronya time to think. She laced her fingers under her chin, weighing the pros and cons. Then she made her decision.

"Agreed. It's a reasonable proposal, as long as all operations take place under the direction of our staff."

"As it should be." Jing Yuan smiled. He had probably expected Bronya's counterproposal, and it was exactly the result he had hoped for. "I will return tomorrow to discuss the details. I'm sure it's been a hard day for all of you."

Now that the most important part of the meeting was over, the atmosphere became more relaxed. Bronya rose to shake Jing Yuan's hand, and the two leaders exchanged the necessary pleasantries. Then, before leaving, the General gave the three from the Astral Express a warm smile.

"It was a pleasure to see you again, my friends. I'm sorry our reunion is cut short, but know that you are always welcome on the Luofu. And the offer to stay is still open if you change your mind, Dan Heng."

Before he could answer, Stelle and March stepped forward and stood between their companion and the General.

"...I suppose the answer is still no, right?" he chuckled.

Dan Heng nodded without a hint of hesitation.

"Thanks for the offer, but I haven't changed my mind."

"I didn't expect anything else. Farewell then. I hope to see you all soon."

After a last, quick parting gesture, Jing Yuan left the office with his entourage.

With him gone, the remaining tension in the room dissipated completely. Bronya slumped into her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose, while Seele sat on the edge of the desk.

"Well, I thought it would be worse," the latter said. "I was expecting a complete scumbag, but he was kind of decent."

"From the way you talked to him, I assumed you hated him," Bronya replied, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't want him to think he could handle things his way! Seriously, Bronya, sometimes you're too soft."

"And you're too aggressive! When it comes to diplomacy, we can't give our partners the impression that we want to threaten them. It doesn't work that way!"

"Well!" March interjected to keep the two from starting their usual bickering. "At least we can all agree that the General is handsome, right?"

Bronya and Seele stopped their discussion to turn to her. Then they burst out laughing.

"Okay, okay. You're right. He was good-looking," the former said.

"I expected better. I dare say even Luka is more attractive. And we're talking about Luka, so the bar isn't set very high," Seele replied with a snort.

"By the way," Bronya asked. "Why did he want Dan Heng to stay on his ship? Did something happen?"

"It's a long story," he replied evasively.

"A story so long it would take centuries to tell," Stelle added.

March nodded. 

"Exactly. I mean, who would have thought that Dan Heng was actually a dr—"

She was immediately interrupted by two energetic stomps on her feet, one from each of her companions.

Bronya and Seele exchanged glances, then shrugged.

"If it's private, we won't interfere," the latter said. "I'm sure you have your reasons."

"To change the subject," the young Guardian added, becoming serious again, "I hope you'll stay here for a few more days. We were planning a festival before all this happened, and I would be happy if you could join us."

"Will it still take place despite all that has happened?" asked Stelle. She didn't have much experience, but when sad events happened, celebrations were often canceled or postponed. Especially when there were victims.

"I thought about postponing it," Bronya explained, "but it's an event the people of Belobog have been waiting for a long time. We haven't had much to celebrate in the last seven hundred years. I thought it might be more appropriate to hold the festival anyway, and dedicate a day to the memory of the victims."

"It would also be a great way to show that the people of Belobog are strong and not easily intimidated. I like the idea," agreed Seele.

"So will you be there?"

"If no other problems arise, absolutely!" March promised.

Stelle herself had no objections. But she noticed that Dan Heng hadn't said a word. And he still had that exhausted expression on his face.

She tugged at his sleeve, and he immediately snapped out of it, giving her a reassuring look. One that did not comfort her at all. It was obvious that he had no desire to participate in any kind of celebration. And after all he had been through - and was still going through - she couldn't blame him. But she feared that he would withdraw into himself and not share his worries with anyone. That couldn't be good for his mental state. Bringing it up in front of Bronya and Seele didn't seem like a good idea, though. She feared that it would only cause him more stress. So she said nothing while the others chatted with March about the details of the festival.

It took a while for the conversation to end, and when no one had anything more to say, the Trailblazers said their goodbyes. Bronya had promised them rooms at the Goethe Hotel, with the assurance that no one would try to arrest them this time. So Stelle was anxious to finally take a hot shower. She had been through enough for one day; no one could blame her for wanting to end it.

But as they made their way through the corridors of Fort Qliphoth, her mind was consumed by another thought. As they walked, she turned to the large windows and looked out at the snowflakes that had begun to fall again.

She wondered if the Hunters had returned to the city.

"Stelle!"

March's call brought her back and she noticed her frown. She had completely missed what her friend had said.

"Sorry, were you talking about something?" she said, trying to make amends.

March sighed. "Yes, but it wasn't important. The point is that you've been more absent-minded lately. I mean, you're always absent-minded, but this takes the cake!"

Unable to disagree, Stelle could only apologize again.

"I'm sorry. It's nothing. I was just a little..."

Her gaze went back to one of the windows, even though she knew it was pointless. She couldn't even see the street from there.

"...Worried?" Dan Heng finished her sentence for her.

She turned and met his serious gaze. It seemed as if he could pry every single thought from her head if he wanted to.

"Yes," she admitted, realizing there was no point in denying it.

"Worried about whom? Don't tell me this is about Blade!" March asked, not even trying to hide her annoyance. "You shouldn't be, you know? From what Dan Heng says, the guy could throw himself into a supernova and still survive."

"I'm not just worried about Blade. I'm worried about all three of them."

At Stelle's frank and innocent reply, poor March could only grimace.

"Even worse!" She grabbed Stelle's shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. "Listen to me, okay? We're talking about the Stellaron Hunters. I hate to admit it, but they are super badass. There's no way they're going to get into trouble. Even if they did, they know exactly how to handle it. And don't give me those sad raccoon eyes!" she added, meeting Stelle's pitiful look. "I'm trying to tell you that there's nothing to be afraid of and that they'll be fine!"

She knew it. She had seen it with her own eyes, again and again. But that didn't stop her from worrying. And what would she do if they left without saying anything? Maybe it would be the easiest thing for everyone, but it didn't sit right with her.

Dan Heng looked thoughtfully from her to the window. Then he asked, "You know where their hideout is, right?"

Stelle nodded, and his gaze wandered back in her direction.

"If you're so concerned, go there later. If you find them, it'll ease your mind."

Stelle beamed, overflowing with gratitude. March, on the other hand, looked at him as if he had completely lost his mind.

"Are you serious?"

"I'm trying to be rational," he replied. "Have you ever managed to change Stelle's mind once she's made a decision?"

"Well... no."

"So isn't it better to let her do what she wants, with our approval, knowing exactly where she'll be and with whom?"

March still seemed to want to retort, but after thinking of a comeback — and finding none — she deflated like a balloon.

"Fine. But let Himeko and Mr. Yang know as well, okay? Just in case."

Stelle barely waited for her to finish before she threw her arms around her neck.

"Thank you, March! You're a hero! A queen! An Aeon! The Aeon of Magnanimity!"

The affectionate outburst softened her a bit, but March still made an effort to remain stern and slipped out of the hug.

"Just so you know, I don't like those guys, okay? So be careful."

Stelle nodded, and she headed for the exit, muttering something about 'irresponsible friends who made her worry'.

The other two followed a few steps behind, side by side. At first, they walked in silence, keeping their thoughts to themselves. Eventually, though, Stelle couldn't resist and spoke first.

"Thank you. I didn't think you would support me."

Dan Heng sighed and rubbed his temple.

"Don't get me wrong: I don't think it's a good idea. And I'd rather you stay away from those people." He turned to look at her, his expression filled with a quiet sadness. "But you and I are in a similar situation right now. If I kept you from going, I'd feel like a hypocrite."

He wasn't wrong. They were both shackled to a past they barely understood, and there was no way out for either of them. He because of the consequences of Dan Feng's decisions. She because of Elio's ambiguous plans for the future. And, at least as far as she was concerned, because of her relationship with the Hunters.

'Why are you sending me away? I don't want to go!'

The memory resurfaced from the depths of her mind, bringing up a myriad of unanswered questions. Questions she was afraid to answer.

"Yes," she replied, forcing a smile. "We're both in this up to our necks, aren't we?"

Dan Heng did not answer, lost in his thoughts. And without further ado, the two followed in March's wake, leaving Fort Qliphoth behind once again.

Blade had long since given up trying to figure out what was going on in Kafka's mind. Most of the time it was counterproductive. And, when it came to Elio's predictions, he knew that Kafka would reveal no more than what was necessary. Besides, as long as he had clear orders to follow, he didn't care. Sometimes, though, her decisions were so arbitrary that he wondered if she just enjoyed being unpredictable.

Neither he nor Silver Wolf said a word when Kafka decided to fall behind Stelle's group. When she and the Silvermane Guards left, both of them had expected some kind of explanation. They knew nothing of any other objectives on this planet. And indeed, there was an explanation. It was just incredibly cryptic.

"Depending on how we move now, we'll have one of two encounters," she said. "I'm just choosing the least troublesome."

She didn't say more, and knowing how things worked, they didn't ask. Silver Wolf, however, had expressed her displeasure by complaining constantly about the cold. If they had gone with the Guards, in fact, they would have returned to the city sooner. Instead, what they got was a lonely trek through the snowy fields. And, without a large group around them, the Fragmentum creatures became bolder.

Not that it was a problem. It took two large groups to wound Blade the first time he ventured into those parts. This time there were three of them, so the threat was non-existent. Still, he would have preferred not to be forced to fight when his leg and back were still sore. Most of the damage had been fixed, but he could still feel the aftermath. Even when it passed, he was sure he would find a few fresh scars waiting for him.

But it was fine. He had no regrets. He would heal anyway, but the same couldn't be said for Stelle. And as much as he wanted to say that he threw himself under a rain of boulders for the sake of the mission, he knew that it wasn't quite true.

Silver Wolf said that if anything happened to Stelle, Elio would kill them — or have them killed, depending on the situation. That might be a deterrent for others, but not for him. If Elio knew a way to end his life, he would gladly submit to it. Besides, as much as he wanted to die, Blade wasn't a masochist. He wasn't afraid of pain, but he didn't seek it out. Getting hit by a landslide wasn't exactly one of his favorite pastimes.

Sure, he liked to complete his missions efficiently, so he would help Stelle regardless of the consequences. But his sense of duty didn't justify the fear he felt when he saw the rocks raining down on her. Nor the speed with which he acted, without even thinking about what was to come. And as the rocks 'killed' him again, the last thing he remembered was the fear that the mountain would claim her life anyway.

For once, the disappointment of his umpteenth resurrection had been almost entirely offset by the relief he felt when he saw her again. 

Alive. And unharmed.

The truth was, mission or no mission, he didn't want her to die. As hypocritical as it sounded, it was the only explanation he could give himself. As for the motives, he did his best not to dwell on them.

When they arrived at the gates of Belobog, the sentries let them pass without a problem, having received news of their arrival. Blade noticed that the garrison had been reinforced during their absence. The reason was to intercept Qin Jian the moment he tried to return, as he inevitably would. 

No matter how resilient the Mara would make him, he couldn't survive indefinitely in the snowy wastes. Even if he found a way, he wouldn't be able to accomplish anything. Belobog would be too heavily guarded for him to attempt anything else, especially with his followers in custody. He couldn't do anything to free them on his own, so the most sensible choice would be to leave the planet. But to do that, he would have to return to the city.

As they passed the Guards, Blade examined them. They seemed to be a well-organized group, so it would be very difficult to return without being identified. But there was another factor to consider, and therein lay the bulk of the problems.

Before the tunnel collapsed, Blade stabbed Qin Jian. Unfortunately, he couldn't be sure that he hit him right in the heart, but he must have come very close. Even if he was Mara-struck, it must have taken him a while to heal. However, after the collapse, he and Stelle had been trapped under the mountain for an undetermined amount of time. It was evening when they emerged, so it must have taken them hours to regain consciousness. Qin Jian had all the time in the world to recover and escape. It wasn't unlikely that he had somehow reached the city before the Supreme Guardian declared a state of alert.

If that were the case, it would be a big problem.

A problem that, in theory, was not his. He had come to that planet with a specific purpose, which they had now achieved. Whatever happened after that wasn't his concern, nor did he have any special ties to the people of Belobog. Yet he felt a visceral and unreasonable hatred for that man and anyone like him. He couldn't explain it, and none of his memories helped him understand it. He only knew that he wanted to see them destroyed. Every single one of them. The fact that Qin Jian had eluded him — even under circumstances beyond his control — made this aversion even stronger.

He wanted to search for him. Hunt him down. Kill him with his own hands. Make him pay for every life he had to extinguish beneath the mountain. For almost killing Stelle. And he would, if only he had the chance.

"Blade, can you keep the murderous aura at bay? It's already cold enough. No need for you to make the air any chillier."

Silver Wolf tugged at his sleeve, pulling him out of this morbid circle of thoughts before it could raise the shadows. He realized they had reached the Administrative District, not far from the great staircase leading to Fort Qliphoth. A mandatory route to reach their safe house.

Kafka, walking ahead of them, turned to look at him over her shoulder and gave him a knowing smile.

"Bad mood, Bladie?"

He didn't answer. Even without speaking, it was obvious. Being buried alive tended to have that effect.

"I suggest you keep it under control," she continued. "Things are about to get interesting."

He frowned, caught between surprise and suspicion. What did that mean?

"Don't tell me someone is going to attack us," Silver Wolf huffed, adjusting one of her scarves around her neck. "I don't want to spend time with bounty hunters. When will they understand that we're at least two or three tiers above them?"

"Not bounty hunters, Wolfie. It's someone a little more important."

With that, she stopped at the bottom of the stairs as a large group of people emerged from the fortress.

It took Blade barely a moment to recognize the sky-blue uniforms of the Cloud Knights, and an immediate sense of unease gripped him. It happened every time the Xianzhou Alliance was involved: his instincts kicked in, screaming and squirming.

He didn't want to be there. He shouldn't be there. It was a bad idea. They had to leave.

Unfortunately, the confrontation with those soldiers had become almost inevitable. They had appeared as the Hunters were passing, and one way or another their paths would cross. Besides, if they tried to leave, they would attract even more attention.

If this was what Kafka referred to as 'problematic encounters', she wasn't wrong at all.

Both Silver Wolf and Blade paused beside their companion and watched warily as the soldiers approached. Leading the group was a man in a black and white uniform — clearly the leader. It was impossible not to notice him, both because of his distinctive mane of white hair and his resolute bearing.

He must have been a high-ranking representative of the Xianzhou Alliance, who had come to Jarilo-VI to confer with the Supreme Guardian. Given the circumstances, this was nothing to write home about.

Yet the more Blade looked at this man, the more uncomfortable he felt. His mind told him that he didn't know him, that he had never seen him before. But his instinct begged to differ. It was as if he had a battering ram in his head that kept banging against a wall, trying to break it down.

This wall — this fragile barrier — must not collapse. He knew that all too well. Yet he couldn't stop staring at the man, as if looking away would condemn the entire universe.

Inevitably, the group of soldiers noticed them, including their leader. The white-haired man glanced in their direction, and his expression grew serious. But it immediately softened into a lazy smile. Then he marched straight toward them. His men followed cautiously, and when he stopped in front of the Hunters, their grip on their weapons tightened. None of them took an aggressive stance, but it was clear that they had recognized both Blade and Kafka and were only waiting for an order to act.

An order that did not come.

"Good evening, Stellaron Hunters," the man greeted them. "It is a pleasure to meet you. You look lovely as always, Ms. Kafka."

Kafka, who hadn't flinched at the soldiers' arrival, smiled at him.

"Flatterer! You know a compliment is always appreciated, General... even if it's insincere."

General. So that was the man's rank.

Blade felt disoriented. He had no reason to doubt it, but for some reason, it wasn't the first title he'd associated with him. It was like meeting an acquaintance after many years, and finding out that he had moved up in rank.

The General's smile widened at Kafka's words, and he made no attempt to convince her that his compliment was sincere — probably because it wasn't.

"I see there's a new face here as well," he remarked instead, his gaze shifting to Silver Wolf — or rather, the bundle of clothing that contained Silver Wolf. "I assume you're the famous hacker of the Stellaron Hunters, the terror of every computer system in the universe."

"Oh? And how can you be so sure?" she retorted. "For all you know, I could be Sam."

"Are you?"

His answer, accompanied by a confident look, disarmed her. Silver Wolf clicked her tongue in annoyance and admitted:

"Okay, okay. You're right. So, what now? Are you going to try to arrest us?"

Her mocking tone made the General laugh, a sound so familiar that it caused Blade almost physical pain.

"Of course not. That would be very rude of me."

"It's only courtesy," Kafka said, "or you simply lack the authority?"

"Both, of course," he replied. "I couldn't make arrests here in Belobog even if I wanted to. On the other hand, even if we were on the Luofu, I've never had an arrest warrant for Ms. Silver Wolf. And yours was revoked a long time ago."

His gaze shifted from the women to Blade, who felt as if a boulder had been placed on his chest. He noticed that the man had golden eyes — just a shade darker than Stelle's. And as positive as that color was to him, the discomfort he felt was not.

"As for our silent friend here," the General said, locking eyes with him, "as long as he's not captured aboard the Luofu, he has nothing to fear from me."

That was true. But now that he thought about it, why was Kafka's arrest warrant revoked, but not his? If their 'crime' was the same, wouldn't it make sense to revoke both? Had he done something else?

The ram hit the wall in his mind, but it didn't fall. Not yet. But how long would it last if the general kept looking at him like that?

"Do you remember me?" he suddenly asked.

His tone had become deeper, softer in a way. But to Blade, it was as if he had shouted. As if his voice was so loud that it echoed across the planet. So powerful that it could topple buildings and flatten mountains.

The ram in his mind struck the wall again, and it trembled, shaken to its foundations. Its surface cracked, and like poisonous smoke, the shadows began to seep through the cracks. He could feel the Mara growing stronger, but he was not yet in its power. On the edge between reason and madness, he watched the world become distorted. He saw the shadows surround the General like tentacles, but they didn't attack him. And nonsensical sounds echoed through his memories.

'J--g --an'

'--n- Y--n'

'Ji-- -ua-'

His head hurt. He thought he would go mad at any moment.

Then he saw the General's expression change. His smile faded, the light in his golden eyes dimmed, and for a moment he seemed both relieved and lonely. But it lasted only a moment. In the next instant, the cat-like smile was back in place.

"When you were arrested on the Luofu, you were brought to me," he said. "Do you remember?"

In a flash of clarity, a few images rushed through his mind. The Knights surrounding him and taking him into custody, just as planned. And those same Knights bringing him before their General. And the white-haired man watched him from above, free of the fear he was used to seeing in other people.

So that was it. That was how he had met him, and that was why he seemed familiar. It had to be. It didn't matter if he believed it or not. What mattered was that he could convince himself that it was real.

The ram stopped. The wall held. The Mara retreated into the cracks. Everything was under control again.

For now.

As he regained awareness of the world around him, Blade noticed that both Kafka and Silver Wolf were looking in his direction. Apart from them, however, no one noticed the storm that had taken place inside him. Neither the Cloud Knights nor the passersby who glanced curiously at the unfamiliar group. In their eyes, he hadn't even changed his expression, showing the General only a stone-cold face.

"...Yes," he said curtly as the other acknowledged his answer with a brief nod. Then, without saying more, the General turned his attention back to Kafka.

"In truth, I am curious as to why you are all here."

"Come on, General, don't expect us to reveal all our reasons," Kafka purred. "Mystery is part of our charm."

He chuckled, not in the least offended by her refusal.

"Far be it from me to demand such a thing. But the appearance of the Disciples, the timely arrival of the Astral Express, and your presence here all make me wonder. It's a rather fortunate series of coincidences, don't you think?"

"Extremely fortunate!" Kafka replied shamelessly.

The two locked eyes for a long moment, both friendly and smiling, yet both more threatening than ever. Finally, it was the General who broke eye contact first. He looked away from Kafka, paused at Silver Wolf, and then at Blade. He lingered longer on the latter, taking note of his messy appearance. Except for wiping off his own blood, he actually looked the same as he had when he emerged from the rubble. And that hadn't escaped the General's notice.

"I can only hope that such happy coincidences happen more often," he finally said. "When dealing with formidable people like you, it's best to be on the same side of the board."

"Agreed," Kafka said. "It was a pleasure to meet you again, General."

He nodded slightly, both in approval and in farewell.

"Indeed. If we meet again, I hope it will be under favorable circumstances."

With that, he gestured to his escort and, turning his back on the Hunters, walked away with his soldiers.

The three watched him until he was gone, and when they finally couldn't see him anymore, Silver Wolf was the first to breathe a sigh of relief.

"I don't like that guy. He's too sharp."

"The fact that he's sharp is a good thing," Kafka replied, giving them an amused smile. "It means he knows exactly when it's time to act and when it's time to stay out of things. He understands what's going on, but he won't interfere. He's too smart for that."

Blade said nothing, the weight on his chest slowly lifting. His opinion wasn't solicited, so he had no reason to give it. There was only one thing he was sure of: if he wanted to protect the wall in his mind — and thus himself — he had to stay away from him. And that was it.

"Well, it's time to return to base. If we stay here too long, we risk another problematic encounter, and I'd like to avoid that."

"More problematic than this?" Silver Wolf asked.

"Infinitely more problematic."

With that, Kafka resumed her brisk pace. The other two followed her, Blade staying a few steps behind her and Silver Wolf walking at his side. He was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed that she was looking at him from head to toe.

"Are you okay?" she finally asked.

"Yes."

"Are you sure? Because earlier, for a second, you had that look. You know which one."

"I'm fine."

He said nothing more, and Silver Wolf did not inquire any further. She left him to think about what happened and what might happen in the future.

For the moment, everything was fine. The 'wall' still stood, and that was a fact. As long as it was there, nothing would change. But how long would it last?

He didn't have an answer to that.

Having once again avoided the second "problematic encounter" — to use Kafka's words — the Hunters had returned to the safe house. For Blade, this meant finally getting rid of the grime from the collapse. It took a vigorous shower and a lot of patience, especially to untangle his matted hair. It was one of those times when he wished he could cut it off, but that would have been pointless. One of the 'perks' of his condition was that his hair grew back fast. It was better to leave it be.

Once cleaned up, he looked like he always did. Only a few new scars bore witness to what had happened, lost in the multitude that covered his body. Just a few scratches for wounds that would have killed anyone else.

By the time they finally left the events of the day behind, it was already dark outside and the snow had begun to fall. It wasn't the storm from the day before. Just a light dusting, with snowflakes floating like tiny cotton balls. 

Sitting in a chair in the living room, Blade watched them fall, counting them as they landed on the windowsill. A tedious pastime for anyone else, but relaxing for him. It helped clear his mind.

Silver Wolf was in the same room, but she didn't pay him any attention. She sat crisscrossed on the carpet, not far from the stove, engrossed in one of her laptops. Blade had no idea what she was doing, but he could hear the incessant clicking of keys as she tapped at the keyboard. According to her, the devices compatible with Belobog's technology were 'relics'. Still, she seemed to use them perfectly. He was convinced that she secretly enjoyed handling that outdated technology. It must have been a challenge for someone like her.

Kafka was not with them. As far as he knew, she was in her room trying to contact Elio. It was ironic that sending a message off-planet was relatively easy in Belobog — as long as one wasn't picky about the range — but doing so outside the city was almost impossible due to the lack of infrastructure.

Still, the fact that Kafka was communicating with their leader reminded him of the downtime between their usual operations. The pattern was more or less the same: a mission was completed, they received a new order from Elio, and in the following two or three days they prepared for action. Sometimes things were different, like the 'extended hiatus' Blade had recently gone through. Other times, an urgent task would drop on them before they could return to base. In general, though, the rhythm was more or less the same, providing a comforting sense of familiarity.

This time, however, he felt restless. He wanted to believe it was because of something easily explained. For example, it had been almost forty-eight hours since he last slept, which would put anyone in a bad mood. Also, he had a stressful day, so it was normal to still have adrenaline in his system. But those excuses didn't hold water, and he knew it. He was used to stress, and as for fatigue, he handled it much better than anyone else. Even when he didn't sleep, his body didn't deteriorate. Another perk of his condition, apparently.

Since these couldn't be the causes, there had to be another reason. And Blade was forced to face it.

The problem was that there was a huge Stelle-shaped void in the room. There wasn't an oversized raccoon rummaging through the rooms in search of garbage. There wasn't a voice trying to fill his silence. No golden eyes were staring at him, trying to see right into his head.

She had been with them for less than two days, and yet he had already gotten used to her presence, as if it were completely normal. And it wasn't just him. Kafka seemed more subdued since they had parted, and even Silver Wolf was more bored than usual. It was unbelievable how that girl had slipped into their lives in such a short time, as if that place had always belonged to her.

As far as he was concerned, the closest thing was when he had been relieved of his duties as Silver Wolf's tutor. It took him a while to get used to not having her around all the time. But he soon realized that things wouldn't change that much since they were still working together.

This time was different, because Stelle wasn't there. He had no idea when he would see her again, nor would he be there if something happened to her. He knew she was strong and capable of defending herself, but the uneasiness wouldn't go away. He had been too close to seeing her die, and that continued to haunt him.

If she died, she would be gone forever. It would be a definitive goodbye, because he was immortal. No matter what happened to souls at the end of their lives, he would never see her again. Not even in an afterlife.

No more tender eyes. No more kind words. No more small hands clasping his sleeve.

The mere idea was uncomfortable enough that he had to shut it down. It was ridiculous and he had to stop thinking about it.

This mission was an exception. Stelle's place was on the Astral Express. It had been decided long before he met her — maybe even before she existed. Even the time Kafka spent looking after her was just a prelude to something more important.

She would never be one of them. She would have hated that. And he had to keep it in mind every time those thoughts popped into his head.

"Here I am! I managed to get in touch with Elio," Kafka announced, making her triumphant entrance into the room.

The reception she received was less than lukewarm. Blade didn't look away from the window, and Silver Wolf barely glanced at her before resuming her furious typing on her laptop. Kafka frowned, hands on hips like a mother scolding her children.

"Come on, guys, enough with the long faces! I miss Stelle too, you know?"

"I never said I missed her," Silver Wolf replied without looking up.

Liar.

"What did Elio say?" Blade changed the subject.

Coward.

Kafka chuckled, amused by their reactions, but didn't tease any further.

"First, he congratulated us on a job well done. From now on, Stelle is officially out of danger and we can rest easy for a while."

The news managed to draw Blade's eyes away from the window.

That was a good thing. It also meant that Qin Jian would most likely not show up before her — or if he did, he would pose no threat. Of course, the fact that he wasn't a danger to Stelle didn't mean that he wasn't a danger in general. And as far as Blade was concerned, dangerous or not, he had to be eliminated. He would take care of it. It wasn't a question of if, but when. 

Where could he start looking? Searching the entire frozen plains of Jarilo-VI would lead to nothing, so the best course of action was...

"He also said that there are some new missions for us. So we leave tomorrow."

Forcibly distracted from his vengeful thoughts, Blade looked at Kafka, her words barely registering.

"Tomorrow?" he asked when the message finally sank in.

"Yes, tomorrow," she repeated. "The IPC is coming here, so staying longer could cause problems. Tomorrow we have the best window to leave without crossing paths with them."

"Why is the IPC coming here?" Silver Wolf asked, pausing from her work on the laptop for the first time. "Does it have anything to do with my attack a few days ago?"

The fact that she sounded proud of it would probably be a huge red flag. But Kafka shook her head in disagreement and slumped down on the couch, legs crossed.

"I doubt it. From what I understand, they have specific reasons for coming here. Something to do with debt. Or taxes. Anyway, one of their big shots is coming, and I'd hate to cause trouble for the Supreme Guardian after she's been so kind to us."

Blade doubted she cared about the Supreme Guardian. He didn't blame her: he didn't care either. What he worried about was that if they left so soon, he wouldn't have time to track down the abomination. And he hated to leave the matter unresolved.

Stelle said it was a victory, and in a way it was. But only a battle had been won, not the war. At least as far as he was concerned.

"Kafka."

At the call, Kafka turned in his direction. She smiled, playing with a lock of hair.

"Yes?"

"Is there a mission for me as well?"

"Are you afraid of being left at the headquarters again?" she teased him. "Don't worry, there is work for you too. A rather difficult mission, just the way you like it."

"And is it necessary that I handle it?"

A deep silence fell in the room. Silver Wolf turned sharply toward him, while Kafka's smile froze. A chill descended, as if they were back outside the city walls in the middle of a blizzard.

"You don't want to take on the mission assigned to you?" Kafka's question was pleasant. Friendly, even. Still, Silver Wolf shrank into her corner, relieved that her colleague's attention wasn't focused on her.

"That's not what I said," Blade replied, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. "I asked if it is a mission that specifically requires my presence."

Kafka leaned forward, elbows on her knees, fingers crossed under her chin.

"Why? Do you have something better to do?"

He would have liked to answer yes. There was an abomination on the loose, and he was one of the most qualified people to find him. He had absolute confidence in his tracking skills. However, he knew that this answer would sound nonsensical to her ears.

"...No," he conceded.

Kafka didn't seem completely satisfied. She rose from the couch and approached him. Standing in front of him, she grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up at her. She was still smiling, but her eyes were icy.

"Bladie, Bladie, Bladie..." she said in a tone so sweet it almost sounded affectionate. "You're always so meticulous, aren't you? I understand, you know? It would bother me, too, if I missed a kill. But we all know that it wasn't your fault: you put the protection of Stelle first, and that was the right thing to do. After all, that was our mission."

So she knew. Not that he was surprised: Kafka knew him well and had always been an excellent observer.

"I am glad that you are taking a personal interest in something. It's not healthy to live only for work. I also understand that you have a personal grudge against the Denizens of Abundance. I don't know the details, but I have a vague idea," she added, running her hand through his hair. At first, it was only a caress. However, her fingers soon gripped the dark strands. She didn't pull, but she could have done so easily. And that was enough to get the message across. "But I thought it was clear that the mission has absolute priority over everything else. Or is that not the case for you? Didn't Elio make a promise to you in exchange for your help? Doesn't that matter to you anymore?"

It did. That promise was the one thing that gave his life meaning.

"I never said anything like that," he replied, his hostile look contrasting sharply with his flat voice. "It was a simple question, and I have my answer. That's all."

Kafka studied him for a moment, and finally the grip on his hair loosened. Her smile, losing its icy glint, returned to normal.

"Fine. Then let's pretend this conversation never happened, shall we? After all, the mission you have ahead of you is dangerous. We can't risk damaging Sam. With you, that problem doesn't arise."

Of course it didn't. He couldn't die, and no matter what they did to him, he would heal in no time. It was obvious why he was always given the most dangerous missions.

He let out a resigned sigh. He would probably 'die' at least a few times. And it would hurt. He should be prepared for that.

"Oh, come on, don't make that face!" Kafka teased, regaining her good mood. "After all, you are our 'blade'. Our indestructible weapon. We all appreciate your work, you know? What would we do without you?"

It was very simple, actually: if there wasn't an indestructible weapon, they would have to get a lot of destructible ones.

He refrained from saying it out loud. Perhaps Kafka had sensed the direction of his thoughts, but she said nothing. She just patted him on the cheek and let him go, heading for the kitchen.

"I have a sudden craving for hot chocolate. Do you want some?"

Silverwolf, who had slipped under the couch, immediately reappeared and raised a hand to get her attention.

"Make some for me, too. With caramel, please."

"All right, all right. And for you, Bladie? Black coffee?"

"Fine," he replied. To be honest, he didn't care, but it would be rude to refuse at this point.

Kafka left the room. As soon as she was gone, Silver Wolf approached him. She sat cross-legged on the floor and looked up at him with a small smile.

"You've been scolded," she sang, a hint of satisfaction in her voice.

Previously, Silver Wolf told him that he was the perfect archetype of a 'teacher's pet', which was what annoyed her most about him. Of course, from a rebel's point of view, a person who did their job diligently and without complaint would appear that way. And it was a fact that she was often scolded by Kafka, while he was rarely reprimanded. In fact, this might have been the first time ever.

He responded to her teasing with a vague grunt and went back to looking out the window. He was convinced that he didn't deserve this scolding, but he wasn't going to die because of it. Actually, if reprimands could kill him, he'd be a 'rebel' a lot more often.

"But seriously," Silver Wolf continued, "it's unlike you to question an order."

"I'm not questioning anything," he retorted, turning to face her again. Why did everyone take a simple question as some terrible insubordination?

"Well, the way you asked it, it sounded like you wanted to pass the mission on to someone else," she replied, watching his reaction with sharp eyes.

"You always do that. And you complain about every single mission."

"You never do, though."

Silver Wolf spread her arms, indicating that this was exactly the point. And Blade finally understood what she was trying to say. If she complained, it was out of laziness. But in the end, she would do what was asked of her, because there was nothing serious in her complaints. He, on the other hand, always did what he was told without fuss, asking only what, when, and where. So if he resisted, even if it was a simple question, it was taken seriously. When he said he didn't want to do something, it was because he really didn't want to.

It wasn't wrong. It was a fact that the specific mission — of which he hadn't even asked for details — was getting in the way of something he cared about. But that didn't mean he wanted to rebel. He would do what he had to do, as always.

Silver Wolf was about to add something, when they were startled by repeated knocks at the door.

"Visitors? Here? At this hour?" she said, stunned.

Blade shrugged. Their base wasn't exactly hidden, but no one knew they were there. It wasn't often that someone knocked on their door. As far as he could remember, it had only happened once.

"Maybe a door-to-door salesman, like last time. The one who ran away the moment he saw you," Silver Wolf hypothesized, laughing at the memory.

"It doesn't seem like the most appropriate time," he replied, feeling slightly offended. All right, it was true that the salesman fled the moment he opened the door, but he didn't see what was so funny about it!

"Never underestimate door-to-door salesmen and their dedication to their work," she said with the utmost seriousness. "Well, what are you waiting for, Blade? Go open it and scare this one away, too."

He crossed his arms in annoyance.

"Why is it always me?"

"Because you're the best at frightening people, and because you can't die in case it's a trap."

It made sense. He didn't like it, but it was the truth. And, to reinforce Silver Wolf's request, Kafka's voice came from the kitchen.

"Bladie, please, can you go and scare whoever's at the door?"

There wasn't much to argue about at that point.

With a loud sigh, Blade left his spot by the window and dragged himself to the entrance. His steps were slow and heavy, leaving time for whoever was at the door to knock again. Three light knocks in quick succession.

They had asked him to scare off the visitor, but honestly, he wasn't sure how to do it. He knew how to scare someone when he needed to, but it was hard to do it when he didn't have a real reason to. Why should he scare a poor door-to-door salesman who just had the misfortune to stumble upon their base? On the other hand, ordinary people seemed to find him frightening anyway, so maybe all he had to do was show up.

Resigned, he opened the door. The chilly night air hit him right in the face, sending a gust of snowflakes into his eyes. He shivered, his body reacting to the sudden change in temperature, and blinked to see who the visitor was. But before he could look, a familiar voice reached his ears.

And his heart stuttered.

"Hello. You are back!"

Standing in the cone of light from the entrance, Stelle watched him, her golden eyes sparkling and her nose a little red from the cold. A heavy scarf covered the lower part of her face, but he had the feeling she was smiling.

Blade stood there, stunned, his mind flooded with a million questions. All of them variations on 'why is she here?'

"I was a little worried because I didn't know if you were back in the city. I mean, I know you can take care of yourselves, but I'm sure it's awfully cold out there. It's pretty cold here too, to be honest, so..."

She hesitated for a moment, twisting her gloved fingers. Half-melted snowflakes glittered in her hair, like little silver stars. Close enough that he could count them. That he could touch her.

She was back.

"Oh, and for the record, my companions know I'm with you, so if you're thinking of giving me a lecture, know that it's not necessary. Himeko sends her regards to Kafka, by the way. She says she's welcome to have coffee with her whenever she wants. I suggest declining: I think she's planning to assassinate her."

She raised her head to look him straight in the eye, and the scarf slipped away, revealing her smile. A smile that faded slightly in the face of his silence.

"You're not going to say anything?"

A chain of memories and sensations exploded inside him. Her worried face as he emerged from the rubble. Warm arms wrapped around him, chasing away the cold. Her scent filling his nostrils. And suddenly, the monochrome world around him lit up with faint, barely perceptible colors. 

What could he possibly tell her? How could he explain it?

Without taking his eyes off her for a second, he stepped aside to clear the entrance.

"Come in." 

He said no more, but that was enough to bring Stelle's smile back.

"Thanks!"

Without hesitation — perhaps fearing he might change his mind — she hurried inside, passing him as he closed the door behind her. As she entered the living room, she was greeted by a delighted Kafka and an astonished Silver Wolf. And in a single, fleeting moment, the void they all felt, the one that had made Blade so restless, was filled.

As if it never existed.

Chapter Text

"Why?! That shot had a 99.99% chance of hitting! How did it miss?"

"Give up, Silver Wolf! You can't compete with my good fortune!"

"You're a cheater, Stelle!"

"There is not a rule against giving five hundred points to Luck."

Back at his seat by the window, Blade was watching the video game battle between Stelle and Silver Wolf. It was Mortal Arena 2 — the console version, of course. Silver Wolf decided to set up some kind of tournament. But since she was by far the best player, the whole point was to see who could last the longest against her. At the moment, Stelle was performing the best, with her unorthodox strategy of giving every single skill point to Luck. She would probably lose, but she was managing to frustrate her opponent.

Blade had been the first challenger, and as usual, he had held his own until the end. He could have done better if he had been concentrating on the game. Unfortunately, he wasn't in the mood that night.

Since Stelle's arrival, the whole atmosphere in the safe house had changed. Kafka rushed back to the kitchen with a big smile on her face to make another cup of hot chocolate. Silver Wolf dipped into her secret stash of snacks and brought her gaming equipment into the living room so they could all play together. Basically, the gathering had turned into a mini-party. The unspoken goal was to entertain Stelle, because everyone was happy to see her.

Everyone. No exceptions. And he was no different.

Ever since she arrived, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off her. Without realizing it, he found himself staring whenever she wasn't looking. There was no purpose behind it: he just wanted to look at her. Even at that moment, following the clash between her and Silver Wolf was a pathetic excuse. In truth, he was watching her like a scientist in front of a natural phenomenon he couldn't explain. He was hypnotized, unable to divert his attention to anything else. And that wasn't normal.

Despite his youthful appearance, Blade was old. His memory was spotty, but he remembered living for at least three or four centuries, and probably a lot more than that. He wasn't so naive that he didn't recognize physical attraction. And he had reached the point where being willfully ignorant didn't work anymore.

Stelle had always been pretty. He was aware of it — he had always been, to an extent. And there was nothing strange about it. Aside from the peculiarities of his condition, his body worked like an ordinary human's. A physical response of some kind was normal around someone as beautiful as she was. Usually, though, it was such a dull sensation that he could completely ignore it. He didn't know if it was because of the Mara, his poor mental state, or a combination of both, but he never felt the need to act on it. It wouldn't bring him any real satisfaction or benefit, so why bother?

But if physical attraction was somewhat expected, his emotional response to it was all over the place. And it got worse after the hug. 

He didn't remember the last time someone embraced him. Kafka could get touchy-feely at times, especially when she teased him. And Silver Wolf wasn't afraid to grab his arms or drag him around. But hugs weren't part of his life, and he never thought he would miss them. Then she embraced him, and he realized he wanted it. Ached for it, even. And when she held him closer, it became too much to bear. He had gone from feeling almost nothing to feeling everything. Even now, just watching her from a distance, he could feel her body against his. Her warmth. Her scent.  He couldn't get her out of his mind, and he hated not having control over it.

None of this was normal. He wasn't normal and he couldn't forget it for even a moment. Every positive emotion he felt, everything he held dear, the Mara would only twist it against him. How long would it take to turn even that into something terrible? And how harmful would it be for her?

He didn't want to hurt her. He couldn't allow it.

"You're staring," someone whispered inches from his ear, catching him off guard.

His hand mechanically reached for his sword before he realized it was Kafka's voice. He exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Sooner or later, I'll end up stabbing you," he said curtly.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm good at dodging." She grinned and leaned against the windowsill next to him, watching the other two girls play. "But it's not like you to be so distracted that you didn't notice me coming."

She was right. It wasn't like him. In fact, he felt like a million things were unlike him lately.

"So," Kafka said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, "are you interested in her?"

He whipped his head toward her, openly hostile. His murderous stare, however, didn't faze her in the least. In fact, it seemed to amuse her.

"Don't be so surprised, dear Bladie. You looked at her as if you wanted to devour her."

That was a question he was not willing, nor ready to answer. So he settled for silence as his eyes unconsciously returned to Stelle. Her face was now drawn in a concentrated scowl as she tackled a particularly tricky part of the game.

"Are you going to tell her?"

He scoffed at the unsolicited and completely inappropriate question. 

Tell her what, exactly? That he was attracted to her against his will? He had been out of the courtship game for far too long, but he doubted that would win her over.

"You are misunderstanding. I have no interest in a romantic relationship with her or anyone else, if that is what you mean."

The answer — blunt as it was — was completely sincere, and it drew a resigned sigh from Kafka.

"From a practical standpoint, it's probably for the best. Even if it's a shame."

Blade turned to look at her again, cautious.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, maybe you haven't noticed, but among us, you're her favorite. I'm sure she would like to know. Maybe she feels the same."

He shook his head, deflecting her insinuation. It was true that Stelle had no problem being around him, but that wasn't important. She was the type to make friends easily and she didn't lack consideration for anyone. So, her attitude towards him didn't mean anything. Even the hug was probably an act of compassion.

"Even if that were the case, what would she gain by knowing?" he replied, suppressing his irritation. 

In the eyes of the world, he was a criminal and a murderer, whether she saw him as such or not. He had no peace or stability to offer. Not to mention all his Mara problems. The odds were overwhelmingly against any relationship between them. Even a platonic tie would be problematic. A romantic relationship — it sounded ridiculous just thinking about it — would be downright impossible. So why were they even discussing it?

Kafka tilted her head, tracing her lower lip with a finger as she pondered his words.

"I see what you mean. But I still think it should be her decision," she finally concluded.

"There is nothing to decide, if the prospect isn't there," Blade retorted, and for a while neither said anything else.

In the silence that followed, he found himself looking in Stelle's direction again. He watched her as she pressed the buttons on the virtual controller. He followed her every move as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes shining with excitement.  She seemed happy. And this was something unthinkable considering their respective positions.

"Kafka."

She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Did you foresee all this?"

There was no need to explain what he meant. There was no way she hadn't understood. It had been her idea to have them meet, to create the 'path' that put them in this situation.

"No. Maybe Elio did, but if that is the case, he didn't tell me," she replied. "I should have guessed, I suppose. But interpreting emotions is still my weakness." She gave a self-deprecating smile before turning the question back to him. "Why do you ask?"

"You took care of her when she was with us."

Blade looked away from Stelle to give Kafka a sideways glance. She told him the reason behind her actions, but he doubted it was all there was to it. He didn't believe she would go to all that trouble just to do him a favor. There had to be something else.

"What about it? Are you suggesting that I knew everything and arranged the whole thing to bring Stelle back to us?" he asked.

"Isn't that it?"

Faced with his skepticism, Kafka showed the enigmatic smile of a sphinx.

"Bladie, if I were planning something of this sort, do you think I'd tell you?"

"I doubt it," he replied.

She laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischievous amusement. She leaned over to him, playfully pressing a finger against the tip of his nose.

"It's up to you whether you believe me or not," she said. "Or you could just relax and see where destiny takes us. There's no point in agonizing over what can't be changed."

Blade had just finished speaking when he saw her glance at the other two girls. He did the same and noticed Stelle looking in their direction. When their eyes met, she looked away and returned to the game. However, her expression was distant, and within a few seconds, her character was obliterated.

"Wha...?! No!" she cried, holding her head in her hands.

"And so we come to the end, my unworthy rival!" Silver Wolf gloated.

"It's not fair! I was only distracted for a moment! I want a rematch!"

"Sorry. You had your chance, and you wasted it."

As the two argued, Kafka smiled to herself.

"Young people these days! They are so predictable."

Blade barely heard her, as he wasn't listening anymore. Instead, he was focusing on Stelle. He couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if she had never left. If Elio's plan hadn't included sending her away, how would things have gone? What kind of relationship would they have had?

"Kafka, do you ever wonder what it would have been like if she had stayed with us?"

He turned to look at her, just in time to see her eyes darken. But it was only for a moment. In an instant, she regained her serene and imperturbable expression.

"Yes, I do. You can't take care of a girl, teach her everything you know, and let her go without any regrets. I wish she had stayed."

It made sense. Kafka was devoted to their cause, but she was still human.

"But," she continued, "I knew from the beginning that it wouldn't be possible. I'm content to know that she's well."

As pragmatic as always. It made sense, as it was the best solution for everyone. 

"Would you have wanted her to stay with us?" she asked out of the blue.

He didn't know how to respond. Or better, he knew what he would have wanted, but he was sure it wasn't the right choice. At least not for Stelle.

"She is happier where she is. She wouldn't like our job, and she's surrounded by people she loves and who love her. She wouldn't find that here."

Kafka looked at him with half-lidded eyes, evaluating his answer.

"I agree about the job, but not about the rest," she finally said. "Even here, she would be surrounded by people who love her. Of that, I have no doubt. Besides, you didn't answer my question."

No, he didn't, and he wasn't going to. Instead, he changed the subject.

"What if she remembers the time she spent with us?"

Kafka immediately perked up, her imperturbability broken by a hard-to-identify emotion. She seemed surprised, uncomfortable, and happy at the same time.

"Did she remember something?"

Blade hesitated only a moment. On the one hand, it was his duty as a Stellaron Hunter to inform Kafka of such developments. The fact that Stelle had remembered some details was significant enough not to be brushed aside. On the other hand, he felt that revealing it would betray her trust. Sure, Stelle didn't ask him not to reveal it, but it still felt wrong.

Not that he had a choice. If the information was relevant to their mission, he couldn't keep quiet.

"Only fragments. Blurry scenes from the early stages of her training."

"So nothing I haven't already revealed to her, or that she couldn't figure out for herself."

"Yes."

Kafka's expression was under control again. It was hard to tell if she was disappointed or relieved.

"Okay. I don't think it's important, but you were right to tell me. If I may ask, what triggered the memories?"

"Red spider lilies. She saw them during the mission."

She chuckled, not at all surprised.

"I see. That makes sense. They were her favorite flowers. She loved red back then. Plus, she liked the scent."

Her expression softened, showing something akin to tenderness. It was strange to see Kafka like that, lost in pleasant memories of the past. It made her seem less intimidating. Of course, Blade knew very well that this was a facade and nothing would make her less dangerous. Not even the affection she felt for Stelle.

But that was a subject he preferred not to get into. At least not with her.

"It's the same scent as the bag you put in my closet."

He was annoyed, but his irritation didn't reach her.

"You noticed! Unbelievable! I thought you were completely insensitive to such things," she teased him.

"I didn't find it. Stelle did," he retorted. "She recognized the scent on me even before she saw the flowers." He had to admit that the girl had an extraordinary nose. That was one of the reasons he thought she was part dog, too. A raccoon dog. "How long have you been putting that stuff in my closet?"

She shrugged.

"Oh, practically since we recruited you! Remember, I was the one who picked out most of your clothes. I thought the smell suited you. And it's subtle, so it doesn't get in the way."

Of course he remembered. Now that he thought about it, the Red Spider Lily was a motif in many of his outfits. Not that he disliked it, but he didn't appreciate being treated like a doll.

"Thank you, but I don't need it."

"It wouldn't be necessary if you took better care of yourself." Kafka countered, her hands on her hips. "If I left you alone, you'd end up in the same state you were in when Sam and I found you. I assure you, it wasn't pretty. Besides, I do similar things for the others. For instance, who do you think fills Silver Wolf's secret stash of snacks?"

"You're not our mother," Blade replied.

"I wouldn't have to act like a mother if you were a little more responsible."

She was about to add something else — a lecture, most likely — when someone drew their attention.

"Kafka, it's your turn. Silver Wolf won't give me a rematch."

Stelle approached, still sulking from her defeat. She quickly realized that she had interrupted a conversation and looked from one to the other.

"Is this a bad time? If you were discussing something important, Silver Wolf could play another game against..."

"No way. I already told you, I don't do rematches. It's Kafka's turn," Silver Wolf retorted immediately. An almost murderous aura emanated from her. She was itching to beat her colleague, just as she had no desire to face Stelle's unorthodox tactics again.

Kafka stepped forward and stretched lazily. 

"Don't worry, Stelle, it was nothing important. I'm ready to be slaughtered!"

She walked past her, gave her a small pat on the shoulder, and took her place next to Silver Wolf. Stelle stared at her as she passed, but she didn't ask any questions. She knew by now that it wasn't worth it.

"Are you sure I didn't bother you?" she asked Blade. There was something bashful about her demeanor. In particular, she was avoiding his gaze, when she usually never missed an opportunity to stare at him. It was unlike her.

"No, you didn't."

If anything, she saved him from a lecture. Kafka could go on forever when she was in the mood, and pretending to listen could be exhausting.

"...All right."

She gave him a small, quick smile before turning her attention to the video game match. Blade pretended to do the same, but took the opportunity to look at her.

Standing a few steps away from him, her hands clasped behind her back, she seemed to be on edge. She kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her expression kept changing, from an initial frown to a more serious one, then to a thoughtful one.

Blade would give everything he owned — except his sword — to know what was going through her mind.

At last, she brightened, as if she had reached a decision. Turning to him, she announced, "I'm going to the bathroom."

An ordinary statement that normally wouldn't have elicited any reaction from him. But her demeanor was suspicious, and she had the same glint in her eyes as when she talked about garbage. She was in what Silver Wolf defined as " Raccoon Mode".

"What are you plotting?" he asked.

Her ears flushed and she began to fiddle with a lock of her hair.

"Nothing, of course! Why would I plot anything?"

... That girl had the subtlety of a tank. She was so suspicious that even a child would notice it. But trying to get information from her at this moment would only cost him time and energy. Therefore, there was only one thing to do.

"Go ahead, then."

He turned back to the players, feigning complete disinterest. He was careful not to look at her, but he could still feel her relief. She practically radiated it.

Happy to have lost his interest, Stelle left the room in high spirits, back to her usual self. Blade waited for her to leave before getting up and following her quietly.

If there was one thing he had learned working with the Hunters, it was how to shadow someone. He had managed to go unnoticed by targets far more vigilant than Stelle. So, staying out of sight was a piece of cake despite the tight quarters. Hiding behind a corner, he watched her cross the main hallway and head for the bathroom.

Nothing unusual so far. But as he suspected, she came out after barely a minute and looked around. Blade retreated behind the wall and waited until he heard the sound of her footsteps. Only then did he leave his hiding place and watched her enter Silver Wolf's room.

Hiding behind the door, he spied her as she looked around, searching for something. Then, suddenly, she crouched down on the floor and crawled under the bed. She stayed there for a few seconds. Then, she emerged and began to tuck the sheets under the mattress, creating something akin to a sleeping bag. After she was done, she left the room with a satisfied grin on her face.

Blade hid again, waiting for her to turn around before continuing to follow her. This time Stelle went straight to Kafka's room and repeated the same ritual. First looking around, then crouching under the bed, and finally arranging the edges of the sheets under the mattress. It was obvious that there was a reason behind this procedure. What it was, however, eluded him.

After that, Stelle went to Blade's room and crept in. She entered stealthily and stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips. Standing on the other side of the threshold, Blade watched her as she looked around, eyeing the wardrobe.

Was she still convinced that it was a portal to another dimension?

Apparently so, because she approached it right away and opened it gently so as not to make any noise. Since she didn't pull out the bat, Blade didn't interrupt her. He just watched as she slipped inside. For a while, he only heard a few thumps as she searched for the 'portal'. Obviously, she found nothing, and a short time later, she emerged, content. The wardrobe must have gotten her stamp of approval.

After the initial inspection, she looked around again, and her gaze lit up when it landed on the wastebasket.

Blade was meticulous about keeping his personal space tidy, so it was never full for long. But, after returning from the mission, during routine maintenance of his sword, his whetstone had broken from excessive use. Not knowing what to do with it, he threw the shards into the trash. And it was those very fragments that Stelle pounced upon, like a thirsty person stumbling upon a fountain. Smiling from ear to ear, she grabbed the largest fragment and placed it in her pocket as if it were a treasure.

Lastly, she repeated the same ritual as in the other two rooms: tucking the sheets under the mattress and then crawling under the bed.

At that point, Blade realized that trying to interpret the logic behind her actions on his own was a lost cause. So he stepped out of his hiding place and crossed the threshold. Stelle heard him coming and curled up under the bed to hide from his view. But even if he hadn't known she was there, it would have been useless: one foot was sticking out.

"I can see you."

The foot retreated, and after a bit of shuffling, Stelle's head emerged from under the bed, looking up at him.

"I thought I was being discreet," she grumbled, getting to her feet and dusting off her clothes.

If that was her idea of discretion, he didn't dare imagine what happened when she wanted to be noticed.

"What are you doing?" he asked sternly.

Knowing her, he expected something absurd. And of course, she didn't disappoint.

"I was checking to make sure the monster that lives under the bed wasn't in any of your rooms," she replied, eyes downcast, tracing circles on the floor with the tip of her foot. "Yesterday I looked under yours, but it was too early. Now it's the right time."

"The 'monster that lives under the bed'?" he repeated, unimpressed.

"The monster that lives under the bed," she confirmed solemnly.

Of all the nonsense he had ever heard, this was the most nonsensical. And judging by her total seriousness, she wasn't joking.

"And what's the point of tucking the sheets under the mattress?" he asked.

"To make sure your arms and legs don't stick out while you sleep. That way the monster can't drag you under the bed to eat you."

She said it with such conviction that Blade was persuaded she really believed it. The girl who had no problem facing an army of abominations, who had contributed to the defeat of Phantylia the Undying, who was happily chatting with a dangerous Mara-struck criminal, was afraid of the monster from a children's story.

"...Don't look at me like that," Stelle muttered sullenly.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a weirdo."

It was hard not to, considering she was. After hearing something like that, it was inevitable.

"'Stelle," he began, rubbing his temple, "the monster that lives under the bed doesn't exist."

The revelation left her completely unmoved. If anything, it seemed to convince her even more of her beliefs.

"How can you be so sure that it doesn't?"

"How can you be sure it does?" he replied in the same tone.

"If the hotel devil exists, I don't see why the monster that lives under the bed can't also exist."

The hotel devil, too? Where did she pull that one from?

Knowing he would regret it, he asked, "... What would the hotel devil be?"

Stelle straightened up, enthusiasm shining in her eyes.

"A devil was roaming free in the Goethe Hotel, but I took care of it. When I heard it coming, I hid in the closet of one of the rooms and jumped out screaming at the right moment. It ran away like lightning!"

She spoke with great pride, pleased with what she had done. Blade, for his part, pitied the poor hotel employee who would be traumatized for life by this episode.

"Even if what you say is true," he said, not trying to hide his skepticism, "you crawled under the bed a moment ago. If the monster existed, it would have killed you by now."

"Oh, but I'm not the owner of the bed. The monster only targets them," she explained immediately, without missing a beat. "When I first read the story, I asked D-... a friend of mine to crawl under the bed to check, and the monster didn't attack him."

Whoever the friend was, he had Blade's complete sympathy.

"Then, according to your logic, there is no point in looking under the bed. The monster won't come out unless you own the bed. And if you did, you'd be devoured," he countered, determined not to give in.

Stelle opened her mouth as if to argue, but then paused and furrowed her brow in thought.

"Damn, you're right," she said. "There's no way to be sure!"

"Unless I crawl under the bed myself," Blade suggested, but before he could even think of putting his idea into action, Stelle grabbed his sleeve with both hands.

"No! Absolutely not!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. "My friend said that behind many stories and legends, there are real facts. Maybe you're right and it doesn't exist, but what if it does? It will eat you!"

While Blade felt compassion for Stelle's friend only moments before, he had now completely changed his mind. The guy was an idiot. Why would he say such a thing to the one person who believed everything she heard?

"I can't die," he reminded her for the umpteenth time.

"I know, but being eaten must be unpleasant!" she insisted, planting her feet on the floor in case he decided to move. She was pale, her pleading eyes fixed on him, and it was obvious that she was genuinely frightened at the thought of him confronting the monster.

She was worried about him.

...Silly girl.

Seeing her in that state, Blade relented immediately. He didn't care about winning the argument if it was at Stelle's expense. He didn't like to see her scared, even if it was for a foolish reason. Especially if it was because of him.

"I won't," he said, and was immediately rewarded with a relieved smile. "And what about the whetstone you stole?"

The smile faded. Stelle let go of his sleeve and stepped back, her hands clasped over her pocket.

"I didn't steal it. You threw it away, which means you didn't need it. It wasn't yours anymore. I found it, so it's mine."

"It was in my wastebasket inside my room. If you want to take something, you have to ask for permission."

"All right. Can I take your whetstone?" she asked immediately with her best puppy dog eyes.

It didn't work. "No."

At this point, it wasn't about the stone itself. It was a matter of principle. She couldn't raid someone else's garbage and get away with it. Most of those things weren't even properly his. And why did everyone have the habit of stealing from him? It was just like the time when...

His thoughts stopped abruptly. An image flashed through his mind, so fleeting that he almost missed it. It was the face of a boy, a teenager with white hair, running away with a long object wrapped in cloth. He saw his smile, a mixture of amusement and challenge, as he looked back over his shoulder.

The scene disappeared like a puff of smoke, too fast for him to identify, but enough to leave him disoriented.

Was it a memory? Something that happened to him in the past? When did it happen? Who was the boy?

Though unable to fathom the cause, Stelle noticed his distraction. Sensing an opportunity, she darted toward him, hoping to get around him and through the doorway. But her sudden movement brought Blade back to reality, and with lightning-fast reflexes, he grabbed her by the waist. He lifted her off the ground and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Stelle remained motionless for a moment, not realizing what had happened. Then, when she took stock of the situation, she began to squirm.

"Hey! Put me down!"

"No," he replied, tightening his grip around her waist to keep her from wriggling free. She wasn't too heavy. In fact, there was something comforting about feeling her weight, her warmth. It made it tangible that she was really there.

...Of course, if she kept kicking and struggling like that, that feeling was pretty much ruined.

Completely ignoring her protests, he dragged her out of the room and locked the door, securing his few belongings from the human-shaped raccoon. Then, without flinching, he made his way down the hallway, carrying the uncooperative luggage. Each step, of course, was accompanied by her continued complaints.

"Put me down, I said! It's against the law to grab people against their will!"

"I have never heard of such a law."

"If there isn't one, I'll ask Bronya to make it!"

"Go ahead. Tell her to abolish the law against stealing, too."

"I didn't steal anything! Rummaging through garbage isn't stealing! It might be considered a form of vandalism, but not theft! I looked it up and... Hey!" The sentence ended as Blade 'accidentally' bumped into a corner of the hallway, causing her to bounce against his shoulder. "You did that on purpose! You definitely did that on purpose!"

"I didn't."

"Yes, you did! Put me down, Blade! I can walk on my own!"

She started to punch him in the shoulder, but he completely ignored her and entered the living room with the 'prisoner' still slung over his shoulder. Seeing them enter, Silver Wolf, still in the middle of the game, immediately let go. She pulled out her cell phone as if she were drawing a gun, and in an instant was recording the entire scene.

"Oho! Look what I see! My ship is leaving the harbor, ready to set sail!"

Blade, who had given up trying to understand what she was talking about, ignored her and let Stelle go. And by letting go, he meant letting her fall as gracefully as an anvil. She landed on a chair, disheveled from all the struggling, and shot him a murderous look.

Silver Wolf immediately pointed the phone at her and continued recording.

"What happened exactly?" she asked.

"Blade refuses to let me keep my treasure!" Stelle accused immediately, pointing at him.

"It's a broken whetstone, not a treasure," he retorted as the camera turned to him.

"And where did this whetstone come from?" Silver Wolf asked, widening the view of the screen to include both of them.

"From the trash, obviously," they both replied in unison.

The hacker raised an eyebrow.

"So you're arguing about garbage."

"It's not garbage! It's a treasure!" Stelle replied indignantly.

"No matter what it is, it's still theft," Blade countered.

"I told you, it's not theft!"

"Yes, it is."

"No, it isn't!"

"Yes, it is."

"No, it isn't!"

Stelle had risen from the chair to confront him at her full height, but since he was taller, she still found herself glaring up at him. They stared at each other like two warriors preparing for a duel. Silver Wolf didn't miss a beat, a satisfied grin on her lips.

"Don't mind me and keep bickering. You're adorable."

It was only then that the two realized they were being filmed and turned to her.

"Delete the video," Blade demanded, his voice a menacing growl.

Unfortunately for him, Silver Wolf had long since stopped being afraid of him — if she ever had been.

"And what do I get in return?"

He moved toward her, determined to take the phone from her. But his intervention was stopped by Kafka, who had been suspiciously silent until that moment.

"Wolfie, sorry to interrupt, but since you didn't stop the game, I took the liberty of continuing without you. And I won."

Silver Wolf paled and turned to the screen in time to see Kafka's character — an assassin armed with a butcher's knife — strike a victory pose over the corpse of her mage. And, of course, Kafka's smug grin.

"NO!" she cried, dropping the phone to rush back to the couch. "You know it's not valid. It's against the rules. We have to start over."

"You said no rematches," Kafka taunted her.

"That's for you, not me. It's not over yet."

While the two argued about the game — and Silver Wolf found ways to prevent Kafka from cheating — Blade and Stelle finally found themselves alone.

Their eyes met, but she immediately lowered hers, one hand moving to the pocket where she kept the stone. At first, it seemed as if she wanted to protect it from him. Then her expression changed. It went from grumpy to conflicted, the corners of her mouth turning down in sadness. Finally, like a child who has been deprived of a gift, she took the stone from her pocket and offered it to him.

"Here. You can have it."

Puzzled by the sudden change in attitude, Blade stared at her outstretched hand, making no move to take it back. She had defended the stone until that moment, and now she had changed her mind. Was she up to something again?

At least on the surface, it didn't seem that way. Stelle wasn't good at hiding her emotions, and she really looked sad.

"If you don't want me to have it, I'll give it back. You're probably right, and I shouldn't have taken it without permission, even if it is trash."

She spoke as if this decision had cost her a lot. Blade couldn't help but wonder why that stone meant so much to her. It wasn't worth much to begin with, and now that it was broken, it was useless.

"Why do you want to keep it?" he asked.

She shrugged, her eyes avoiding his.

"I wanted a memento. Something to remind me of this mission, since... well, it's over now."

True. She was right. It was over. The mission was completed, and they probably wouldn't have reason to work together again for a long time. Maybe never.

A weight settled in his chest and he had to take a deep breath to relieve the pressure. Under the circumstances, how could he deprive her of her little 'treasure'? After all, the stone meant nothing to him, while it had value to her.

"Keep it."

She looked up at him, her lips parted in surprise.

"Don't you want it back?"

"I don't care about the stone," he explained. "If you had asked permission, I would have let you keep it from the beginning."

Stelle's disappointment vanished, replaced by a huge smile — one so bright it lit up the entire room. She took half a step toward him, and it seemed as if she wanted to embrace him.

Maybe she wasn't, and it was just his imagination. But the thought of it made him flinch. It was an involuntary reaction, almost imperceptible. She noticed it, though, and stopped where she was, the smile fading. Then she crossed her arms behind her back, making it clear that she wasn't going to touch him. To his consternation and relief.

"Thank you," she said instead, slipping the stone back into her pocket. "Next time I want to go through your trash, I'll ask for permission first."

"Or don't do it at all," he retorted.

Stelle chuckled and walked over to the window. As if drawn by a magnet, Blade followed her and moved to stand at her side. It didn't seem to bother her. She gave him a quick look before turning her gaze back outside, following the snowflakes beyond the glass.

"You know," she said without looking away, "this is the first planet I've visited. At least, the first one I can remember visiting. And now that I think about it, it's also the only one so far."

He nodded, both as a sign that he was listening and as confirmation. She had woken up on Herta Space Station, which certainly wasn't a planet. And the Luofu, while mimicking a natural environment, was a starship. On reflection, Stelle had seen very little of the universe.

"I'm sure I will see much more in the future," she continued. "But there will always be something special about this place. I had my first mission here, and it was the first time I felt useful. Oh, and also the first time I saw snow! You know, I spent a lot of time on Belobog, and I never had a chance to take a proper walk in the snow! Or build a snowman! I've seen them pictured in books, but I've never had the time to make one. There's always something more important to do, or another place to go".

At this point, she must have realized that she was monopolizing the conversation. She turned to him with a small, apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry if I'm rambling. Am I boring you?"

Blade shook his head. He didn't mind listening to her. The first few times had been tiring. He wasn't used to people trying to talk to him, and having her around had put him in a difficult position. However, he got used to hearing her speak. Her conversations were positive, optimistic, and allowed him to understand a lot about her. When they were trapped under the mountain, he learned many things about her life, her companions, and the things she loved. It gave him a glimpse into a life far removed from his own, where pain was not a constant presence. And more importantly, listening to her distracted him. Concentrating on her words kept him from thinking too much.

Maybe that was the point, the reason why the Mara quieted down when she was present. Kafka said that there were no external factors that influenced him, and that everything came from within. So this had to be it. Stelle couldn't make his problems go away. No one could. But when she was there, she managed to push them aside with stories of adventure, joy, and affection. If only for a moment.

What Stelle did was create an oasis. A place of peace and rest, where he could stop thinking. And she didn't even notice.

Seeing him lost in his thoughts, she shot him a questioning look. He snapped out of it, forcing the focus back on the main topic.

"Do you like snow?"

She nodded.

"Yes, very much. I don't like storms, but when it's like this, it's beautiful. The snow is soft and the air seems cleaner."

It was strange to him. Unlike her, he had seen many snowfalls, but none had excited him. The cold was dangerous if you were being hunted or injured. Snow was wet and bothersome, soaking clothes and hindering movement. If there had ever been a moment when he had looked at it with the same enthusiasm as she had, he couldn't remember.

But Stelle liked snow. She found it beautiful, and that was enough.

Suddenly he wished he could do something for her, something that would make her happy. To thank her for the moments of peace she had given him so far. Only that one time, before the night ended, and everything went back to the way it was supposed to be.

Could he afford to be selfish, just once?

"Let's go for a walk."

He made his suggestion in his usual emotionless manner. It had come out so casually that it took Stelle a moment to register it. But when she did, she stood there, stunned, her mouth open, trying to process what had happened.

Meanwhile, not far from them, another pair of heads turned in their direction.

"Did you hear that, Kafka? Did you hear that?!"

Silver Wolf's astonished murmur was immediately silenced by Kafka.

"Wolfie, shhh!"

...Of course they were eavesdropping. Typical.

Stelle blinked, recovering from the surprise. She scrutinized him, as if she expected him to pull away at any moment, and finally asked:

"A walk? You and me?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

Blade looked out the window. He noticed that after a certain hour, the lights and heaters along the streets went out to save energy. It would be unpleasant to be caught outside when that happened. But it was still early. They had all the time they wanted.

"Yes."

She put her hand to her mouth in surprise.

"Aeons, I am witnessing a historic moment!"

Blade folded his arms, his lips tightening into an impatient grimace. He had made the suggestion impulsively, but she seemed intent on making him change his mind.

Sensing the change in his expression, Stelle hastily corrected herself.

"I mean, I wasn't expecting it, that's all! But it's totally okay! I want to go for a walk! "

She smiled at him, and he softened. 

She seemed happy. Good.

"But maybe we should..."

She glanced at Kafka and Silver Wolf, who weren't even pretending not to eavesdrop anymore. Both of them were turned fully in their direction. The latter had even sat on the back of the couch to get a better view.

"If you want to go outside, go ahead. Don't worry about us: Wolfie and I have no desire to go out," Kafka said.

"None whatsoever. It's too cold. And I hate the cold," Silver Wolf chimed in, nodding so vigorously that the sunglasses on her head slipped down her nose.

"So go, have fun, and don't stay out too late!"

"Stay out late, actually. As late as possible. In fact, get a room somewhere and stay out all night. Preferably in a place with security cameras, so I can hack..."

"WOLFIE!" Kafka hissed, slapping a hand over Silver Wolf's mouth to stop her from saying anything else. Then she turned to the other two with a toothy smile. "Before you go, come back and say goodbye, Stelle."

"Okay," she replied.

"And Bladie, mind you. You're still her bodyguard until the day is over. Remember that."

She gave him a meaningful glance, and Blade nodded. He didn't need to be reminded. Mission or no mission, he would protect her.

With that, the two left the room. They were in the foyer, dressing for the cold night, when they heard Silver Wolf's voice from the living room.

"I was joking, Kafka. You know I wouldn't really hack security cameras to spy on your precious Stelle. It would be gross! No need to pull out the katana for that..."

They heard the sound of something breaking, followed by hurried footsteps, as if a chase was taking place.

"You think everything's okay?"

Stelle looked worriedly at the room they had left, but Blade remained impassive. Situations like this were normal for them, and Kafka certainly wouldn't kill Silver Wolf. The worst that could happen would be a little noise, but since he wouldn't stay there, it wasn't his concern.

"Ignore them."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. If he had to worry every time weapons flew between them, he'd get an ulcer.

Seeing him calm, Stelle shrugged and, wrapping her coat and scarf tightly around her, moved with him to the door. Blade opened it and held it for her, and they both ventured out of the safe house and into the lighted streets of Belobog.

Snow wasn't much of an attraction for the people of Belobog. It was as normal to them as the sun was to planets with mild climates. Thus, despite the pleasant night — by Jarilo-VI standards — Blade and Stelle encountered almost no one as they walked through the Administrative District. Occasionally, a rare passerby would walk by, returning from a nightly theatrical performance. Otherwise, the city was theirs, from the glow of the streetlights to the snowflakes that settled on the pavement.

They didn't have a specific destination, heading somewhat aimlessly in the direction of Fort Qliphoth. They did not talk much either. Blade wasn't the type to chat for the sake of it, and a part of his mind was always focused on potential danger. Stelle seemed to understand that. In general, his silence didn't make her too uncomfortable, and she enjoyed the silence.

It was rare for things to be so peaceful. Belobog was a small paradise for someone like him. He wasn't wanted, so he didn't have to hide. He could walk down the street with his head held high, confident that no one would recognize him. Even his constant vigilance — which had always served him well — was merely a precaution, for there was no hint of danger.

With the impending visit of the IPC, all of that was likely to change. Jarilo-VI wouldn't remain a safe haven forever. But for now, everything seemed so far away. Elio, their mission, everything. Even the Mara was only a faint shadow, a vague murmur in the back of his mind.

He felt good. Good in a way he might not have felt in centuries. And paradoxically, that frightened him. Because nothing like this ever lasted.

But he didn't want to dwell on it. Right now, his job was to be Stelle's companion on her first real 'walk in the snow'. Even though he knew he wasn't good company and had no idea how to entertain her, he could at least be the silent presence at her side. Her bodyguard. At least for one night.

He turned to her and noticed that as they walked, she held her hand out in front of her, trying to catch snowflakes.

"What are you doing?" he couldn't help but ask.

"I read that every snowflake has a different shape, similar to a little star," she replied. "I wanted to see if it was true, but they always break as soon as I catch them."

Well, it was obvious. They were made of ice, and very fragile. It was normal for them to break or melt. But...

"Keep your hand still. Don't try to grab them, but let them come to you."

She looked at him and nodded, holding her arm out in front of her. Since she made no move to meet them, most of the flakes avoided her, brushing against her before floating or slipping away. Eventually, though, her patience was rewarded and a single flake landed on her glove. Stelle brought it up to her face to examine it, and Blade also leaned in for a better look.

The small snowflake began to melt almost immediately, but not before they could see that it was made of many tiny star-shaped crystals, each with slightly different branches.

"It's just like in the books!" Stelle exclaimed, delighted, and watched the ice crystals until they melted completely.

Only then did she look up and cast a curious glance at her silent companion.

"What's the matter?" he asked, instinctively pulling away whenever he caught her staring at him.

Stelle shook her head. "...No, nothing."

She gave him a mysterious smile and quickened her pace to pass him by. They had reached Central Square, in front of the steps leading to Fort Qliphoth. She stopped, held up her hand to shield her eyes from the snow, and stared straight at the large crystal statue in the center of it. Blade didn't know what she was planning, but it was clear that she had seen something intriguing. When he joined her, she grabbed his sleeve and pointed to a spot at the base of the statue.

Accustomed to dealing with harsh weather, Belobog's street cleaners were adept at leaving as few piles of snow as possible. Still, some remained beside the statue. It wasn't much, but enough to draw attention. Especially the attention of someone with a clear goal in mind.

"Snowman time!" Stelle announced with a broad grin as she dragged him towards the statue.

Blade obediently followed until they were in the shadow of the huge monument. Only then did Stelle release him, kneeling beside the small pile of snow as if it were a treasure of immeasurable value.

"Will you help me?" she asked, looking up at him with smiling eyes.

He shook his head, and she didn't insist. Instead, she started working, humming to herself as she gathered the snow into a single pile.

Blade watched silently as the snowman took shape. There wasn't enough snow to make a big one, so when she finished, it was barely taller than his forearm. Since she'd never made one before, the body and head were irregular, and the proportions of the eyes and mouth — made with some pebbles she found around — were crooked. It looked as if the poor snowman had survived a beating. But Stelle didn't seem to mind. On the contrary, when she stepped back to admire her work, she looked at it as if it were a masterpiece.

"It's adorable, don't you think? I'm going to call it the Belobolgian Snowballer," she said with pride.

Blade eyed it with open sympathy, mentally apologizing to the poor snowman for letting Stelle — of all people — be the one to bring it into existence. This, of course, earned him a scowl from her.

"You're thinking something rude, aren't you?"

"Not about the snowman itself."

She stuck her tongue out at him, and despite his criticism, she took out her phone and snapped a picture of the unfortunate snowman.

"It's not bad, for a beginner," she said, looking at the picture on her screen before pocketing the device. Then she carefully took off her gloves. They were soaked from the snow and her fingers were red from the cold.

He watched as she blew on her hands to warm them, and sighed. Taking care of her would drive him crazy.

"Give me your hands."

Stelle looked up at him.

"What?"

Without repeating his request, he removed his gloves and grabbed her wrists, pulling her closer. Then he gently took her right hand in his.

He regretted it immediately. Her fingers were icy, her skin smooth. He could have wrapped her whole hand in his, and the thought shook him. A shadow of the yearning he'd felt when she'd embraced him descended upon him, settling in like a parasite.

This wasn't right. This wasn't right at all.

He lowered his eyes to her hands and began to massage her numb fingers one by one, restoring circulation. It was a technique he'd learned after numerous missions in cold places. It was useful to keep sensitivity in his hands when fighting in precarious conditions. Their circumstances weren't as bad, but as far as he was concerned, Stelle should never be put in such situations.

Unfortunately, he didn't have much say in the matter.

He moved to the center of her hand, massaging the palm, and Stelle flinched. Blade stopped immediately.

"Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head.

"No, it's pleasant." Her voice was low, uncertain, and her hand shook. "Please, continue... if you wish."

His chest tightened, but he forced himself to ignore it. He lowered his gaze again and concentrated on massaging her hand, starting from the center of the palm, and then moving out to the fingers. He tried to focus only on what he was doing, to block out any intrusive thoughts. And it worked...at least until he began to feel observed. Lifting his head to check, he noticed Stelle watching him, lips pressed together in concentration.

"What is it?"

"You're nice, you know?"

She smiled, and he felt himself sinking. He stopped the massage, her hand still in his.

"No, I'm not."

"You are with me. Always," she countered, holding his gaze. "So much so that sometimes I wonder how true the things they say about you are. How the person I see before me can be guilty of so many crimes. And I wonder why it doesn't bother me as much as it should." She glanced down at their joined hands. "But then again, I was one of you. Maybe I'm a little biased."

Blade studied her expression, the conflict in her features, etching it into his memory. It was the expression she would always have as long as their relationship lasted. And sooner or later, it would erase her smiles until not a single one remained.

"You are not like us. You didn't choose the circumstances you were born into. You're a good person, and you can continue to be one," he said, resuming his gentle massage. "We chose our path, and it's not going to change. I'm not a good person, and this mission was an exception."

She sighed and closed her eyes, her fingers — already warmer — flexing under his care.

"So if we meet again," she finally said, "will you not be nice to me? Would you try to avoid me like you did at first?"

He hesitated. In the state he was in now, he doubted he could reset their relationship. He didn't know how. The only way would be to erase his memory, but he didn't want to do that. He doubted that Kafka would agree to it anyway.

"I don't know how many chances I will have to be nice to you," he finally replied. "Give me your other hand."

Stelle opened her eyes again and complied, offering him her left hand.

"I enjoyed this mission," she told him as he began to rub her fingers again.

Blade gave her a skeptical look. Was it necessary to remind her that, among other things, they'd almost been buried alive?

"I'm not talking about all the bad things that happened to the people of Belobog," she corrected herself. "Nor all the trouble we got into. I could have done without all that. What I mean is that I enjoyed working with you. Being on the same side without worrying about the consequences, being able to trust Kafka, getting to know you better... I enjoyed that. I even managed to recover some fragments of my memory, and that's a pretty big deal."

"About that," he said, "I mentioned it to Kafka."

He could have kept it to himself, but it felt like the right thing to do. One thing was his duty to his faction, another was to be dishonest about it.

Stelle wasn't surprised.

"Yeah, I thought so."

"Does it bother you?"

"No. I also talk to my comrades about the things you tell me. If I didn't want Kafka to find out, I wouldn't say anything. It's the same with you, isn't it?"

That was indeed the case. And if it was the way she wanted to go about it, he was fine with it. It made things easier.

"Has Kafka told you anything?" she asked.

Blade saw the tension in her features, the desire to know mixed with the fear of discovering something she might not like. It was something he could sympathize with, as he was in a very similar situation. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to ease her fear or fulfill her wishes.

"Nothing new. But she did confirm that your favorite color was red and that you liked red spider lilies."

"I see."

Her expression relaxed. She wasn't completely satisfied, but at least the fear was gone.

Having finished warming her left hand, Blade released it.

"Done."

She flexed her fingers, testing their newfound sensitivity, and smiled.

"Thank you. That's much better."

She retrieved her wet gloves and grimaced before tucking them into her coat pocket. Wearing them was not an option.

Blade offered her his own pair.

"Take these."

Stelle looked at the gloves he offered with surprise and quickly shook her head.

"No, no, you keep them! There's no need. I can just put my hands in my pockets..."

"Take them," he repeated in a tone that brooked no argument. "The cold doesn't bother me much."

She glanced from his face to the gloves, still considering his offer. Finally, she accepted, taking them from his hands and slipping them on. They were too big for her, but since he had been wearing them until a moment ago, he figured they were warm. Judging by her pleased expression, he was right.

"Thank you."

He only responded with a vague grunt, relieved that she didn't bring up his 'kindness' again. He knew she meant it in the best possible way, but it was the kind of compliment that stung.

"If you've done what you wanted, we can go back whenever you like," he told her, glancing down the road.

For now, there was no sign of danger, and it was still early. However, the other passersby had thinned out to the point of disappearance, leaving only the two of them. He couldn't imagine what could keep her, now that she had her walk and her snowman.

"Do you want to go back?"

The seemingly simple question hung between them. Her voice was soft, and when Blade turned to look at her, he noticed that she was contemplating the toes of her shoes. He understood that there was a meaning behind it, and it wasn't too difficult to guess. Going back would mean the end of this evening. Sure, they could spend some more time with Kafka and Silver Wolf, but their own time together would come to an end. The time of their first mission as partners. And, as far as they knew, the last.

"...No," he answered after a moment's hesitation, throwing all his doubts aside. The only reason they were there was to make her happy. So if she didn't want to go back, they wouldn't. And that was that.

Stelle's eyes lit up at his decision.

"Perfect! Neither do I! I don't want to leave Belobolgian Snowballer so soon. It's so adorable!"

Blade glanced at the battered snowman, wondering what was wrong with that girl's aesthetic sense. But he refrained from commenting. And when Stelle sat down on one of the steps of the monument — next to her 'work of art' — he did the same, settling down next to her.

For a while, a relaxed silence fell between them, the sculpture protecting them from the cold air and snow. Stelle's mind was elsewhere as she gazed at her snowman. Blade watched her, quietly memorizing every change in her expression, trying to decipher her thoughts. It was always easy to read her surface emotions, but her deeper feelings remained inaccessible.

An open book and at the same time the greatest mystery he had ever encountered.

"You know," she suddenly said, breaking the silence, "I was thinking about what I remembered when we were at the flower shop."

He nodded to let her know he was listening, and Stelle continued.

"Well, think about it. Of all the beautiful flowers in the universe, my favorites have to be the ones with the most macabre meaning. Imagine if I wanted to use them to decorate a room! How could I, knowing that they're used for funerals? Why can't I like something more normal?"

Whether that was really what she was thinking or a way to distract herself from darker topics, Blade didn't know. With Stelle, both were valid options. But if that was what she wanted to talk about, he was fine with it.

"Because you're not normal," he said, earning a glare.

"Very funny," she deadpanned. "I mean, how could I imagine such beautiful flowers being associated with death?"

"Death is not their only meaning. They also mean 'last goodbyes,'" Blade explained.

"Which is almost the same." Stelle crossed her arms and sulked. "It's a shame that something so beautiful has to be marked by something so sad as death and goodbyes."

Blade gave a wry half-smile. He wasn't surprised that she saw it that way. He believed that most people felt the same. For many, death was something to be feared. The end of their own life was a frightening thought, and the death of loved ones was always a source of loss and pain. This was normal, but also misguided.

"It's only sad if you see death as something negative."

At these words Stelle became serious, her eyes fixed on him. She didn't say anything, but he could feel her concern. And he regretted talking. Even more, he regretted answering that question while they were trapped under the mountain. He shouldn't have mentioned that he wanted to die. It would have been better not to answer at all, or even to lie if necessary. Anything to avoid being looked at like that.

But now it was done, and he couldn't take it back.

"Another meaning of red spider lilies is 'rebirth'," he continued, looking straight ahead to avoid meeting her eyes. "Death is necessary for it. That's why it's not a negative thing. There is no life without death. Moreover, death itself can be a relief for suffering, depending on the situation. It's the natural order of things, and it shouldn't be violated. That's why the immortality gained by the Xianzhou Alliance is wrong. And they are aware of it, even if they had to stumble upon the consequences before they realized it."

"The Mara."

At Stelle's grim realization, Blade nodded.

"Among other things."

"So," she said, "even your own existence would be wrong."

He nodded again.

"Yes."

Stelle lowered her head, sadness clearly visible in her expression. But before he could say anything to her, she straightened up and leaned a little closer to him. And even though she was still upset, she managed to smile.

"What I'm about to say will probably sound selfish to you. But for what it's worth, I'm glad you're alive. If you weren't, I wouldn't have met you. And if I hadn't met you, I might be dead under that mountain right now. So there's at least one good thing in all of this. Don't you think?"

Blade met her gaze in silence. He knew what she was trying to do, and he knew it was futile. As long as there was an ounce of life left in him, he would continue to curse it. Even now, with the causes of his situation hidden from him, he knew that his immortality was punishment for a debt he might never be able to repay. But that didn't mean he didn't appreciate her attempt to make him feel better.

He reached out a hand and, after a moment's hesitation, placed it on her head. She looked away, shifting on the seat, but didn't push him away. Instead, she leaned into his hand to accept the gesture, allowing him to feel her smooth and soft hair under his fingers for a second longer. But he didn't stay more than a moment, letting his hand fall back to his side.

Stelle bit her lower lip, still avoiding looking at him, but finally cleared her throat and spoke.

"Anyway! I see what you mean. In the context of the cycle of life, death is necessary. So the meaning of the flowers isn't inherently bad. In fact, it's quite poetic in a way. And I can see it being used at a funeral as a sign of hope rather than mourning. Although I still find it a little sad."

She wouldn't change her mind about that. Their views on life and death were very different, and he didn't expect her to change hers. It was already significant that she understood his perspective.

"So tell me..." Stelle shifted her position to face him fully. "The reason you know so much about spider lilies is because you like them, right?"

"You asked me that before."

"Yes, but you didn't answer."

She tilted her head to the side, a playful smile on her lips, waiting for his response. The problem was that he wasn't quite sure himself. Which was rather ridiculous, considering it was a simple question.

The truth was, what they symbolized meant something to him. Life and death, and the cycle from which he was cut off. An afterlife waiting for him, close but out of reach. And peace at the end of a life too long. But did he like them for what they were, as much as she did? The equinox flowers blooming lush and arrogant when the others slumbered, defying autumn with their bold red. The flowers that spoke of death, but more than any other, seemed to represent life.

"In a way, perhaps," he finally replied, and Stelle cheered.

"Finally I got you to say something you like! I thought you'd avoid the question forever!"

From her reaction, it seemed that she had performed a feat worthy of the Genius Society. He shot her a sarcastic look, which she shamelessly ignored.

"So is that why Kafka put that bag in your closet? She knew you liked them?"

"According to her, 'they suit me'. Whatever that means."

"...She knows you well."

Stelle's smile waned, and though it didn't disappear entirely, he sensed that her mood had soured. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was wrong.

He was debating whether or not to enquire about it, when she spoke first.

"Can I ask you something, Blade?"

"If it's something I can answer."

Of course, if she asked about classified information, he wouldn't tell her. But he doubted it was anything of the sort. Stelle turned away again. And even if the cold could be the main cause for the blush on her cheeks, he had reason to believe that there was a good dose of embarrassment as well.

It had to be a personal question.

"I've wanted to ask you for a while, but it was never the right time." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "Is there something between you and Kafka?"

As expected. But even though he anticipated a personal question, he hadn't expected this. It came out of nowhere, so much so that he thought he had misunderstood. And when he realized that he hadn't, he was so stunned that he couldn't react. So he stood there, wondering what strange mental acrobatics the girl had performed to conceive such madness.

"Well, I've noticed that you get along very well, and you're always together," Stelle began to list the reasons for her assumption, speaking faster than was necessary. "She seems to understand you very well, and she's no doubt beautiful. Then she does these nice things for you, like putting the bag in your closet..."

"She does that to all of us," Blade finally interjected, recovering from the initial shock.

"And you let her call you 'Bladie'. When I did, you got angry..."

"Because it's a ridiculous nickname."

"Not to mention all the times she comes up to you and touches you..."

"You do the same."

Stelle stopped going through her list and whipped her head towards him.

"What?"

"You keep invading my personal space, staring at me, grabbing my sleeve, even hugging me..." Blade listed mercilessly.

With each item on the list, Stelle paled a little more, until she covered her mouth in horror.

"Aeons, I'm a molester!"

"No, you're not. It doesn't bother me," he reassured her. It was true. And that was the problem.

"Are you sure? If I do something that bothers you, you just have to tell me."

"I am sure."

She sighed in relief, relaxed, and began to play with the edges of the gloves.

"So you and Kafka aren't together?"

Blade had the feeling that even if he denied it, the doubt wouldn't go away completely. After all, he was sure that Kafka wouldn't change her behavior towards him anytime soon. If that could lead to more misunderstandings, it was better to be clear from the beginning. Besides, he disliked the idea of Stelle getting the wrong idea about their relationship.

"Kafka and I share a bond," he explained. "She and Sam found me as I was going through a terrible moment in my life. I don't remember much, but I know I was in a horrible state, and the Mara inside me was practically out of control. I wasn't much different from a beast."

He paused and took a deep breath. The memory of that time was not pleasant at all. All he remembered was blind rage, anger channeled into a single goal, and his inability to control it. Just thinking about it was enough to awaken dangerous feelings.

Perhaps Stelle understood his state of mind, because she didn't push him any further. She remained serious and silent, waiting until he was ready to continue.

"She was the one who calmed me down and helped me get back on the right track," he continued, once he had gotten his emotions under control. "Since then, part of her job has been to keep the Mara on a leash. With her Spirit Whisper, she can repress it or, failing that, force me to obey her and prevent me from jeopardizing our mission. Her help is indispensable, and she can make whatever she wants of me. But she has been fair and measured, and has never abused her power more than necessary."

"You trust her," Stelle said.

"I trust that she is loyal to our cause and will always do what is necessary to ensure its success. And I believe that she does not wish me undue harm. I also accept that I need her for the time being. But we are not a couple and never will be. I am of no interest to her, and the same goes for me. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes. Everything is clearer to me now," she said. Her face relaxed and she stopped fidgeting. "And if I may ask, is there anyone else in your life? Romantically, I mean."

"No."

She leaned closer to him, inadvertently invading his personal space. She was close enough that he caught a whiff of her scent as she drew nearer. It was her hair. Peppermint, maybe.

"You must have a type, though. Eye and hair color, for example. Or what kind of personality you prefer."

To regain a safe distance, Blade shifted slightly to the side, enough to keep her scent from distracting him.

Why this sudden interest in his love life? How could it possibly benefit her to know what his type was? What exactly did she expect from him?

He studied her, trying to understand from her demeanor what her ulterior motives might be. But all he could read was curiosity. Maybe it was just that. Unfortunately, if she was expecting an exciting answer, she had asked the wrong person.

"I don't have a 'type'."

"None at all?"

Stelle widened her eyes in surprise. It must have been strange to her that someone could not have an ideal person. Which meant that she probably had one, too.

For some reason, this thought irritated him. It wasn't his problem. What Stelle wanted was none of his business, and he didn't have the right to interfere. But the idea of a nameless person occupying her thoughts bothered him.

"Even if I did, what good would it do?" he replied more sharply than he had intended. "What could I possibly have to offer a potential lover?"

Nothing but trouble and suffering, at least. That's why he didn't want her to get too close to him or get attached to him. That's why her scent frustrated him and her kindness confused him. That's why he had to suppress this foolish attraction and stop wanting...!

"You."

Her voice, soft and kind as it had been many times before, interrupted his thoughts. He looked straight at her, his eyes piercing hers, trying to probe her mind — her soul, even.

"What?"

"You. Nothing else," she repeated with a conviction that shook him. "I mean, I don't remember ever being in love, and all I know comes from the novels I've read. But I don't think you have to 'give' anything in exchange for love. That's wrong. If someone loves you, they will want you, and all that you are. No more and no less." She blushed and ran a hand through her hair. "At least that's what I believe. If it applies to family, it should be the same for romance, right?"

Her words, her smile, shook him so deeply that he had to look away.

Him, and only him. The only thing the beloved would ever ask of him.

It was a wonderful ideal, and completely unrealistic. For as much truth as it might contain, even love had its limits when it collided with real life. And he, in particular, was a tangle of danger and problems. He didn't deserve that kind of love, and it wasn't fair to force it on anyone else. He knew that, and it had always been easy for him to stick to that principle.

He wanted nothing. He must not want anything. It was the only way he knew to go on until the end.

So why was it causing him pain now?

They didn't delve further into the subject. In fact, they didn't continue at all. Stelle must have noticed that her question, as innocent as it was, had clouded his mood. Therefore, she didn't ask anymore.

What happened in the immediate aftermath, Blade could not remember clearly. Lost in his thoughts, everything around him became foggy. Shortly after their conversation ended, he remembered telling her it was time to go because it was getting late, and she agreed. She bent down to her snowman and promised to come back to see it the next day, and they made their way back to the safe house.

Neither of them spoke, and the only thing that jolted him was when Stelle grabbed his sleeve, as she always did when he walked too fast. At that point, as always, he slowed his pace to match hers. And, as always, she didn't let go. He knew she was looking at him, but he didn't turn to meet her eyes, fleeing from them like a nocturnal creature from the sun.

If only things had been different. If only he had met her centuries and centuries ago, when he was a normal human like many others, in a distant time of which he had almost no memory. If she had come into his life then, his attraction to her would have been legitimate. He might have given in to it, and let it grow instead of trying to destroy it. He could have been happy, if only for a few measly years.

Or better yet, if only he hadn't met her at all. If only Kafka hadn't decided to test fate by crossing their paths. If only he could continue to think of her as a target on Elio's list rather than as a flesh and blood person. A wonderful person who could feel compassion even for someone like him.

So many ifs and no way to change reality. So what was he supposed to do?

"We have arrived," Stelle announced, pulling him out of the abyss of his mind.

He snapped out of it when he realized that they had reached the safe house. The snow was falling heavier, the air was colder, and his first thought was that if they stayed out too long, Stelle might catch a cold. It wasn't a problem for him: if he got sick, he would recover very quickly. But in this respect, she was more delicate.

"Let's go inside," he said and went to the door. Silver Wolf and Kafka would surely want to say goodbye to her before she returned to her companions. Away from them.

He had just put his hand on the doorknob when she called out to him.

"Blade, did I say something wrong?"

He turned to look at her, his expression softening at her obvious concern.

"Of course not."

She sighed in relief, her breath forming a small cloud.

"Thank goodness! We were having a nice evening and I was afraid I'd ruined everything."

She couldn't have ruined everything. If anything, it was the opposite. But he didn't say that, just nodded before turning back to the door.

Again, she stopped him.

"Before we go in, I wanted to ask how long you'll be staying in Belobog," she said with a hint of excitement. "Bronya told me that there will be a festival soon. I was wondering if..."

"We leave tomorrow."

His abrupt answer cut off her hopeful voice. Blade turned to see her smile turn into disappointment, her shoulders dropping.

"The IPC is coming," he added, feeling an explanation was necessary.

She raised her head in surprise. "The IPC? Why?"

"We don't know. They may have business with the Supreme Guardian. In any case, it's better if we are not here when they arrive."

Stelle nodded, understanding. "Yes, I get it. That makes perfect sense. If they find out you're here, they'll hunt you down."

"Besides," he continued, "Kafka says there are new missions for us, so we will be busy elsewhere soon. Since you are no longer in danger, it wouldn't make sense for us to stay."

She nodded again, her golden eyes locked with his. Even without speaking, he could read a million questions in them. What kind of mission was it? What would they do? Would they harm innocent people?

All questions she knew she wouldn't get an answer to. Blade hadn't received any details about his mission yet, but even if he had, he wouldn't discuss it with her. And Stelle was aware of that. Instead, she used another question, one he could consider.

"Will it be dangerous?"

He responded with a grimace. "It always is."

Stelle took a strand of hair between her fingers and twisted it. It seemed as if she wanted to say something to him, but couldn't find the words. Finally, she shook her head and managed a smile.

"Be careful."

"I will."

There was nothing more to say, but neither of them moved. They stood there, facing each other, hesitating at the door.

Blade didn't know if she felt the need to prolong this moment any longer. He hoped she didn't and at the same time, he hoped she did. And no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, a small, faint voice of hope whispered inside him.

Maybe, it said, she could see past all the darkness in his life. And maybe the crime for which he was being punished was less serious than he thought. Or, if it was as serious as he thought it was, it didn't mean he was responsible. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it wasn't his fault.

But at the exact moment the voice raised that possibility, a sharp pain shook his head, so intense that he felt like his skull was about to split. With a grunt of pain, he clutched his head and bent over as the wall inside of him cracked. A powerful, unprecedented pressure shook it, memories calling out, demanding to be released. The Mara boiled, angry at his inappropriate thoughts, pressing against the fragile barrier to regain control over him. And the world before him went black.

He was not allowed to think that way. He must not seek a way out.

He must be punished. He must pay. He couldn't escape.

"Blade!"

Gentle arms wrapped around his shoulders to support him, and bright eyes of gold searched for him in the darkness.

"Blade, what's wrong? Are you all right? Is it the Mara?"

He searched for those eyes, using them as a guide in the darkness. And slowly, his vision cleared. Stelle's face came into focus again, her features altered by fear.

He frightened her.

"I'm fine," he said, trying to reassure her, but his voice sounded so hollow that it made her worry even more.

"I'll call Kafka."

Stelle loosened her grip to step back, but before she could move, Blade's arms instinctively wrapped around her, holding her back. He hadn't planned to hug her. It was a completely instinctive move. But now she was pressed against him, close enough to feel every breath she took. And her presence was his anchor.

She couldn't leave. If she left him alone, he would lose his mind.

"I'm fine," he repeated, his voice firmer this time. And as if those words made it more real, the darkness began to thin, the pain to fade.

The crisis had passed. The wall still stood. Barely, but it had held. For now.

Stelle didn't try to wriggle out of his embrace, but stayed still, her hands inert against his chest. Even her breathing was slow and careful, as if afraid that any movement would cause an unintended reaction.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice faint against his shoulder.

Blade inhaled, letting the soothing scent of her hair fill his nostrils.

"A memory. A very strong one."

She flinched in his arms, her fingers clutching the front of his coat.

"You remembered something?"

"No. Not this time. But Kafka's seal will not last much longer."

Stelle lifted her head to look at him, and he felt her breath on his neck. He didn't try to escape it. Ironically, the sensations he didn't want to feel were now his shield, a distraction against his demons.

"You have to tell Kafka. Maybe she can do something."

"I will tell her, but it won't do much. This barrier was temporary from the beginning. It will collapse. It's not the first time it has happened."

He saw the panic in her eyes. Then she let out a breath and rested her forehead on his shoulder. He felt her shiver against him, from something that wasn't the cold. Part of it was concern for him, he was sure. But there was something else, a different kind of fear. And he realized that she knew something.

"Stelle."

At the call of her name, she nodded, indicating that she was paying attention.

"Answer my question," he said in a whisper, inches from her ear. "You don't have to tell me what it is, but is there anything in my memories that could harm you?"

She remained silent, her trembling increasing. It was obvious that she didn't want to tell him. And that fact alone was enough of an answer.

So he was right after all. He didn't know what was in his mind, but if it was something that could hurt her, he didn't want to remember it. Even if every part of him screamed, begged, pleaded to break that barrier.

You must remember. You absolutely must remember. You must do what is necessary.

There will be no peace until you fulfill your role. There will be no relief until you've atoned for your sins.

It's the right thing to do.

That's what the voices in his head were screaming, while banging and struggling against the seal. But how could it be 'the right thing' if it would hurt her?

"I'm sorry," he murmured, releasing his grip and letting her go. If she wanted to walk away from him, he wouldn't stop her. If she fled far away, it would be better for everyone.

But she didn't. Instead, her arms left his chest to wrap around his back, her head resting gently on his shoulder.

"Don't apologize," she said. "I'm not afraid for myself, and I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid for you. And I want to help, but I don't know how. I wish I could protect you and my loved ones from the past, but I can't."

He sensed the frustration in her voice — a frustration he shared — and a dull pain shook him to the core. Without thinking, he held her close again, resting his chin on the top of her head.

He didn't know how this story would end. He didn't know when he would remember and what would happen then. He could only pray that nothing bad would ever happen to her. Pray that she would always be happy and safe. That Elio's plans would come to fruition without harming her. Pray for her, because it would be useless to pray for himself, and hope some kind-hearted Aeon would listen.

And maybe it would be the most righteous thing he'd ever done in his life.

Chapter Text

It was a quiet day, like they had not experienced in a long time. Numerous battles had been fought against the Denizens of Abundance, and a final victory was still a long way off. Recently, however, they had finally gained the upper hand. For that reason, the residents of the Xianzhou Alliance could enjoy the occasional moments of peace.

Those were the times when the craftsman and the dragon would come together. As their respective duties were over, they would gather in the courtyard behind the craftsman's workshop to exchange stories. Sometimes they would train together — the dragon being an excellent spearman and the craftsman learning the basics of swordsmanship.

But this was not one of those days. After a particularly exhausting day, neither of them had the energy for anything other than sitting quietly and sharing a drink. So, resting on a bench under the sunset glow, the two friends exchanged war stories. And, as always, the craftsman was eager to boast of his remarkable exploits.

"...And that was when the Arumaton exploded," he said, his blue eyes bright with enthusiasm. "But it didn't end there. Its explosion caught another Arumaton. And that triggered the explosion of another Arumaton. And then another one. The explosions took out many of those bastards. But the best part is that they broke their ranks, and allowed us to attack and inflict massive casualties on the enemy. A decisive victory for us, all thanks to my genius. What do you think?"

The craftsman tilted the small liquor glass toward his companion with an arrogant smile, inviting him to top the story. But the dragon remained unfazed. He sipped his drink, and when he finished, cast a sideways glance at his friend.

"Y--gx-i-g, why does everything you do have to end in an explosion?"

"Seven explosions in a row — all calculated, mind you — is quite a feat, you know?"

"I didn't say it isn't. I'm saying you are too reckless."

The craftsman burst out in a hearty laugh.

"You know B--h-ng, and you call me reckless! Remember what she did in the last battle?"

The dragon snorted.

"Don't remind me. J--l-u nearly died of fright when she saw her crash the Starskiff right into the enemy lines. I still wonder how she got out alive."

"B--h-ng is the Emanator of Fortune, and nothing will convince me otherwise."

"Is there an Aeon of Fortune?"

The craftsman shrugged.

"There is an Aeon for every need. I don't see why there shouldn't be one for Fortune. Perhaps they could turn their gaze to me for once. I need inspiration."

"For what?" the dragon asked, tilting his head. The dying daylight reflected off his water-green horns, making them seem semi-transparent.

The craftsman had gotten used to it by now, but he remembered that when he first saw him, he spent a long time trying to figure out what they were made of. The same was true for his tail. Those scales were very interesting. Flexible and strong as they were, they would be the perfect inspiration for designing a new type of armor. Too bad that his friend refused to let him take a sample. Perhaps it was to avoid his curiosity that he preferred to keep the tail hidden. That, or he wanted to avoid tripping over it. Which would be amusing, considering how stiff and dignified he was.

Fighting back a grin, he cleared his throat.

"I'm working on a new type of weapon, but I have to figure out how to make it work. The basic idea would be to control it remotely and make it explode, but with a twist..."

"Here we go again with the explosions!" the dragon interrupted in annoyance. "Sooner or later you're going to blow yourself up too, Yin--in-. As if your life wasn't short enough already."

The comment might have sounded harsh, but the craftsman didn't take offense. He knew his friend, and he knew that behind his words, there was a great deal of concern for his well-being.

"...If it serves to finally rid us of the Denizens of Abundance, I don't mind" he said, placing the glass on the empty space next to him.

The dragon turned sharply to face him.

"You shouldn't even joke about it."

"And why not?" the craftsman replied, raising his chin. 

"I don't want you to think your life is expendable. Even for a noble cause."

The craftsman laughed and shook his head. This was a point on which they would never agree. Their mindsets were too different. Sometimes he thought the dragon cared about his short life more than he did. Sure, there had been a time when he had wished he could live as long as the others. He wanted to have the same time as other apprentices to master their craft. But he had long since abandoned that mindset. The quality of time was more important than the quantity.

Someone had made him realize this.

"I'd rather leave this world in a blaze than live until the end of time. I will let all of the Xianzhou know that a brief moment of my life is worth more than their long and meaningless lives."

This would be especially true for those who had belittled him when he had arrived in the Xianzhou Zhuming as a young boy. All those who thought he wouldn't make it and now looked at his position with envy.

The dragon noted his proud expression and the conviction behind his boastful words. The corners of his mouth lifted in a brief smile.

"This is very much like you. But I still think you are reckless."

"Why, are you worried about me?" he replied, imitating a bow. "His Majesty Im--b-tor L--ae, High Elder of the Vidyadhara of the Xianzhou Luofu, is worried about the safety of this humble craftsman? I am honored!"

The dragon scoffed.

"You wish. And don't call me 'His Majesty.'"

"Don't you like it? 'Your Lordship' suits you better?"

"I'm serious, Yin---ng. Death is not something to joke about."

The dragon placed his glass on the bench and rose with the rustle of fine robes and long dark hair. He approached the courtyard gate and looked out over the city. He turned his back so the craftsman couldn't see his expression, but he was clearly upset.

Perhaps he had gone too far in teasing him like that. Usually, his friend paid no mind to his provocations. He was very good at responding in kind. But that day, his mood was a bit strange. In fact, he had been rather pensive for the past few days. He wondered if something serious had happened. It must have, judging by his slumped shoulders. He looked like he had the weight of the world on him.

Not that he hadn't. As the High Elder of the Vidyadhara, he was the point of reference and example for all his people. Everyone worshipped him, and he, in his stubborn pride, insisted on shouldering all the responsibilities. And he never asked for help.

With a sigh, the craftsman stood up and joined him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Da- F-ng."

The dragon gave him a sideways glance, expecting more teasing. Instead, he was met with his friend's understanding smile.

"If something happened and you want to talk about it, you know I'm here, right?"

The dragon softened a bit, and it was then that the craftsman noticed the dark shadows under his eyes, as if he had not slept well in days.

"During the last battle, many of my troops ended up Mara-struck due to the enemy's weapons," he said. "Vidyadhara are not usually affected by it, so we are never adequately prepared for its effects."

The craftsman nodded in understanding. He had no first-hand knowledge of what it was like to be Mara-struck, but he had seen humans suffer from it. It was horrible, and something he wouldn't wish on anyone. As a short-life species, he would never experience it himself, and he was grateful for that.

"Not to mention all those who lost their lives. Can you imagine how low the morale of my people is right now?" the dragon continued.

This was easier to imagine. During a war, there would always be casualties. It was inevitable and never easy to accept. Every life lost in battle was a terrible price to pay. But for Long's Scions, life could only be perpetuated through the cycle of reincarnation. They couldn't reproduce, and every death brought them one step closer to extinction. Every living species took death seriously, but for them, it was downright existential.

"We live on these ships, too. It's only fair that we help defend them," the dragon continued. "But the price is very high. My people look to me for reassurance, but I don't know what to do. I have no solution, and it's frustrating."

The craftsman said nothing, just listened. Unfortunately, as much as he would have liked to help, he didn't have a solution. The only thing he could do was lend an ear to his friend's concerns.

After a moment of silence, the dragon exhaled, trying to let his worries flow away. He flashed a smile, but it didn't completely erase the tension around his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Yi-gxi-g. I know you were joking, and I reacted poorly. But considering all of this, I don't like the idea that you or any of the others could end up losing your lives. I couldn't bear it."

"Don't worry about it," the craftsman replied, hiding his worries behind a confident smile. As usual. "None of us are planning on kicking the bucket anytime soon! When this war is over — and it will end, believe me! — we'll get together for a drink, as usual. Me, you, B-ih-g and J--gl-u. And since I'm feeling generous, we'll bring the kid, too. Besides, as far as I'm concerned, I don't want to die until I'm an old man. I still have a lot to learn if I want to master all the arts of the Artisanship Commission before I am a hundred years old."

Finally, the dragon laughed.

"And what about 'leaving this world in a blaze'?"

"Oh, come on! You should know by now not to take me too seriously about such things!"

The craftsman dismissed the matter with a casual wave of his hand, hoping that his friend would forget about it.

Actually, it wasn't a jest. Of course, he didn't want to die prematurely. There were still many things he wanted to do and see. And most of all, he wanted to spend more time with the people he cared about most in the world. However, if the choice ever came between dying early in a glorious death or living forever until the Mara consumed him... well, his choice was obvious.

But it wasn't something he wanted to dwell on. The living weren't supposed to think about death. Better to concentrate on what he could do, which was to boost the morale of his best friend.

"And by the way, if the Council of Preceptors bothers you too much, let me know. I have an army of Arumatons and I'm not afraid to use it."

"I think they would nag even more, if you suddenly invaded Scalegorge Waterscape with your 'army'" the dragon snarked.

"That won't be a problem, after I conquer the place, crown myself Emperor and depose them."

"You do realize that it would mean deposing me too, right?"

The craftman smirked.

"Oh, don't worry. You can always be my servant."

The dragon laughed, but it didn't last long. His gaze went back to the horizon and, when he talked, he could feel the wistfulness in his voice.

"I wish it was that easy."

It wasn't working. But it didn't matter. The craftsman knew exactly what to do. He would have preferred to wait for a more suitable occasion, but at this point, why hesitate?

"Wait here for a moment," he said, then strode back into the workshop.

Once inside, amidst tools, machinery, and freshly forged weapons, there was a long bundle of cloth, carefully placed against the wall. The craftsman picked it up and carried it outside. When he arrived, the dragon frowned and examined the object in his hands.

"What is this?"

The craftsman replied with a smirk.

"Do you remember the bow I gave to B-ihe-g some time ago?"

"Yes, of course. She loves it so much, she never stops talking about it. I think she even takes it to bed with her."

"Well, I also prepared something for you."

He handed over the bundle, confident that the dragon would appreciate it. After all, it was something he had created himself, so he was sure of its quality.

The dragon stared at the bundle for a long time, hesitating. A hand reached out cautiously, as if afraid to touch it. His gaze sought the craftsman's, as if asking for permission, and he granted it with a grin. Then the hand closed around the wrapping and lifted it.

He unfolded the fabric, revealing a beautiful jade-colored spear, its shiny tip gleaming in the fading daylight. Its shape was simple, devoid of excessive ornamentation that would make it impractical. Yet the inlays around the handle and the fine arabesques on the blade indicated exquisite craftsmanship, the result of care and passion.

"This is Cloud Piercer, my latest work and one of my finest pieces," the craftsman explained, pleased by the dragon's rapt expression. "What do you think?"

"It's beautiful," the other replied, tracing his fingers along the shaft. "I don't know how to thank you."

"This spear is sharp enough to pierce dragon scales. Be careful, High Elder, lest you hurt yourself with it."

The dragon interrupted his contemplation to give the craftsman a flat look.

"How clumsy do you think I am?"

"Clumsy enough to hide your tail for fear of tripping over it?"

The dragon looked away in embarrassment. And the craftsman understood that he had struck a chord.

"Wait a minute: did you really trip over your own tail?"

"I never said anything of the sort!" the other retorted a little too quickly. And of course, his protest was ignored.

The craftsman burst into a hearty laugh, holding his stomach.

"Seriously, Im-bi-or Lun-e? When did this happen? You have to tell me!"

"At my first public appearance," the companion mumbled, between embarrassment and irritation. "But I was a child, and it was a long time ago! And you shouldn't laugh at me like that while I'm armed."

As if to make a point, he grabbed the shaft of his new weapon with both hands and pointed it at his friend. The craftsman, however, responded to the threat with a cheeky smile.

"Or what? Are you going to run me through?"

The dragon thought about it for a moment. Then he lowered the spear, his ice-blue eyes glinting menacingly.

"No," he said, lingering on each syllable. "But I can tell Ba--eng about the time you almost fell into the furnace when she came to see you at the forge."

The smile immediately faded from the craftsman's lips.

"You wouldn't dare."

"I would."

"You are unfair."

"You are a bully."

"And you stink," the craftsman retorted, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning as if nothing could top that impressive statement.

All his vanity, however, went up in smoke when they heard a familiar voice.

"Are you two still bickering? Ji--li- is right: you always act like you're eighty years old."

They turned around and noticed that a young Foxian with a long purple braid had entered the courtyard. Despite the reproachful tone, she gave them a big toothy smile.

"I'm not that young," the dragon replied with a snort.

"I'm not that old," echoed the craftsman.

In contrast to the offended tone, he straightened his shoulders, as if to appear taller. Not that he needed to: he was well above average height. But it was an instinctive habit that manifested every time the Foxian was around. It probably had something to do with the fact that she had known him since he was a child. At the time, he was shorter than she was. And a part of him still felt like a child in front of her.

A pair of bright green eyes landed on him.

"What did you say to offend I-ibito- Lu-ae this time, Little Y--gxin-?"

...And that nickname that had stubbornly survived all those years didn't help.

The craftsman frowned.

"Bai--ng, why do you always assume it was me who started it?"

"Because it always is you! Or am I wrong this time?"

The Foxian gave him a mischievous look, while the dragon nodded his head. And he could only surrender.

"Alright, alright. I'm the bad guy, as usual," he grumbled.

"Come on, don't make that face! Even if you're a bully, we still love you!"

The girl reached out and tried to pat him on the head, but he dodged and scowled.

"'Leave it! I'm not twelve anymore."

"Now that I think of it," the dragon interjected, "by the standards of a short-life species, shouldn't you be around middle age by now?"

Considering how serious he was, it was hard to tell if he was teasing him or making an actual observation. Either way, the craftsman shot him a glare.

"Of course not! I'll have you know that I'm barely more than a young adult. Barely!"

"Really?" said the Foxian, surprised. "I thought it was around middle age that the white hairs started to show."

"Not necessarily," he replied, refusing to elaborate.

The craftsman was not lying. White hair could appear at very different ages. There were people under thirty with quite a few, and people well over forty with hardly any. He was somewhere in between. There were a few white strands in his hair, but they were too few to be noticed at first glance. By the standards of his peers, he had a whole life ahead of him.

Too bad that no matter how long he lived, he would still be the first of their group to go. It was the natural order of things, and he was okay with it. But what would the others think?

The dragon would lose his drinking companion. The Foxian would see the boy she had known for so long grow old and die before a wrinkle could form on her face. The swordswoman... well, she would miss someone to argue with. And as for the kid, maybe he would forget him. After all, he still had centuries and centuries of interesting things to do and see.

"By the way, Imb--tor L--ae, where did you get that? It's gorgeous!" the Foxian said, pointing at the dragon's spear.

He smiled as he absentmindedly stroked the hilt of the weapon.

"It's a gift from Ying-ing."

She turned to the craftsman, delighted.

"Really? You're so kind, Little Y--gxin-! And here I thought you were playing favorites with your dear old Aunt Bai---g!"

"Are you my 'aunt' now? Weren't you my 'older sister' last time?" he deadpanned, avoiding the question.

In truth, he was playing favorites. She and the dragon were the only ones he had thought of making a weapon for, although maybe someone else would get one in the end. As for the Foxian, he had prepared something else for her: a jade flask, carved and decorated to the best of his ability.

A token of gratitude for everything she had done for him. After all, it was due to her encouragement that he was there now. It was thanks to her that, in a time of uncertainty and lack of confidence, he managed to continue his apprenticeship and become what he was. If it wasn't for her, he might have given up much earlier and never met his most trusted companions.

It was a gift for her and her alone, but he hadn't found the courage to give it to her yet. For all his talent and bravado, deep down he was still the shy boy she used to know. It had always been difficult for him to express what he felt, even if it was legitimate affection and gratitude.

And what if she didn't like it? If she rejected it? If she misunderstood?

Unaware of his thoughts, the Foxian ignored his sarcasm.

"So, will you make one for Jin--iu as well?"

The question surprised him and made him look away.

"I don't think she would appreciate it," he murmured, almost hoping that the other two wouldn't hear him.

"Why wouldn't she?" the dragon asked. " Your weapons are the best in the Alliance."

"Well, she always says that the weapon itself is irrelevant and that the only thing that matters is the skill of the one wielding it. She doesn't need one of my swords to make the most of her technique."

The craftsman tried to keep a neutral tone, but there was a clear bitterness in his voice.

He always had the utmost respect for the swordswoman. He wanted to be her friend. But he always had the feeling that she didn't like him. It didn't help that their personalities didn't match. He was lively and passionate, she was serious and pragmatic, and they rarely saw eye to eye.

Currently, the swordswoman was away on a mission. However, before she left, they argued. It started as a triviality, a simple ideological disagreement. She claimed that swordsmanship was the most important feature of a warrior and that the weapon was completely irrelevant. In fact, dependence on a physical weapon was an obstacle to growth. While he believed that technique was the determining factor, he also felt that the weapon was essential. A sword crafted to complement its owner's strengths could be the difference between victory and defeat. Neither of them was willing to compromise their stance. At the end of the discussion, they walked away angry and dissatisfied. Then she left, and he hadn't seen her since.

The craftsman was willing to admit that some of the blame was his. He had taken offense at her belittling his profession, and he overreacted. He was ready to apologize if only she acknowledged that she had been tactless. But the swordswoman was as proud as he was, and she wouldn't do that easily. The last time they'd argued, they hadn't spoken to each other for three weeks, and it was the Foxian who had to mediate.

...On the other hand, if something happened to her during her current mission and their last conversation was a fight, he would regret it forever. He didn't doubt that she would return: he knew she was strong. But they were still at war, and nothing could be taken for granted.

The Foxian gently touched his arm.

"J--gliu cares about you, you know? She has the utmost respect for what you do and didn't mean to offend you. But she has trouble expressing herself and tends to be a bit difficult. She doesn't do it on purpose."

He knew she wasn't doing it on purpose. But he couldn't be the only one who compromised, right? Besides, why did these fights only happen with him? He had never seen her being so stubborn with others.

"And besides," the Foxian continued. "If she finds out that you made a weapon for everyone but her, you'll get the silent treatment for at least twenty years."

He didn't doubt that. The swordswoman would be quite capable of it. But there was something in the Foxian's words that didn't add up, and it pulled him out of his dark mood.

"I didn't make weapons for everyone. I only made them for you two."

Both the Foxian and the dragon looked at him with wide eyes.

"Are you saying that Starfall Reverie is not for J--g Y--n?" the dragon asked.

"Of course not! It doesn't have an owner. And that boy is too young to have a weapon tailor-made for him."

This was only partly true. He hadn't created it with a specific person in mind. But he had seen the way the boy looked at it. So he thought that he could give it to him later, for a special occasion. Maybe at the end of his apprenticeship, or before his first battle. And now he discovered that everyone assumed that it was for him!

The Foxian cleared her throat.

"Well, you should make it clear to him, because I met Jin-Yu-n when I came here. He was strategizing a way to sneak into your workshop. I think you can guess his goal."

"He was doing what?!"

The exclamation was interrupted by a commotion coming from inside the workshop: metal clashing against metal and something toppling over. The craftsman shrieked in horror and stomped toward the workshop, shouting at the top of his lungs.

"J-NG Y-AN! You little thief! I told you a million times not to enter my workshop without permission!"

Followed by the laughter of the dragon and the Foxian, he burst into the workshop in time to see a white-haired teenager fleeing toward the front door, a package firmly in his hands. Seeing him coming, the boy gave him a glance over his shoulder, a cheeky cat-like smile on his lips.

"I'm sorry, Yin--ing! I promise I'll bring it back after the sparring session!" he yelled as he disappeared with his loot. 

The craftsman chased after him, shouting every epithet that seemed appropriate and drawing curious glances from passersby. But even amid this chase, he couldn't help but feel a certain warmth. Happiness, even.

A weapon for everyone, the Foxian said. Well, why not? It wouldn't cost him anything and it would make them all happy. Besides, three of them were already finished. Only one was missing for the swordswoman and they would be complete. Maybe he could give it to her as a peace offering.

Four legendary weapons for the Alliance's best warriors. Four weapons for the people he loved. What could be more right than that?

Blade snapped awake, his mind coming back to consciousness. He sat up in bed, his hand closing around the hilt of his sword, ready to face any attacker who dared to surprise him in his sleep.

An attacker who, of course, was not there.

After a frantic glance around, the weapon gripped in his hand, he realized he was completely alone. His racing heart slowed, and the grip on the hilt loosened. Finally, with a slow exhale, he lowered the weapon and returned it to its place beside the bedside table.

His light sleep, a result of his constant alertness, made him easily aroused by the slightest stimuli. This time, however, nothing external had torn him from the dream world. The room in the safe house was silent, the door closed, and no sounds echoed from the corridor. The wardrobe was closed and no inhabitant of 'another dimension' had tried to attack him. The blankets were tucked under the mattress, so it wasn't the 'monster under the bed' trying to grab him. He was safe, both in the realm of the possible and the impossible.

Safe from everything except his mind. Because if it wasn't something external that woke him up, it must have been his own dream.

Nightmares were no stranger to Blade. They were much more likely than pleasant dreams, and it was a blessing when he managed not to dream at all. Yet this time he was sure that it wasn't a nightmare. He couldn't remember the dream, but it wasn't anything frightening. There were blurry faces and names he couldn't recall, but he felt like he had been happy. And now the feeling was gone, leaving only a severe headache.

He let himself fall back onto the pillow, massaging his temples to ease the discomfort. Judging by the darkness outside, it was still the middle of the night. It would be much better for him to go back to sleep. As resistant as he was to fatigue, he had slept too little these days. Immortal or not, he had to rest.

But try as he might, sleep wouldn't come. He felt restless, and the headache showed no signs of abating. His thoughts were also out of control. The more he tried to silence them, the more they chased after the fragments of the dream.

Familiar faces. Familiar names. And the feeling of being home.

With a frustrated groan, he brought his hands to his face, covering his eyes in the hope that the darkness would help him fall asleep. Then his fingers touched something damp at the side of his nose. A single tear, so small he hadn't even noticed its presence, had slid from the corner of his eye down his cheek before stopping there, suspended.

Like his memories.

With an angry flick of his hand, Blade wiped it away and buried his face in the pillow to suppress the throbbing headache.

He wanted it to end. He wanted all of it to end. The pain, the memories, his life, everything. If he couldn't die, at least he wanted to become an empty shell, incapable of thinking or feeling. But even that was denied him. When the curse of immortality began, it destroyed everything that he was. Yet at the same time, it didn't kill all of his feelings. He wasn't a complete human being, but he wasn't the unfeeling weapon he wanted to be. He was still capable of pain, hatred, and sadness. 

He wanted them to disappear. And only then, perhaps, would he find some semblance of peace.

When dawn broke, Blade was still awake. After the mysterious dream, he couldn't sleep, no matter how hard he tried to block out his thoughts. He spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, counting the minutes until daybreak. When he left his room to join the others in the living room, he was as tired as when he had gone to bed. And of course, the headache was still there.

It felt like he had an arrow lodged in his skull. Considering that he had been shot in the head before, the comparison was remarkably accurate.

"Blade, there you are," Silver Wolf greeted him as he entered the room. " When I'm done taking my gear outside, could you... Ah."

She fell silent, standing in the middle of the room with two laptops in her arms. Blade would have asked her what the problem was if Kafka's arrival hadn't prevented him from doing so. He saw her enter the room with a suitcase in her hand, and when she noticed him, she greeted him with a smile.

"Ah, Bladie, you're here. Have you finished the preparations... Oh."

She paused, frowning at him. And Blade couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with everyone.

"What is it?"

"Well, how shall I put this..." Kafka hesitated. "You look rather..."

"Terrible. Horrible. Disgusting," Silver Wolf finished the sentence, as blunt as ever. "You look like a vampire."

They were right, and he knew it. He never spent too much time in front of the mirror in the morning, but this time he noticed it as well. He was paler than usual, his eyes reddened and surrounded by deep dark circles. He hadn't thought of comparing himself to a vampire, but he had to admit that it was fitting.

"I slept poorly" he explained, without going into detail.

"Nightmares?" Kafka asked, examining him closely.

She had always been good at recognizing when something was wrong. It was necessary since it was part of her job to deal with his issues. This time, however, she had missed the mark.

"A memory," he replied, meeting her gaze with equal intensity. "The seal is fragile."

This did not alarm her. Her face remained neutral, and after a brief moment of reflection, she placed the suitcase against the wall as if nothing had happened.

"Well, we know it will break eventually. It took quite a while this time."

Indeed it did. Usually, even without excessive overstimulation, memories tended to return fast. This time, though, the seal persisted despite many critical situations.

Maybe it was due to the period of rest Elio had insisted on. It was boring for him, but it kept him away from many sources of stress. And then, once in Belobog, Stelle had always been around. Focusing on her safety must have been a factor.

"Anyway," Kafka continued, "have you finished packing? I'm almost done, and so is Wolfie."

"Yes, everything is ready. I will bring my belongings out in a minute."

Before going to sleep, Blade had packed all his things so that he would be ready when it was time to leave. Even the four 'new' swords had been prepared for transport. He would take them back to the headquarters for the time being. It was still too early for his annual visit to the 'graveyard', and going there too often was impractical.

But before he gathered everything, he needed some caffeine. It wouldn't do much good, considering how quickly his body metabolized it. Still, he figured it was better than nothing.

While the other two resumed their preparations, he dragged himself to the kitchen in search of coffee. There was never more food than they needed in their safe houses, but he was sure there had to be some left. Fortunately, he was not wrong, and when he left the kitchen, he held a steaming cup of black coffee in his hands. 

He dropped onto the couch while his companions went in and out of the room to finish their preparations. Kafka was happy to leave him alone, while Silver Wolf cast long glances at him every time she passed. If looks could read minds, she would have extracted and deciphered the entire contents of his brain by now. It was clear that she wanted to ask him something.

To avoid encouraging her, he pretended not to notice and focused on the low table in front of him. It had been one of Silver Wolf's favorite places during their stay. Her laptops — as well as the rest of her equipment — had been moved, but a few pieces of paper and a pencil were still there. The sheets were covered with doodles, the results of Silver Wolf's boredom. Every time the connection slowed down — which happened quite often in Belobog — she vented her frustration by scribbling.

Blade set the empty mug on the table and picked up one of the sheets. He did so more out of idleness than genuine curiosity. His colleague's drawings — mostly super-deformed versions of herself — weren't of particular interest. Still, he needed to focus on something to overcome his drowsiness, and this was the first thing that came to mind.

One of the doodles caught his attention. Among the various mini-versions of Silver Wolf, he recognized himself. Or rather, the chibi version of himself, sitting with crossed arms and an exaggerated scowl. And right behind him was a mini-version of Stelle, sneaking up on him with her bat, ready to hit him on the head.

Despite himself, he let out an amused snort.

Stelle was the type to sneak up on him. She wouldn't have hit him with her bat, though. More likely, she would have covered his eyes and asked him to guess who it was. A very dangerous thing to do, considering how quick he was to attack anyone who tried to take him by surprise.

...Now that he thought about it, he and Stelle had never really fought. Blade didn't consider the little clash in Scalegorge Waterscape as valid, so he couldn't use it as a reference. But he had seen Stelle fight long enough to have an idea of her capabilities.

She was very strong, considering her lack of experience. And she was a team player. Having someone at her side boosted her confidence. She liked to have someone watching her back, and she liked doing the same.

Blade's memory returned to the previous day, when they fought side by side against the Disciples. He saw Stelle wielding the flaming lance as if it weighed nothing. He saw her charging at the enemies, surrounded by fire. And he remembered her eyes shining with concentration, her victorious smile every time she struck down an opponent.

He had always believed that combat was one of the rare occasions when people revealed their true nature without deception. And Stelle's was as fiery and bright as a meteor. He would have loved to spar with her. He had the feeling that he could learn something new from her, and she could benefit from his experience. If their situations had been different — if she had still been one of them— it would have been an advantage for them both.

But there was also another thing that caught his eye: her weapon. That Lance was a masterpiece. He couldn't help but wonder what materials it was made of and how it worked. He didn't have the time or opportunity to study it, but it was worthy of her, and hard to compete with.

That said, maybe she would be interested in trying something different. She already specialized in two different weapons, after all. What about a sword, for instance?

He knew that it was Kafka who trained her. And Kafka was skilled in different fighting styles. She used a sword, so Stelle must have known as well, even if she didn't remember.

So, what kind of sword would suit her?

If he had to guess, a one-handed sword was the most suitable. Something light, fast, and easy to get used to.  The blade should be curved, of course, to facilitate cutting strikes. But not too much, so as not to penalize thrusting too much. He was undecided about the guard: a disk guard would be more versatile, but an S-shaped one would give more protection to the knuckles. The same went for the materials. The best steel was the undisputed choice, but he had a half idea about some inlays that —

"Blade! Are you awake? I've been calling you for ages."

Torn from his thoughts, Blade looked up at Silver Wolf in confusion. She had finished carrying all her equipment into the living room, and she was waving a hand in front of his eyes.

He brushed the gesture away like an annoying mosquito.

"What do you want?"

"I don't want anything. You were in a trance. I thought you were possessed or something."

Possessed? Did he look that scary when he was lost in thought? He wasn't even thinking about anything in particular. It was just about...

... About what?

Suddenly, Blade realized that he couldn't remember. It was as if something had erased his most immediate memories.

What had he been doing before Silver Wolf interrupted him? Was he so tired that he had memory lapses? Or...

"What were you drawing?" Silver Wolf asked, sitting beside him.

Drawing? Him?

Confused, Blade looked down at his hands and saw that he was holding the pencil. Not only that, but one of Silver Wolf's papers had been turned upside down and there was something drawn on the clean side.

The sketch of a sword with a slightly curved blade, accompanied by brief notes on the material and other technical details.

"It's a blueprint," Silver Wolf said, taking the sheet from his hands. "I didn't know you liked to design weapons."

He didn't answer her. He heard what she said, but it was as if his brain could not comprehend it. He only saw the drawing on the page, the picture repeating endlessly before his eyes.

Four weapons for the Xianzhou Alliance heroes. Four weapons for the people he loved.

"You're good, you know? Swords are not my specialty, but this one looks very nice," Silver Wolf said, holding up the sheet to examine it more closely. "I mean, at this point you're officially a sword nerd. Not that that's a bad thing. But if you can design swords, why haven't you made yourself a new one? Yours is falling apart."

That was because...

A sharp sting shot through his skull. For a split second, the vision of a cracked blade crossed his mind, and a phantom pain tore through his chest.

He could no longer feel his heart beating. He couldn't breathe. He needed air.

"Blade? Have you seen a ghost?"

Maybe he had. And not just one.

Receiving no response, Silverwolf grew suspicious. When she saw that he was staring at the sheet in her hands, she threw it on the table. Perhaps she hoped to divert his attention, but it was too late now.

"I have a headache. I'm going out for some fresh air."

With a heroic effort to keep a poker face, he got up from the couch.

"Now?" Silver Wolf asked, confused.

Blade could understand her surprise. They were in the middle of preparing to leave. It was no time for a walk. But it was still early, and his preparations were almost finished. Most importantly, if he didn't get out of there soon, his skull would split open.

"I won't go far," he reassured her, and without giving her time to react, he strode towards the door.

"Hey!"

Her call followed him, but he didn't look back, and once he was out of the room, he heard Kafka's voice.

"Let him go. Sometimes things have to take their course."

He heard her words, but could barely make them out. It felt as if he had hundreds of voices in his head, all speaking at the same time, with no respite. He couldn't understand what they were saying. It was a jumble of unintelligible sounds that he couldn't decipher.

He left the safe house. Closing the door behind him, he leaned against the frame to catch his breath.

The street in front of their shelter was deserted, and though he could hear the city beginning to stir, it was still very peaceful. The snow from the previous night was still there, and the morning air was cold and welcoming. It felt like he was in some kind of cocoon where he could finally think.

He needed it, if only to prepare himself for what was to come.

He was on the edge of the abyss and he knew it. His 'wall' would crumble and it was only a matter of time. It happened before, so he wasn't surprised.

But this time there was something different, something he wasn't prepared for. In all the times Kafka had 'cleansed' him, his memories had never been so forceful. Usually, the transition was smoother. Perhaps the seal had lasted too long for his own good, and these were the side effects.

With a tired sigh, he rested his forehead against the door frame, letting the cold wall ease the pain in his head. It was a relief, even better than an ice pack. 

And, in the silence, his thoughts began to unravel.

The voices in his head were no longer screaming; they had become faint murmurs. And they were voices he recognized, soft and familiar.

"Did you make this dagger yourself? Congratulations, Little Yin--i-g! What did I tell you? I was sure you could do it!"

...Yes, he did. But he would never have done it without her. Did she realize how much she meant to him? Her smile and kindness had been his anchor for so long that they had become indispensable to him. It was something he could never repay. And for that reason, he would do anything for her, even if it meant defying the entire universe. But he never got the chance to tell her.

"Thank you for giving me Starfall Reverie. Now I understand why you've denied it to me until now. I promise I'll do everything to be worthy of it and become a hero like my Master."

...In truth, he never had anything to prove. In many respects, the boy had always been the best among them. From the troublesome brat he had been to the honorable soldier he had become, he had always earned everything he had. And there had never been a moment — not one — when he hadn't been proud of him, even if he had never told him so. He knew, didn't he?

"For the record, I think you're exceptional in your field. If anyone can change my mind about the importance of a good weapon, it's you. So I expect you to make me the best sword the Xianzhou Alliance has ever seen. A sword I will wear proudly until the end of my days."

...He had always admired her, even if he would never admit it. He respected her willpower and her determination. She had everything he lacked. She could pursue her ideals without being influenced by the opinions of others, without the need for approval that he had always felt. And for all the disagreements they might have had — for all the times he found it hard to tolerate her — he would never stop admiring her. But he had never told her.

"In a way, we are alike, you and I. We both had to face the world alone, though for different reasons. But now things have changed. This group is my family. And it's yours, too. I may not be able to give you back what you lost, but I can be there for you when you need me. And I know you'll do the same."

...Their situations couldn't have been more different. The gap between them was like that between a prince and a beggar. Yet he was right: they had both started alone, and they were both clinging to what they had gained. How could that be wrong? Neither of them wanted to hurt anyone. They just wanted to protect what was dear to them. But why? How did their best intentions turn against them? Why did a noble soul get dragged into the filthiest swamp?

As if in answer to his question, the murmurs in his mind turned to screams. Screams of horror and pain, overshadowed by a roar as loud as thunder. Finally, the flash of a sword and then silence.

At the exact moment the screams ceased, Blade opened his eyes. He expected to be in front of the safe house, alone and immersed in the quiet of the morning. Instead, a cacophony of voices and noise assaulted his ears.

People talking. Hurried footsteps on the sidewalks. The clanging of streetcar bells.

He looked around in confusion, only to realize that he was in the Administrative District, beside the monument. Which wouldn't have been a big problem, except that he had no idea how he got there. Teleportation wasn't one of his abilities, so he must have walked there. Yet he remembered nothing of the journey. He must have arrived there in a semi-conscious state without even realizing it.

He didn't know what happened in the meantime. That wouldn't be a good sign for anyone, let alone him. When he lost control, he was dangerous. That was true when he was aware of what was happening around him, and even more so when he wasn't. He could have decimated half the city and he would have had no idea!

Of course, he doubted that this was the case. Judging by his physical condition and the state of his clothes, he must have simply walked. But he couldn't risk another blackout. In fact, it hadn't been a good idea to go out in the first place. He hadn't felt the influence of the Mara — and he still didn't — so he thought everything was fine. But he overestimated his physical condition and this was the result.

He needed to get back while he still could.

"Well, isn't it cute?"

He was about to turn around when a voice — one that didn't exist solely in his head — caught his attention. He sought its source, driven by an irresistible impulse. It didn't take him long to find it: it was only a few meters away from him, close enough to hear, far enough away that he wouldn't be noticed.

Stelle was standing next to the monument, in the same place where they sat the night before. And she wasn't alone: there were two others with her.

He recognized the first: she was the pink-haired girl he had been introduced to the day before. He didn't remember her name, but Stelle had forced him to shake her hand. She was angry at him for some reason, but he didn't remember why. He had other things on his mind and didn't pay much attention.

The other was a young man with short dark hair whom he had never met before. Stelle had talked about a male friend in some of her stories, but she never mentioned his name. Maybe it was him.

The group had their backs to him, unaware of his presence, and were talking among themselves.

"Aeons, what happened to this poor guy? Did it get into a fight with some other snowmen?" the pink girl said, leaning over a small, familiar, and hideous snowman.

The little one had survived the night. A small memento of the time he and Stelle had spent there.

"Of course not! It's always been like this!" Stelle replied. "But even if it were, Belobolgian Snowballer would definitely win. It's a tough snowman."

"What kind of name is 'Belobolgian Snowballer'? Do you really hate it that much?"

"Why? Isn't it cool?"

"Not even a bit!"

"Blade didn't say anything about it, though."

The pink girl huffed.

"He must have thought about it. There's no way he didn't."

Her intuition was pretty good. He had indeed thought about it.

"Anyway, it's one of the ugliest things I've ever seen. It deserves a picture."

The girl took the camera hanging from her waist and snapped a photo of the snowman. The whirring of the lens sealed the end of the discussion.

For Blade, it was time to leave. The trio hadn't noticed him, and it was better that way. He wasn't in the right state of mind to meet Stelle, even if she were alone. Even less so when her companions were present.

...At least he had been able to make sure she was safe before he left. That was enough for him.

He turned his back on them, determined to slip away quietly. But he couldn't prevent their voices from reaching him.

"Are you sure you want to go back to the Express so soon?" the pink girl said. "Stelle said they'd be leaving soon, so you could wait at the hotel for a few hours."

"I'd rather go back. I don't want to risk any more trouble. Besides, I have to admit I'm a little tired."

Blade stopped. He wanted to keep walking, but his feet were glued to the ground.

The voice he had just heard had to be the young man's. He had never heard it before. At least that's what his memory tried to tell him. Still, he couldn't help but strain his ears to hear it again.

"The festival could be a good change of pace, though. It would help distract you," Stelle replied.

"I think I'd ruin the party for you."

That voice again. No matter how much his brain insisted he didn't know it, it still sounded familiar. He heard it before, and not just once. Many times. For years. For decades. Each time he met its owner. Every time, before he 'died'.

"Who are you?! Why don't you leave me alone?! I haven't done anything to you!"

The frightened voice of a teenager who knew only captivity and could not find peace in freedom. For he would always be there to prevent him from doing so. Wherever he went, he would follow. Whatever kind of life he tried to build, he would destroy it. He would continue to hunt him to the farthest reaches of the universe until there was no place left to run.

"You will not find the person you are looking for. My name is Dan Heng. I'm not—"

The determined voice of a young man who had realized that if he wanted to survive, he had to keep fighting. His skills grew with each encounter, surpassing his own. With the experience of his past lives and constant training, he had always managed to overpower him. But he couldn't get rid of him, and every time they fought, the gap got smaller. So he kept running.

Again, and again, and again.

...Oh, yes. He knew that voice. He knew it so well.

So why was it different? Why did it sound so much like what he wanted to hear, but it wasn't the same? Why did he feel this dissonance every time he heard it?

Almost against his will, he turned back to the trio. His mind was in turmoil, feverishly searching for an answer. He heard their voices, but the words were lost in a muffled buzz. Every meaning was lost in the void.

Stelle was the first to turn. When she looked away from the snowman, she was still smiling. But the moment her eyes landed on him — the moment she recognized him — the smile vanished, replaced by shock. He saw her eyes widen and her lips quiver as she formed his name.

Whether she shouted it aloud or it was a silent call, he didn't know. He couldn't hear her voice. But the other two noticed.

It was as if time had slowed as Blade watched the young man turn. His eyes were cerulean — not ice-blue as he remembered. Yet it was exactly the face he had expected to see. Each difference reinforced the similarities as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place in his mind.

And the wall crumbled.

He felt no pain. He might not have noticed at all, except for the rush of images and thoughts racing through his mind. Too fast to identify. Too fast to comprehend. But something inside him, something terrible and no longer repressed, roared with joy. It was what he wanted from the beginning. And finally, the restraints that held him back had given way.

The trio from the Express must have realized that something had changed. They realized they were in danger, and as one they drew their weapons: Stelle her bat, the pink girl a bow... and the young man a spear. A spear he knew all too well. And if there had been a shadow of a doubt about his identity, it vanished instantly.

None of them tried to attack him. They were on the defensive and wouldn't act until he made the first move. But he noticed how the girls closed ranks beside their companion, a sign that they knew who the target was and that they would fight for him.

Blade still wasn't sure what had caused all of this. His released memories were still rearranging themselves. But he thought back to the night before — to his fear of remembering — and understood that this was the key to everything.

His gaze instinctively sought Stelle's, and their eyes met. He saw her expression waver, uncertainty distorting her features. Immediately, though, her grip on her bat tightened and she moved closer to her companion. And the part of him that cared for her bled in pain.

This was an irreconcilable conflict. There was no compromise. She had chosen her side.

His reason withdrew, defeated. The Mara — kept within acceptable limits by Kafka's seal — awakened, enveloping him like a poisonous cloud. A burning cloud that consumed everything he was, leaving only rage and pain. He forgot everything. He forgot who he was, forgot his task, forgot what he felt as his hand reached for his sword.

He would kill them. All three of them. And anyone who stood in his way.

Then, like the miracle of a wise Aeon, someone bumped him on the shoulder. A distracted passerby who, trying to see what was happening, had gotten too close.

If the world had come to a near standstill for Blade, it wasn't the same for everyone else. As the three youths drew their weapons, the people closest to them turned to look. Some were alarmed, others curious. But none of them had yet realized who the Trailblazers were targeting. And when the random passerby bumped into him, a flicker of awareness crossed his agitated mind.

He couldn't engage them. He had very specific orders. They had to live, all three of them.

He couldn't. He mustn't. He didn't want to.

His murderous intent dropped, and the other three sensed it. He saw Stelle's expression falter. He saw her surprise when she realized he wasn't going to attack. But he didn't dwell on it. He knew what he had to do, and hesitation would rob him of the chance to do it.

"Blade!"

He heard her voice call his name, but he didn't react to it. Before the people around them could realize what had just happened, he retreated. Step by step, he put distance between himself and the Trailblazers, blending in with the crowd. And when he was far enough, he turned and walked away briskly, forcing himself not to look back.

He managed to keep his steps steady until he was away from the main road. It was as if his body had switched on some kind of autopilot. He acted the way he learned as a Stellaron Hunter, adjusting his behavior to avoid attracting too much attention. And all that without having the slightest idea how. Because he certainly wasn't doing it on purpose.

His mind was overloaded, his self-control shattered. If someone had interrupted his 'autopilot', he was sure he would have killed them. He was moving in the general direction of the safe house, but he wasn't sure how far it was. And the shadows of the Mara followed him, nipping at the edges of his consciousness and mingling with his memories.

He saw a group of comrades — of friends — laughing and joking in front of a statue. He saw them fighting together against hordes of enemies. He saw them triumph over countless foes and be hailed as heroes. And he was a part of it. He hadn't marched with them in the front lines, but he had supported them from the rear. What he lacked in martial skills, he made up for in intelligence and creativity. In battle, he led the engineers in the use of siege engines. In peacetime, he designed those same siege engines and forged weapons for the soldiers.

He had once been a hero. People had spoken his name with reverence. Young craftsmen dreamed of being like him. There was even talk of naming a street on the Luofu after him. And he had relished all the attention. He had friends, he had a purpose, and people loved him. Those who didn't respect him envied him. And even during one of the hardest wars the Alliance had ever fought, he had been happy. Because even his death would have served a purpose.

It had only taken one moment. Just one, single wrong decision to destroy everything.

The shadows thickened, reaching for him like sharp claws. He could see them trying to grab his arms, clawing around his ankles, trying to pull him into the abyss. He feared that if he stopped to look, he would have seen faces accompanying those hands. Faces of the victims he had caused and of all those he had hurt and disappointed.

"Why... Why did you and Imbibitor Lunae commit such an unforgivable sin?"

The voice, distorted by pain and madness, haunted him, repeating the question incessantly. A question that found its origin in the bright smile of a young woman and the dark explosion that swallowed her forever. Blade saw her disappear again, and again, and again. He felt his own distant yet vivid pain. It was like an ulcer that never healed, destined to fester forever without ever giving him relief. And that same pain, coupled with misguided loyalty, had destroyed everything he held dear.

He saw a magnificent palace adorned with pearly eggs and surrounded by crystalline water. He saw familiar ice-blue eyes, as they stared at the seal that would unleash hell. He heard a terrible roar as an abomination rose toward them, destroying everything in its path. He relived the moment when he realized that his life had changed forever and that he would live among shadows until the end of eternity.

And it was all his fault. All his and Imbibitor Lunae's fault.

"Of five people, three must pay the price."

That had been decided long ago, when his fall was still a fresh memory. A sentence spoken amidst the clash of swords and the smell of blood.

"Remember the feeling of death and bring it to them."

His mission. His true mission, of which his work as a Stellaron Hunter was only a step. The sole purpose of his life.

Worn down by the Mara and the memories, Blade finally stopped. The small part of him still in touch with reality realized that he wasn't where he was supposed to be. He didn't know Belobog in detail — he hadn't spent enough time there — but he must have passed the safe house. Or at least made a wrong turn.

He found himself in a side street — not much wider than an alley. There was no one around, which wasn't too surprising. It was a residential area, and it was the time of day when most people were either at work or at school. With preparations for a festival underway, even most non-workers would have been out.

It didn't matter to him. He could be completely alone or surrounded by a crowd of thousands and it wouldn't change anything. The buildings, the streetlights, and everything around him were shadows. The world around him turned into a blood-colored chaos, a true hellscape. And with every second that passed, his will to resist diminished.

Ancient voices and faces floated around him like ghosts, whispering a name that no longer belonged to him. One of them in particular lingered in front of him, looking at him with disdain. It was the face of the young man he had seen earlier, whose name lingered in the corners of his memory.

Dan Heng.

D-n H-ng.

Da- -e-g.

Dan -eng.

Dan Feng.

Under his eyes, the youth's face overlapped with the one imprinted in his memory, fitting almost perfectly. The features he remembered were slightly more pronounced, more mature. The eyes were ice-blue, the hair was longer, and of course, he had water-colored horns on his forehead. But despite these minor differences, he knew it was the same person. It couldn't be otherwise: his expression was the same, as was the way he wielded the spear. And he remembered how, not long ago, he had forced him to reveal himself to everyone, to show the face he had hidden from the world.

He wasn't happy about this revelation. If anything, he was furious. Yet, against his will, he burst into mad, joyless laughter as the world around him grew darker, the blood-red fading almost to black.

It was all so ridiculous, and he was a fool. It was obvious why Stelle seemed so worried at the thought of him regaining his memory. He wasn't sure how much she knew, but she certainly was aware of his vengeance against Dan Feng. She told him that she wasn't afraid of him and now he understood why.

She wasn't in danger, but one of her companions was. A companion she considered as family. That was why she hadn't told him anything. She probably hoped that he would never remember and that Dan Feng would be safe forever.

He couldn't blame her. From her point of view, Dan Feng was a comrade and a friend. It was obvious that she would care about him. However, this only fueled his anger. Because Dan Feng shouldn't receive that kind of love, nor her consideration. The only thing he deserved was penance, suffering, and death. One after the other, slowly, painfully, until the debt was repaid.

He did not deserve the love and warmth of a family. He didn't deserve Stelle's affection. Just like he didn't deserve it himself.

He wanted to go back. He wanted to confront him again, to make him understand.

After all, why not?, a seductive voice whispered in his head. He just had to let go. Let the Mara take him and unleash all his desires. What did it matter if the Hunters' mission failed? What did he care if the entire universe was destroyed? Perhaps Nanook the Destruction had the power to end his immortality, and all that remained was to wait for the end of all things. As powerful as his curse was, he was certain that the Aeon of Destruction would be able to do it.

Everything would end, everything would be destroyed. The universe and all its planets. The Xianzhou Alliance. The Stellaron Hunters.

Elio, Sam and Kafka.

Silver Wolf.

Stelle.

His heart skipped a beat. He remembered how he felt when the cave collapsed and he thought she was going to die. And he was surprised to find out that the thought still caused him pain, even if he knew the extent of the rift between them. And he felt anger at her for making him feel that way, and at himself for being so stupid as to allow this bond to develop.

What exactly had he hoped for? That she would like him for who he was? Or that she would stay with him? That she would take his side? It was ridiculous, and he should have realized that. Hadn't he learned his lesson the first time?

He was so lost in the clutches of the Mara that he was slow to notice the footsteps behind him. Slow and determined footsteps, not meant to surprise or evade him. Rather, they were heading straight for him, with a clear purpose.

He straightened his shoulders and exhaled, letting the pain and anger wash over him. If he couldn't defeat them, they would be his strength.

He waited as the footsteps came closer and closer. Until he saw a shadow fall across the street in front of him. Until he could hear the breath of his visitor, so calm and controlled compared to his own. He waited, like a viper coiled, ready to strike.

Finally, the other person stopped, right behind him. And then the snake struck.

With a movement so swift it would surprise the most experienced warrior, Blade drew his sword and spun, a perfect strike that split the air around him. It was as powerful as a gale, as swift as a tornado. A perfect tempest, unstoppable for anyone.

For anyone, except another perfect tempest.

At the climax of the strike, steel clashed against steel so violently that it reminded him of the roar of thunder, the flash of lightning before a storm. What had once been the most beautiful sword ever made collided with the most beautiful glaive ever created. And Blade finally met the gaze of his opponent for the first time.

Sharp golden eyes, shining like the sun. A mane of white hair fluttering around his face from the force of the impact. And the calm, wise smile of one accustomed to victory.

Anger and joy mixed within him at recognizing that face and his eyes glowed with a dangerous light. His lips twisted into a smirk as the name flashed in his memory like a beacon in a dark night.

"Jing Yuan."

The General's cunning smile widened, and for a moment, he seemed almost as delighted. Happy and desperate, like a soldier who meets his best friend on the other side of the battlefield and can't help but be happy to see him alive. Despite knowing that he's an enemy.

"It's good to see you again, Yingxing."

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Blade had learned in his long life, it was how to assess an opponent. It was a vital skill, and as such, he never took it for granted. Being immortal gave him certain advantages, but it was good to know when he was facing a skilled opponent. That way, he could adjust his strategy accordingly. Luckily, he didn't encounter opponents of that caliber very often. He was strong, and he knew it. Almost everyone else was weaker than him, whether in skill or resilience.

But Jing Yuan wasn't weak. It wasn't about his martial prowess. The General — oh, how strange it was to call him such a high title! — had begun his military training long before Blade, but he had never been the most gifted student. He was a skilled warrior — much better than others, in fact — but not the strongest. If you took his Thunder Lord out of the equation, he was well within his reach.

No, it wasn't his arm that Blade needed to fear. It was his mind.

Even as their weapons crossed in a test of strength, he knew he was evaluating at least half a dozen possible scenarios, both to understand his next move and to determine how to counter it. And while Blade had a high opinion of his own intelligence, strategy was an area where Jing Yuan had always outperformed him. Even when he was still a boy.

He was an opponent to be wary of.

"I have nothing to do with that name anymore."

With a jerk, Blade forced his opponent to break contact between their weapons and disengaged. He jumped back, but Jing Yuan's glaive followed him, drawing a wide arc in his direction. To avoid it, Blade was forced to retreat, putting a safe distance between him and the General.

He expected him to go on the offensive, but Jing Yuan did not push any further, remaining on the defensive. All the while, his confident smile did not falter.

"Why? It's yours, isn't it? Yingxing."

His voice emphasized each syllable in a gentle provocation. It was a tactic to unsettle him, and even in his altered mental state, Blade knew it. But he didn't care. Not when all he could see were bloody shadows. They gathered around Jing Yuan: three familiar shapes, watching him as if to judge him.

"Leave," he said, his voice a low hiss, his gaze wandering past the General towards them.

He had no grudge against him. He had no price to pay.

"Why would I? I left my retinue just to meet you. Quite an interesting spectacle at the square, by the way. A few more seconds and panic would have broken out." He tilted his head impishly, the way he did before he learned to hide behind a perfect mask. "That wasn't what you wanted, I imagine."

No, he didn't want it then. But now? He hardly cared. The part of him that still resisted the Mara was weakening, and his inhibitions with it. He just wanted to smite those vengeful spirits, to drive them away once and for all.

"'Leave," he repeated, raising the sword to an offensive position.

Jing Yuan tightened the grip on his glaive. His smile faded, his calm tone becoming more serious.

"If I were to leave, what would you do?"

It was a normal question, but Blade found it amusing. What a strange thing to ask at a time like this! If he knew him — if he had the slightest idea of what his motives were — he should understand.

He chuckled, the sound of his voice echoing eerily in the empty street.

"Who knows? I haven't made up my mind. Maybe I'll go back to my companions like a good boy. Or I will search for Imbibitor Lunae. I have such a strong desire to destroy him right now. More than you can imagine, Jing Yuan. After all, the price has not yet been paid."

The General shook his head, his golden eyes veiled with sadness.

"You know I can't let that happen. For his sake and yours."

...And so he too had chosen his side. Blade wasn't surprised in the least, but that didn't stop him from feeling a violent surge of anger. It was the wrong choice: someone so close to the events should understand. But he didn't, and the blame lay with those damned shadows. One in particular — the shadow of a dragon — was especially close to him. He saw it reach out a hand towards Jing Yuan, as if it wanted to touch his shoulder. As if it wanted to corrupt him.

Whatever was left of his self-control crumbled.

Without a moment's hesitation, he lunged at him. Whether it was to hurt him or to drive the ghosts away, he wasn't sure. The desire to protect and the desire to hurt meant the same thing to him. Affection and resentment mingled, their boundaries blurred.

Jing Yuan must have known this, because he didn't try to avoid him. He parried his blows one after the other. He didn't waste time dodging, nor did he go on the offensive. It was like an unstoppable force colliding with an immovable object. Blade knew no fatigue, and the General did not receive any respite in the storm of blows. But the swordsman couldn't make any headway. And while each blow managed to disperse the shadows, they immediately reappeared. 

Strangely enough, this didn't upset him. On the contrary, he felt a perverse satisfaction. The anger and frustration he had always tried to suppress finally found an outlet. Even though he knew it was wrong.

"Out of my way, Jing Yuan," he growled, a grim smile still on his face.

" You will have to force me to leave," the other replied, skillfully parrying another of his blows. "You are fighting a 'friend' now. If I let you go, the 'General' will have to stop you. And then I will have no choice but to drag you in chains to the Luofu and let them lock you up in an Aeons-forsaken hole. Chained forever, forgotten by all, until even your life will be consumed. Is that what you want?"

The two weapons clashed again, Jing Yuan's glaive shaking from the force of Blade's strike.

"Oh, so you want to protect me? How thoughtful of you," the latter said, his voice altered by madness.

"I couldn't prevent what happened back then. I can only try to do the right thing now."

With all his strength, Jing Yuan pushed him back once more, breaking their grip. Blade was forced to step back, but he didn't falter. He had become incapable of feeling fatigue, as if a fire was burning within him.

"And protecting Imbibitor Lunae would be the right thing to do?" he hissed through his teeth, his gaze fixed on the increasingly dark silhouette of his opponent. "Where's the justice in that?"

"Clinging to the past will not bring you peace. Where will your vengeance take you, Yingxing? The only way to overcome what has happened is to look forward."

Blade laughed. Those words sounded ridiculous to his ears.

"And you? Have you moved on, Jing Yuan?"

The General's unyielding mask cracked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. And the brief hesitation was enough for his opponent.

As fast as the wind, he lunged at him again, the tip of his sword slicing through the air in a deadly thrust. Jing Yuan had to step back to avoid it, and his opponent followed with another slash. Starfall Reverie intercepted the sword by a hair's breadth, but this time Blade had the advantage. And the shadows took a few seconds longer to reappear.

"Look me in the eye, General, and tell me you no longer care about the past," he said softly, sizing him up beyond their crossed blades. "Tell me you haven't thought about it in the last few centuries. Tell me that when you look at Imbibitor Lunae, you never see the same person he was then. Then perhaps we can talk."

For a moment, Jing Yuan's mask fell completely. Blade saw the doubt in his eyes, his lips pressed together bitterly. But the moment of vulnerability did not last. With renewed determination, he planted his foot to regain his balance and pushed him back.

Blade retreated nimbly, keeping a safe distance like a crouching tiger.

"Come on, boy! I know you can do better than that!" he taunted. "How much longer are you going to defend yourself? Attack me! Show me what you are capable of! Unleash your giant puppet and let's wreak some havoc! And don't tell me you don't want to. I know my demise would save you a lot of headaches. And maybe you'll manage to kill me! Who knows?"

Yes, who could say? Jing Yuan had never tried to kill him, so maybe he would be the answer. Maybe Starfall Reverie would succeed where so many other weapons had failed.

All he needed was for someone to put an end to this. It didn't matter how. It didn't matter who.

Jing Yuan, however, didn't take the bait. As solemn as a statue, he lowered his glaive and stared silently. Had Blade been a little more lucid, he might have seen the sadness in his gaze. Maybe his compassion would have urged him to stop. But now, all it stirred in him was rage.

How could he look at him like that? How could he feel sorry for him, as if his conscience was completely clear? Even if he hadn't been directly involved, he had always been aware of the price of their actions. And he had never said a word!

Well, if that was what he wanted — if he had no intention of retreating or facing him — he would make that decision for him.

With a mad smile, he raised his sword and traced the profile of the blade with his fingers. The black steel glowed, and the shadows around the General retreated from the light. They remained behind him, while Jing Yuan raised his weapon again, ready to defend himself. Blade saw a golden flash cross his eyes and felt the air pressure change, as if something else was with them. Something big and powerful, born from lightning, ready to protect its master from everything and everyone.

However, the Lightning Lord did not manifest.

Jing Yuan didn't want to use it. Maybe he was afraid of destroying the whole street. Maybe he thought he could handle it without its help. Whatever the reason, Blade didn't know and didn't care. If he wanted to die under his sword, he wouldn't be the one to stop him.

He lunged at him again, all finesse replaced by brutality, determined to strike as hard as he could. He knew that Jing Yuan would not run from him. He could see it in his eyes. And as he ran towards him, he saw those damned ghosts watching to see if he would commit another heinous crime. If he would destroy the person he once called a friend. The only one of them who remained a hero. The only one among them who was incorruptible. The only one whose life had not ended so many centuries ago.

He drew his sword back and prepared to strike. Jing Yuan did the same, ready to intercept him.

It was a moment, the blink of an eye. The instant before they clashed, a fiery blaze flashed between them. And the next moment, instead of colliding with Jing Yuan's glaive, Blade's sword stopped at an invisible wall. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he increased the pressure to free himself from the obstacle... and as he raised his gaze, he met a pair of large golden eyes, narrowed in concentration to maintain the barrier.

The surprise pushed against the Mara, allowing a thread of reason to seep through. And as he felt the invisible barrier shatter against his sword, Blade realized who he was up against.

He stopped the attack, retreating so abruptly that he staggered backward.

"You...!"

Standing between him and Jing Yuan, holding the flaming Lance in both hands, was Stelle. She was breathless, her hair plastered to her forehead as if she had been running for a long time. Her legs were still trembling from the effort of withstanding his blow.

"That's enough. Stop it!" she snapped at them both, her voice tired but firm.

Both Blade and the General lowered their weapons, more out of reflex than intention. They were both stunned. And who could blame them? Stepping between them like that had been sheer madness! Blade had seen the Lance in action, and knew that the barrier that stopped it had been much weaker than normal. She probably arrived only a few seconds earlier and threw herself in front of him without having the time and means to prepare. If he hadn't realized what was happening, he could have wounded her, or worse!

She was a madwoman. A fool. An idiot. And in his altered mental state, all his concern turned into anger.

"What did you think you were doing, foolish girl?" he snarled, frustrated.

Realizing that the fight wasn't going to continue, Stelle put the Lance away and slumped, her hands on her knees as she caught her breath.

"Stopping you from hurting each other," she replied.

"How is that worth your life? Do you want me to kill you?"

She raised her head and looked him straight in the eye.

"You didn't."

The answer infuriated him so much that he almost threw the sword across the street, and had to put it away. He wanted to scream. To shake her. To hurt someone — anyone, as long as it wasn't her. And even that took effort, because the shadows — formless, yet still present — demanded that it be her. She was an obstacle, and they knew it.

Jing Yuan, who had gotten over his surprise, looked from one to the other and stroked his chin. Blade had no idea what was going through his head, nor was he in the right frame of mind to worry about it. He did, however, see his lips curl in the hint of a smile before he dematerialized Starfall Reverie. Then, the General stepped forward, casually standing between them.

"No need to get upset," he said in a conciliatory tone. "Stelle, don't worry. It was just a skirmish. Nothing serious. Right... Blade?"

He caught the slight hesitation in front of his name and shot him a vicious look. Jing Yuan responded with a peaceful smile before turning his gaze back to her.

Stelle raised an eyebrow, far from convinced. But she said nothing and turned back to Blade. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out. Finally, defeated, she lowered her head. And he looked away as well, unable to meet her eyes for long.

Jing Yuan, who hadn't missed a beat of the interaction, broke the silence:

"I didn't think that you two had a personal relationship. But maybe I should have realized when I met you yesterday. Considering the state you were in, you must have been together throughout the whole ordeal."

He had figured it all out. Not that Blade was surprised. He had always been good at piecing things together. That talent had surely been honed over the centuries.

"Well..."

Stelle hesitated, searching for the best way to explain the situation. However, Jing Yuan interrupted her.

"You do not need to go into details with me. I already know the important bits of what happened on this planet, and I have a good guess about everything else. I have also achieved what I followed Blade here for, so I can consider myself satisfied."

If his goal was to keep him away from Dan Feng by drawing his attention to himself, there was no doubt that he had succeeded.

For the time being.

"What about you, Stelle? Did you get what you wanted by following him here?" the General asked gently.

Blade finally dared to look at her. She was staring at him, just as she did when she tried to decipher his thoughts. And the power of that look alone was enough to hurt him.

"No, not yet."

"Then I will leave you two alone. You obviously have a lot to say to each other."

Stelle finally looked away from Blade, surprised.

"Are you leaving, General?"

"Staying here won't do any good. My mere presence could reopen old wounds. But..." He paused and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Know that I will not be far."

He glanced sideways at the swordsman, who responded with a sneer. It was clear that he intended to remain nearby, ready to intervene the moment Stelle was in trouble.

"Take care," he said and, letting his hand fall to his side, walked away.

The other two watched him until he disappeared, a heavy silence lingering in the deserted street. They carefully avoided looking at each other. In Stelle's case, it was probably unease. For Blade, it was a much more delicate matter.

What happened should have put an end to this annoying attraction once and for all. He had always known that he had to destroy it before it gained too much power over him. And yet, despite everything, it was still there. Nothing had changed. If anything, the situation had worsened.

Stelle's sudden arrival allowed him to regain a semblance of control. The Mara, however, was far from suppressed. It was like a raging river, and he risked being dragged to the bottom by the rapids. It would take very little, the slightest provocation, for him to sink back into the abyss. And if Stelle's presence normally served to calm him down, right now it was no deterrent. How could it, when she was part of the problem?

He still wanted her, and he risked hurting her because of it.

Staying there with her was madness. He had to leave, now that he could. Far away from this planet. From everything that could provoke his worst side.

Far from Dan Feng.

Far from Stelle.

Avoiding her gaze, he turned his back and began to walk away. He wasn't sure where he was, but he was confident that he could find the safe house. Then everything would be fine.

"Blade, wait!"

The sound of her voice made him stop, but he didn't turn around. Not that it was necessary. He could feel her footsteps approaching and her presence behind him. His senses were completely focused on her, so much so that he could hear her breathing.

"We should talk."

The suggestion, so calm and reasonable, made him grimace.

"Talk about what?"

His mocking tone cut through the air between them, and he felt Stelle shift nervously behind him.

"This situation," she replied, her voice shaking. "Have you recovered your memory?"

"The important parts, at the very least."

There was no need to specify which ones, or to go into details. For the purpose of their conversation, there was only one relevant detail, and that was Dan Feng.

The young dragon's face, hidden behind a human glamor, flashed before his eyes again, causing the shadows to stir. Ghosts of the past and fragments of memories danced in front of him, and he feared that he was slipping back into oblivion.

"I'm sorry."

Her voice distracted him from those dangerous thoughts, only for them to be replaced by others. Unable to resist, he finally turned to face her. She was closer than he expected, so close he could almost touch her. Head bowed, fists clenched at her sides, she stared sadly at the cobblestones of the street. As far as he could tell, she was genuinely distressed. And looking at her made him feel such a mixture of anger, bitterness, and desire that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began.

"I'm sure you are. It would have been very convenient if I hadn't regained my memory. Wouldn't it?"

His words were pure venom, loaded with a resentment he had never held against her. But he couldn't stop it. The dam of his emotions was open and the river was free to flow.

She raised her head, her eyes widening at his cruelty, then pressed her lips together. The insinuation had hurt her, and Blade felt a pang of guilt rise to his heart. But it was immediately overshadowed by an uncontrollable satisfaction.

He wanted to hurt her. He wanted her to feel even a tenth of his rage.

"That's not what I meant," she said. "I said I'm sorry because it's obvious these memories are causing you pain. But yes, you're right. It would have been convenient. If you didn't remember anything about Dan Feng, you wouldn't have to go after Dan Heng. It would have been beneficial to me and him."

Blade clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. Hearing her admit it so easily gave him far less gratification than he had expected. He would have preferred her to deny it, so he could corner her and force her to acknowledge the truth. He didn't even know why he wanted that so much.

Rationally, he knew that she wasn't to blame for the situation. It was legitimate and justifiable to want the safety of a loved one. But emotions were not rational. Especially when the Mara was involved.

"I appreciate your honesty. So I assume the reason you kept hanging around me is this. You wanted to make sure I wouldn't regain my memory?"

"No! Of course not!" she replied, a flash of fire crossing her eyes. "If I tried to stay close to you, it's because I wanted to. I like spending time with you! I probably shouldn't, but that's all there is to it."

Her passionate answer shook him, and despite himself, he felt a warmth spreading through his chest. He watched her, memorizing her passionate gaze, the determined curve of her lips, the resolve with which she looked him straight in the eye. Her delicate face, the way her hair fell on her shoulders, even the way her breath condensed into small clouds in the cold air.

He wanted to believe her. He wanted their time together to be real. But just as he was contemplating this possibility — as he was letting his guard down — the spectral shadows before him thickened, engulfing them both. And he saw Stelle's expression change, her lips curling into a mocking smile.

"Is that what you want to hear?"

She tilted her head to the side, as she always did when confused or perplexed, but the gesture lacked the usual innocence.

"You're so naive, Blade. It's all a lie! Who would ever want to spend time with a criminal? Who would ever like a murderer?"

Her eyes were distorted as they bore into him. Her grin was too wide to be natural. And there was an echo in her voice, as if others were speaking alongside her. Several voices, both male and female, just slightly out of sync.

It wasn't real.

"Besides, I don't think you've been completely honest with me either." The evil illusion stepped forward and reached a hand out to him. Cold fingers brushed across his cheek, chilling him to the bone. "What exactly do you like about me? My looks? My personality? Or did you just cling to me because I was nice to you a few times?"

It wasn't real. Stelle didn't know these things. He had never told her about Kafka's 'experiment', nor was she aware of the reasons and extent of his attachment to her. It was all an illusion of the Mara.

"You are hopeless, Little Yingxing. It always ends like this with you."

A voice he hadn't heard in centuries whispered close to his left ear. He dared not turn around, but he caught a glimpse of the shadow's features. Fox-like ears. A soft braid of pale lavender hair. Big green eyes he remembered as full of joy, but now cold and cruel.

"You've always been hungry for attention. Every time someone shows you a little consideration, you cling to them like a barnacle. You did the same with me. It was adorable when you were a little boy, but aren't you a little too grown up for that? You should understand when your attention is unwanted. I'm glad you never dared to give me your 'gift'. It would have been so oppressive to have to accept it."

It wasn't real. She had never been cruel. She would never tell him something like that. She wouldn't even think it... right?

"Oh, but it had its advantages."

Another familiar voice, this one from his right. And even without looking, he recognized it. Just as he recognized the blue reflections on a pair of semi-transparent horns.

"It was always easy to get everything we wanted from you. After all, you were willing to do anything for the people you loved. Whether it was a few nice weapons or an unreasonable request, you were incapable of saying no. Isn't that right?"

It wasn't real. In their long years of friendship, he had never asked for anything. Everything he had given to him, he had done because he wanted to. He had made only one request. Only once. And he had accepted it willingly. He hadn't been manipulated. It wasn't true.

"You will never have anything. You have no right to have anything."

Another voice, still behind him. A woman's, cold as ice. Like the sword pointing between his shoulder blades.

"All you have to do is serve your sentence. And if you are ever allowed to die, you will do it alone."

It wasn't real. It was an illusion. Those ghosts weren't there, and he knew it. He should have drawn his sword and chased them away, destroying them right then and there.

It wasn't real. But then why did everything seem so genuine?

"Blade!"

The call came from far away, as if he were trapped underwater. He could hear it, but couldn't figure out where it was coming from. And as he began to despair of ever finding its source, something hit him hard in the face.

The shadows retreated, and while still immersed in his own hellscape, Blade began to see reality again. The prickling sensation on his left cheek was tangible, as was the girl in front of him. No longer the monster with the grotesque face, but the person he knew.

She stared at him through the darkness, her hand still raised after the slap, fear and concern etched into her every feature. When he instinctively touched his offended cheek, her face softened into a small, relieved smile. Then, as if she had just realized what she had done, she lowered her hand in shame.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you, but you were unresponsive," she said. "I tried calling out to you and shaking you, but you couldn't see or hear me. I didn't know what else to do."

She was right. In fact, he could hardly see or hear her. Her voice was still muffled, the outline of her figure blurred. And the shadows loomed, more menacing than ever.

"It's the Mara, isn't it?" she said, frantically patting the pockets of her jacket. "Oh, where the heck is Kafka? When she's not needed, she pops up everywhere like a mushroom, but when she is, she's nowhere to be found. And she keeps changing her phone, so I don't even know what her number is anymore. But maybe Silver Wolf..."

She was about to pull her phone out of her pocket when he grabbed her wrist and stopped her.

"That's not necessary."

She didn't try to break his grip, but looked at him with obvious disbelief.

"Of course it's necessary! You were lost in your own world, Blade! If Kafka can help you —"

"I don't need her."

There was no need to bring Kafka there when there was another solution much closer. One that would help him more.

Stelle opened her mouth, probably to protest, but her words turned into a choked gasp as Blade pulled her toward him. He held both of her wrists, preventing her from escaping, and pressed his forehead against hers.

Her skin was cool, not as icy as the ghost's. It was pleasant against his, like a cold cloth to someone with a fever. The mere contact was enough to bring him relief, as was the sweet scent of her hair.

"...What are you doing?" Stelle murmured, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

He could see a slight blush rising to her cheeks. Her gaze wandered downward, avoiding his.

He didn't like that.

"Look at me."

In response to the request, her eyes lifted again. She looked at him, searching his face for an answer.

"Does this help?" she finally asked in a low voice, as if afraid to wake a monster.

"Yes. It reminds me that this is all real. That you're real."

"Why wouldn't I be?" The question came out hesitantly, her voice softening as she began to realize what the problem was. "What did you see?" 

"It doesn't matter. It wasn't real."

Trying to describe the visions would be exhausting and probably futile. He couldn't understand them himself. How could he hope to explain them coherently to her?

Stelle didn't inquire further.

"...Okay," she simply said.

Her body relaxed and she stayed still, careful not to break eye contact with him.

Realizing that she wouldn't move, Blade let go of her wrists. He felt her breath brush against his cheek, and it seemed like he was back in the collapsed tunnel where she had first embraced him. His mind wandered, trying to take him back to that moment — a defense mechanism that was all too dangerous given his condition.

Stelle's voice brought him back.

"I never tried to deceive you or use you. At least not consciously. I hope you know that."

Why did she always have to be so perceptive at the worst times?

"I know."

He knew. He had always known, and if he had doubted it, it was his fault, not hers. The Mara had risen from his fears, amplified them, and turned them against him. That's how it worked. It had always been that way.

Stelle was a terrible liar. Even if she had wanted to deceive him, she would have been discovered immediately. She meant everything she ever told him. And if she had bothered to follow him after what had happened at the square, she certainly didn't despise him.

She didn't hate him.

The shades dissolved into a faint murmur. The entire hellscape exploded, its fragments raining down around them, like scarlet petals that only he could see. And he returned to reality, as it should be.

It was over. The crisis had passed. But the worst was yet to come.

"Thank you."

With regained clarity, he stepped away from her. She didn't move, keeping her eyes on him for a long moment. When it became clear that his condition had improved, she relaxed, her lips curling upwards.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes."

They said no more, the silence swelling between them. Both were aware of the elephant in the room, and they knew it couldn't be ignored any longer. Not now that he remembered.

There was no escaping reality.

"Blade, about earlier..." Stelle finally said, but stopped immediately.

He couldn't blame her. How could you hope to settle things with someone who wanted to kill your best friend? It wasn't something you could remain neutral about.

In the end, she clenched her fists, pressed her lips into a determined line, and continued.

"What are you going to do now that you've regained your memory? Will you continue to hunt Dan Heng?"

Blade gritted his teeth. If she had any idea how much he despised that false name, she would refrain from uttering it in his presence. But he knew it was the name she knew him by, and as such, it was all too real as far as she was concerned.

"For now, I'll try to do as I've been ordered. I'll stay away and try not to cross paths with him," he replied, trying to keep the irritation from creeping into his voice.

He didn't succeed very well, judging by her dismayed look. But there was also an unmistakable relief in her expression. He could see it in the way her lips relaxed and her eyebrows smoothed.

"Thank you," she said.

"Thank Elio, not me," he interrupted. "If I had a say, things would be very different."

His gaze drifted toward the entrance to the alley, the direction he had come from. Even now, with his regained presence of mind, the urge to go after him was strong. It was as strong as the need to eat or sleep. Something existential, etched into his soul. And while Dan Feng wasn't the only one to be condemned, he was the one on whom much of his resentment rested.

The line between love and hate was indeed a thin one. Once crossed, there was no going back.

"Why?"

Stelle's answer was a low whisper, but enough to draw his attention back to her. And when he did, he saw her looking at him with that calm and composed expression she sometimes wore. As if she possessed some kind of wisdom that was unknown to him.

"What?"

"Why are you doing this?" she repeated, this time with more resolve. "I'm no expert on the history of the Xianzhou Alliance, but the Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae was a long time ago. What happened, Blade?"

"If you want an answer, ask him to explain it to you," he replied.

"Dan Heng doesn't remember. What he knows comes mostly from what other people have told him. He doesn't even remember who you are."

Blade realized he was clenching his fists only when he felt the nails digging into flesh. He forced his fingers to relax.

"Really?"

"That's what he told me," Stelle confirmed. "He deduced you had something to do with his predecessor, but that's all."

His gut tightened, heavy as lead. If a giant iron fist had crushed him, he would have felt less pain. Or was it anger? It was hard to tell. When it came to him, those feelings were almost equal.

He didn't remember who he was, she said. He was still using the spear he had made for him without even remembering.

If that was the case, he had to make sure he did remember. And if not — if he was lying — he would make sure he paid for it as well.

"Blade."

Once again, Stelle's voice tore him away from those dark thoughts. He loved that sound, as it usually meant peace to him. But this time it wouldn't be like that.

"Dan Feng is dead."

In the softest, calmest way possible, she had grazed the open wound. The one his curse would never heal.

"He is not," he hissed in return.

It was wrong. She only said that because she didn't know the truth. Dan Feng wasn't dead. How could he be dead if he had seen him just a short while ago? What did it matter if he looked a little younger or if his voice was a little different? It was him, and there was no doubt about it. His expression, his posture, the way he fought were all the same.

"He is. The General told Dan Heng, and then he and I investigated a bit together. He was imprisoned and they did a lot of horrible things to him, before forcing him to reincarnate. Whatever happened, he paid with his life."

Stelle's speech sounded rational and reasonable, but it fell on deaf ears. Whatever her argument was, he didn't want to hear it. He couldn't. If he did, he would be going against everything he stood for. So there could only be one way forward.

"You're wrong," he replied impassively. "He hasn't paid yet. And I'm not going to stop until he does. I don't expect you to understand or forgive me. But I will kill your friend, or die trying. That will never change."

His decision was firm, unchangeable, and Stelle was defeated. He could see the weariness on her face and hated to be the cause of it.

It wasn't fair. She should never have been involved in this story. She shouldn't have to suffer for something so far out of her control.

"At least help me understand! Explain to me what happened!" she begged. "I can't accept this situation without knowing why!"

A small hand reached out and grabbed his sleeve. Perhaps it was a plea, or she was trying to keep him from leaving. But it was so familiar it hurt. For the past few days, they had walked together, her smiling figure clinging to his sleeve, his pace matching hers. Seeing her repeating the gesture under such different circumstances was heartbreaking. Especially with the knowledge that it would never happen again.

If she didn't hate him now, she would hate him in the future. He couldn't help it. So, if this was the last time...

As gently as he could, he untangled her fingers from his sleeve. Then, with the same gentleness, he placed his hand on her head and stroked her hair.

"If I tried to explain it to you, you would only get more involved. That's not what I want."

Stelle didn't push him away, but when he looked down at her, he saw the helpless anger and sadness in her eyes.

"I'm already involved. You know damn well I'll do everything I can to stop you from hurting Dan Heng."

"All the more reason for you not to know. It would complicate things. Just hate me. That's how it should have been from the beginning."

Reluctantly, Blade let his hand fall to his side. He tried to ignore her dejected face, her wet eyes. He told himself there was no alternative. 

These last days had been a dream. A dangerous, exhausting, and beautiful dream that wouldn't be repeated. And how long would he be able to hold on to these memories, anyway?

"Farewell, little girl. It was nice working with you."

He didn't wait for her answer. Instead, he walked past her to make his way to the safe house. 

She didn't let him go. As he passed her, her hands closed around his sleeve again, holding him back.

"Don't leave. Not like this. Not like everyone else."

Blade couldn't see her face, but he heard the crack in her voice as her fingers tightened around the fabric.

'Like everyone else,' she said. As if it was normal for her to be abandoned. And he didn't know if she was referring to something recent or something that had happened before. Something she might not even be fully aware of. A memory struggling to come to the surface.

But it didn't matter. Whatever the case, Stelle was suffering. If he were still Yingxing, he would have turned around to comfort her. He wasn't good at that, but he would have tried. If all this had happened in another time, he would have asked her to come with him so that he would never have to leave her. But that wasn't an offer he could make. It would be a promise he couldn't keep. He couldn't offer comfort to someone when he was part of the problem.

Whether he liked it or not, what he had told Jing Yuan was true. He was not 'Yingxing' and he would never be again.

He was 'Blade'.

With a sharp flick of his arm, he broke free of her grip.

"Go back to your companions. They will not abandon you. Warn Imbibitor Lunae, if you think it's necessary. And never come near me again."

Take care of yourself. Be happy. Don't cry.

Without another word of farewell, he began to walk. Stelle didn't try to stop him anymore and he didn't look back at her. If he had, it would have only made things more difficult. Still, he felt her eyes on him all the way until he turned the corner. 

Only when he was out of her sight, he dared to look at a point that wasn't directly in front of him. And it was then that he noticed the white-haired figure leaning against the wall.

Jing Yuan, who was waiting just out of sight, must not have missed a word. It was obvious from the way he looked at him, his eyes gleaming with curious interest. Still, Blade made no attempt to talk to him. He simply walked past, looking stubbornly ahead until he had left him behind as well.

...If only he could have left the weight of his heart behind as easily, what a relief it would have been!

After navigating some side streets, it wasn't too difficult to find the way to the safe house. He didn't pay much attention to his surroundings. The streets all seemed the same, and even when he encountered a few passersby, none of them caught his attention. It was like walking in a dream. Exhausted from the violent Mara spike moments before, his thoughts were hazy and dark. And if Belobog had seemed like a safe haven until the previous night, it was now more like a prison. A place he had to escape from.

He only recovered when he arrived at the safe house, and upon stepping through the front door, he was greeted by relative calm. Kafka and Silver Wolf were in the living room, ready to leave. The former was sipping a cup of coffee on the couch. The latter was perched on one of the boxes, fiddling with her phone.

"Oh, there you are. Didn't you say you'd be back soon?" Silver Wolf scolded when she saw him enter. At first, she only gave him a glance over her screen. Then, as if something had struck her, she watched him more closely. Blade couldn't see his own face, but the fact that she put her phone away spoke volumes.

Kafka, on the other hand, showed no surprise to see him in that state. She finished the last of her coffee and gingerly set the cup on the table before giving him a small smile.

"You've regained your memory, Bladie?"

Silver Wolf turned sharply, but Kafka ignored her, her attention focused on her other companion.

"You already knew this would happen."

He didn't phrase it as a question, but Kafka answered anyway.

"I knew it could happen in three different instances," she explained. "One right after you and Stelle left the collapsed tunnel. The dragon boy was there, probably worried about his friend. If we had gone with the Supreme Guardian's group, we would have run into him."

"So that's why you made us go on that terrible hike on our own!" grumbled Silver Wolf, still upset about being forced to march in the cold.

"The second one was just outside Fort Qliphoth. If we had arrived early, we would have crossed paths with the General. If we had arrived late, we would have been just in time to meet Stelle, the dragon boy, and the pink-haired girl in front of the palace," Kafka continued.

"And that explains why you insisted we hurry all the way," muttered a resentful Silver Wolf. Due to her small stature, she risked getting buried in more than one snowdrift trying to keep up with her tall companions.

"The third..." Kafka began, but stopped and shook her head. "Well, I don't think I need to say more. But if it can console you, I knew nothing irreversible would happen."

Blade did not comment, but deep down he knew that wasn't exactly true. On the one hand, regaining his memory only meant returning to the status quo. Since his Mara spike hadn't caused any casualties or incidents, it was as if nothing had happened in the grand scheme of things. On the other hand, this status quo existed before Stelle.

She wasn't there anymore.

Kafka rose from the couch, and as she approached, he thought he saw a hint of pity in her eyes. Whether it was real or imagined was hard to tell.

"Are you ready to go back now?"

"Yes. I'm sorry to keep you waiting," he said.

"Then we can go. We're still a little early, but better sooner than later."

Blade nodded passively.

"I will get my things."

Without saying more, he went towards his room like a perfect, obedient soldier. As he stepped out into the hallway, he heard quick footsteps behind him, and a moment later, Silver Wolf appeared at his side.

"Hey."

When he didn't pay attention, she grabbed his hair and pulled, forcing him to look at her. Knowing she wouldn't leave him alone, he humored her.

"Are you sure everything's all right? You look even worse than you did this morning."

No, everything wasn't all right. Not at all. But then again, wasn't that the norm for him? Things hadn't been all right for centuries. So why worry Silver Wolf?

He didn't answer her. He didn't have the will or the energy to try to convince her that everything was fine. Instead, he gave her a quick pat on the head before slipping into his room to collect his things. As soon as he crossed the threshold of the room, he heard her protests from the hallway, complaining about being treated like a child.

As usual.

As always.

And soon he would be busy with his regular duties as a Stellaron Hunter, too busy to think about anything else. Whether it was about Dan Feng, his revenge, or Stelle.

It was fine like this. It had to be. And as long as he could convince himself of that, it would continue to be fine. Even if it was difficult to see the world in black and white again after seeing colors for the first time.

It hurt.

That was the only thing on Stelle's mind when Blade disappeared at the end of the street. She had never imagined that pain of such intensity could exist without being tied to a tragic event. But even though nothing horrible had happened — no one had died, at least — she was suffering.

Her chest was tight, her heart pounding loudly. She wanted to cry, but even that was difficult. All she could do was stand there, at the edge of the street, her arms wrapped around herself, trying to keep the pain at bay as the seconds ticked away.

She had failed. She had accomplished nothing. And as much as she hadn't had a goal when she left the others to follow Blade, she had hoped to at least to talk to him. Instead, it felt like hitting a brick wall.

Something was wrong with him. And yes, she had always known it, but she had never had to face it directly. After all, she had only met Blade a few times before his memories were sealed. Thinking back, the atmosphere of their first encounters had been quite similar. He had always been distant, and tried to push her away. But then he lost his memory, and his attitude changed. It was a small but significant shift: he was kinder to her, his rejection less definitive. Overall, he did not seem to mind her presence.

Now, seeing the contrast, she fully realized the grip those memories had on him. It was one thing to know, and another to see it with her own eyes.

Blade wouldn't listen. He wouldn't reason with her. He would not compromise. He was so determined in his goal that any deviation from the path was unthinkable. The only person he was willing to pay attention to was Elio, and only because he had promised him — in all likelihood — a more efficient way to get what he wanted.

As long as he existed, Dan Heng would be in danger. And Stelle opposed anything that could harm him. She would never be on Blade's side. Not on this front.

But that didn't stop her from suffering.

She knew that he wasn't cruel by nature. An evil person wouldn't throw himself in front of a hail of bullets to protect some random hostages, nor would he feel compassion for the victims of the Disciples in that lab. And yet, he had deliberately chosen to be a persecutor. It wasn't something that the Mara alone could justify. From what she had seen of his crises, even when it took over, there was always a logic behind his actions.

So why? What was the reason? How could she accept that he was her enemy without knowing why?

She was angry at him. It was useless to deny it. She was angry at the pain he wanted to inflict on Dan Heng and at his determination to keep her out of this affair. At the same time, his rejection hurt her.

Why had he left? Why did no one ever choose to stay? Why was it so easy for everyone to leave her behind?

And now she was there, alone at the edge of a deserted road, unable to protect her friend, unable to reason with Blade.

Useless.

A rebellious tear welled up in the corner of her eye, and she angrily brushed it away. What good would crying do now? She had got herself into that mess. She had been warned plenty, so the responsibility was all hers. It wasn't anyone else's fault if she was an idiot. A fool. A moron. A—

A hand landed on her shoulder, making her jump. She was about to grab her bat when she recognized a familiar mane of white hair.

"General, you're still here..." she said, rubbing her eyes to wipe away any lingering tears.

"Of course I am. I couldn't in good conscience leave you alone. Not with Blade in that state. If you had been in danger, I would never have forgiven myself."

"Thank you. You're very kind."

Jing Yuan smiled, and for once it was not the cunning grin of a strategist, but the gentle one of a companion.

"No need to thank me. I consider the crew of the Astral Express to be my personal friends. Making sure you are well is the least I can do."

His smile faded, his eyes glancing in the direction Blade had left.

"I'd ask you how you feel, but I suspect that would be a rhetorical question," he finally said.

"You've heard everything, I suppose."

It was obvious that he had. If he had stayed close enough to rush in if necessary, it was a given that he had listened.

"Yes, I have" he confessed.

Stelle let out a self-pitying sigh.

"You must think I'm pathetic, then."

"Reckless, perhaps. Pathetic? I wouldn't put it that way. Coming here alone to try to reason with him is not the wisest decision you could make." He gave her a small, conspiratorial smile. "But I won't blame you for wanting to help and protect your loved ones. Besides, it would be hypocritical of me. In case you haven't noticed, I left my retinue to start a fight in the middle of the road."

He winked at her, and Stelle couldn't help but smile. His acceptance certainly didn't solve the problem, but it made it a little more bearable.

"How did you find him?" she asked.

What happened in the square had been sudden. No one had expected it. Not her, not Dan Heng, not Blade. They had all been taken by surprise. Maybe Blade more than anyone else. But Jing Yuan had been there at the right moment.

"I was in the Administrative District when Blade arrived. I had just left Fort Qliphoth after a meeting with the Supreme Guardian," he explained. "I saw that you were nearby, and I feared the worst. So I slipped away to follow him. I suppose that's more or less what you did as well."

She nodded. Things had gone more or less the same way. And she was also sure that both March and Dan Heng were looking for her at this point. She would be lucky if Dan Heng only gave her an eight-hour lecture. In fact, both he and March would have a billion excellent reasons to be angry with her.

"Did you want to stop Blade in case he caused trouble?" she asked again.

"Partly. Mostly, though, I wanted to keep him from going back to attack Dan Heng. I could do little for Imbibitor Lunae at the time, and the same goes for Dan Heng. I want to at least do something for him now that I can. Besides..." He sighed wearily. "Besides, he's not the only person I want to protect."

A dark shadow fell over him, and for a moment he seemed terribly sad. It was a sadness similar to her own, but ancient and deeper. A burden he had carried for much longer than she could imagine. And from the way his eyes returned to the end of the road, Stelle understood immediately to whom he was referring.

"You knew him, didn't you? Blade, I mean."

Jing Yuan raised an eyebrow.

"Did he tell you that?"

"Not exactly. But Kafka told me that Blade and Dan Feng were once friends, and I already knew that Dan Feng was also your friend. It seems logical that you know each other."

A melancholic smile played on his lips, full of a mixture of sadness and nostalgia.

"You're right. I did know him. Or rather, I knew the person he was. I cannot say the same for the man he has become."

For a moment he seemed vulnerable. Which was very strange. Ever since Stelle had known him, the General had always seemed like a rock. Always calm, always brilliant, always with a plan to solve any situation. Now, however, he seemed as disoriented as she was.

She had never been quite sure how to act around him. He had always been friendly, but she wasn't particularly close to him. He was more Dan Heng's friend than hers. But seeing him like this, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. So she tentatively reached out to touch his shoulder in a clumsy attempt to comfort him. But before she could, the moment of weakness disappeared and Jing Yuan's smile returned.

"Perhaps you know him better than I do now. At least he seems to care about you."

Taken aback, Stelle withdrew her hand and looked down at the tip of his toes. She could feel Jing Yuan's knowing gaze on her, and an uncomfortable heat began to rise to her neck.

Blade cared about her? Was that how it seemed to him?

Stelle thought back to the time they had spent together — so little, but so intense that it felt like a lifetime. She remembered how he had embraced her just the night before. Or how he had stroked her hair. But he had also pushed her away without so much as an explanation, making it clear that he did not want to see her again. And everything got terribly confusing.

"I don't know," she finally replied, twisting a lock of her hair. "Sometimes it seems that way. But other times, I have no idea what he's thinking."

Jing Yuan remained silent for a few moments, his arms crossed over his chest. Then, choosing his words carefully, he said:

"I could be wrong, but I have the impression that he is trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what? From the truth?" Stelle blurted out, unable to contain her annoyance.

"From himself," he corrected her. "Usually, no one wants to see their loved ones trapped in a no-win situation. In such cases, the easiest and most immediate way is to distance oneself. But like I said, I could be wrong."

He added nothing more, leaving her to stew in her own thoughts.

In fact, Blade had encouraged her to hate him. Was that his goal? To protect her?

She couldn't be sure. And as much as a part of her felt flattered by the idea, it wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to know. She wanted to understand all the implications and act accordingly. Most of all, she didn't want to hate blindly.

"General."

Jing Yuan smiled to encourage her.

"What exactly happened between Blade and Dan Feng? What happened to him? Do you know?"

The question did not surprise him. His eyelids lowered like a cat's as he considered how to answer. The silence between them continued, and it was clear that the General was reluctant to speak. Whether it was discretion towards Dan Feng and Blade or something else, Stelle couldn't say. But when she was surrounded by unreliable and reticent narrators, she could only piece together the truth from the few pieces she had.

"Do you think it's wise to get involved?" he asked her. "This story has caused great pain to many people. I don't want you to suffer for sins and grudges that have nothing to do with you. In the future, you may find yourself in even more complicated situations. Choosing to carry a burden that is not yours will not help you."

"I am sure of my decision," she replied.

She would not allow anyone else to choose her path for her. Nor was she so weak that she needed protection. Blade had already carried her burden when he killed the victims of the Disciples in her place. This time, she wanted to be the one to help him, if she could. And if she wanted to find a way to end this cycle of vengeance and protect Dan Heng... well, the solution couldn't be found anywhere else.

Maybe it didn't exist. Maybe she would never find it. But she would never know if she didn't at least try.

Jing Yuan sighed at her determination, but didn't seem upset.

"The Nameless host a large number of strong women. Strong and stubborn, I might add," he said, and once again a hint of nostalgia trembled in his voice. As if his memory was going to someone who wasn't there.

"So will you tell me?" she pressed him, eager and hopeful.

He was about to answer, but familiar voices resounded not far from where they were.

"STELLE! WHERE ARE YOU?! IF MR. HOT-AND-PSYCHO HASN'T KILLED YOU, ANSWER ME!"

It was March. And if she was there, it was a given that Dan Heng was there, too.

Stelle exhaled, equally comforted and exasperated. She was glad to hear them, but their timing was 'perfect'. Perfect in the worst possible way, of course. Not to mention the dread for the inevitable reprimands that awaited her.

Just then, as if they had planned the timing, other voices came from the other side of the street.

"GENERAL! IF YOU CAN HEAR US, PLEASE RESPOND!"

Jing Yuan clicked his tongue in resignation.

"Looks like they caught us," he sighed. "As soon as she finds out I sneaked away from the retinue, our Master Diviner will force me to do ten years of paperwork. At the very least."

Stelle wanted to point out that it would have been his job from the beginning. But just thinking about it made Jing Yuan look so depressed that she didn't want to rub it in.

"If you want, we can switch," she suggested instead. "I'll take care of the paperwork for you, and you'll endure one of Dan Heng's lectures for me."

"No, thank you. I can do without that," he replied quickly. As if he knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Has Dan Heng ever given you one of his lectures?" she asked in surprise.

"No. But if they're half as long and vicious as Imbibitor Lunae's, I'd rather have paperwork."

Stelle couldn't help but laugh. Apparently, the talent for lecturing was a trait passed down from generation to generation.

"I guess it's time to face the music," she said with resignation.

She was about to head towards the voices of her companions when Jing Yuan grabbed her arm. She stopped and when she looked up at him, he gave her a meaningful look.

"When you get a chance, come visit me on the Luofu. I will inform you about the results of our manhunt here... and maybe we can have a talk."

Stelle beamed, and it took all her self-control not to hug him right then and there. The General returned the smile, and without saying anything else, he let her go and hurried to his men. She went in the opposite direction, and the two of them parted with this half-promise.

Jing Yuan hadn't guaranteed to answer her questions, but it was a starting point. Now it remained to be seen where it would lead her. Maybe she wouldn't get anything, but it was worth a try. After all, it was just a conversation.

What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter Text

It was an unusually quiet afternoon in Yingxing's workshop. Normally, there was a lot of hustle and bustle, with a steady stream of busy workers. After all, weapon production was essential to keeping the troops well-equipped. On the worst days, the craftsman didn't have time to breathe, let alone attend to his personal projects.

But on that day, the most urgent work had been completed ahead of schedule, and he enjoyed a few hours of peace. And for Yingxing, 'peaceful time' was synonymous with 'pure creative chaos'.

Hunched over a table in the middle of the workshop, he was surrounded by dozens of sheets of paper. They all bore the blueprint of a sword, each with different characteristics. He picked them up one by one and compared them. Then he examined various steel samples and carefully weighed them.

In the end, however, nothing seemed to meet his requirements. At the end of each examination, he put down the sample and crumpled up the sketch, letting it fall to the floor. By now, the ground was completely covered with papers. And if he did not get the result he was hoping for, their number would only increase. But he didn't even notice, muttering to himself in concentration.

What he was working on was both a personal project and a commission. The most important commission he had ever received, one that would allow him to prove the quality of his art once and for all. It wasn't something he could afford to take lightly. That's why he devoted almost all of his free time to it, determined to see results as soon as possible.

He was examining the metal samples again when an idea struck him. A triumphant glow crossed his face, and he grabbed a clean piece of paper to jot down his thoughts.

Before the ink had even touched it, someone knocked at the door. Irritated by the interruption, Yingxing didn't answer. Why should he? He had given clear instructions that he was not to be disturbed outside of working hours. The interloper, whoever it was, would have to wait until the next day.

Unfortunately, the pest didn't share the sentiment. When there was no answer, they knocked again. And then again. And again. They were so insistent that he couldn't concentrate on his work. It was like having a woodpecker in his skull.

He had half a mind to escape through the window, when a familiar voice announced its presence.

"Yingxing, don't pretend not to hear. I know you are in there."

...Dan Feng?

This was a surprise. Usually, he never came by at that hour. Besides, didn't he have a previous engagement today? What was he doing there? And more importantly, how dared he interrupt him when he was having an epiphany?!

With a loud sigh, he fished a remote control from a pile of papers on the floor and pressed a button. The lock immediately clicked.

"Come in."

Dan Feng didn't need to be told twice. The door creaked open and the High Elder stepped inside. His horns peeked over the threshold, followed by the tip of his boot. He hadn't even taken a step into the workshop before his foot hit one of the crumpled papers. And when he saw the chaos in the room, his eyes widened in bewilderment.

"What a waste of paper!"

The craftsman gave him a flat look.

"Not my fault. I was having a creative block."

"You could use a virtual document, like normal people do," Dan Feng replied, crossing his arms.

"I'd rather defect to the Abundance than be corrupted by those... things," Yingxing muttered, clutching a few of his best projects to his chest. "They're so sterile. So antiseptic. So devoid of personality. So... virtual!"

The way he said it, it was as if using a virtual document was a crime against the entire Xianzhou Alliance. He liked the idea of having physical proof of his work. Something that would last, rather than a collection of data that could be erased at the push of a button. Perhaps he was old-fashioned, but he had always felt that way.

...Although, he had to admit, he used too much paper this time. He had to be more careful.

Dan Feng rolled his eyes.

"I'll never understand how you manage to be a brilliant inventor and such a fossil at the same time." He closed the door behind him and stooped to the floor, picking up a few crumpled sheets of paper. He unfolded them carefully and looked at the swords they depicted. "Why did you throw away these designs? They seem very good to me."

"Of course they're good. I made them," Yingxing grumbled in annoyance. "But it's not enough. I need something magnificent and austere. Something simple and striking."

"I see at least a few contradictions in what you said."

Yingxing enthusiastically pounded his fist on the table, knocking some metal samples to the ground.

"That's the point, Your Lordship. Art is inherently contradictory!"

"Don't call me Your Lordship," Dan Feng replied flatly. He cleared a stool from the umpteenth pile of papers, and took a seat in front of the workbench.

It was a strange combination. On one side was Yingxing, still in his work clothes, his hair hastily gathered behind his neck to keep it out of the way. On the other, the High Elder of the Vidyadhara sat amidst the chaos of his workshop, clad in the green and gold robes he wore for public appearances. Someone who didn't know them would be surprised to see them like this. 

But Dan Feng didn't care about that kind of thing. He was proud, but not arrogant. Maybe that's why it was easy to get along with him.

"If you're racking your brains to the point of having a block," he said, looking at some of the scattered sketches on the table, "I assume it's about the sword for Jingliu."

"Exactly." Yingxing dropped onto another chair, sitting on a pile of crumpled papers without bothering to move them. "She asked me to make 'the best sword the Alliance has ever seen', and that's exactly what I intend to do. I'm the best craftsman of the Luofu. I must meet the demands of my client."

"In essence, you don't want to give her the satisfaction of criticizing you," Dan Feng deduced.

"You can say that again!"

Yingxing grinned, and the High Elder shook his head.

"Maybe one day, you two will stop this feud of yours and get along like normal people."

"Impossible," was the immediate reply.

Dan Feng didn't insist, and Yingxing was grateful for that. He had no intention of discussing his turbulent relationship with Jingliu with him. Baiheng was constantly trying to force them to be more 'friendly'. If he joined in on the effort, he would pack up and move to the Yaoqing.

"More importantly,' he changed the subject, "why are you here? Didn't you have an engagement?"

"It ended earlier than expected."

His voice was neutral, as if he was discussing a mundane task. However, Yingxing noticed that Dan Feng's gaze shifted away from him, as if he feared that he could read his thoughts.

"What was it about?" he asked.

"A memorial for the Vidyadhara who lost their lives in the war. I had to meet with their loved ones and assure them that victory is near. That their sacrifice was not in vain."

Again, his face betrayed no emotion. It was the same one he wore on official occasions, when he was 'Imbibitor Lunae, Commander of the Clouds and the Rain' instead of 'Dan Feng'.

"How did it go?" he asked, crossing his fingers under his chin.

"Quite well. They seemed calmer when they left."

Dan Feng said nothing more and Yingxing didn't press him. But he stayed there, staring at him. He waited until the dragon squirmed on his stool, uncomfortable under his gaze.

"...What is it?"

"I'm waiting for you to tell me how it really went."

Dan Feng fell silent, his eyes widening in surprise, his mouth agape. Eventually, his face twisted into a bitter grimace.

"It was terrible," he finally confessed. "Those people were desperate. They wondered what's the point of winning the war if it's going to lead us to destruction. And they were right!" He rose from his seat in frustration and began pacing about the workshop. "But I told them everything was fine. That we would emerge victorious. That it would soon be over and we would finally be happy and safe. And they believed me, Yingxing! They believed everything I told them. They said that they would always follow me, because their High Elder had never led them astray. The problem is, I don't believe that anymore. I lied to them."

He stopped in the middle of the room and kicked away an unlucky piece of paper. Yingxing could see the impotent rage in his eyes and felt sorry for him.

"You didn't lie to them. It's the truth! The war can't go on forever. Sooner or later —" he began, trying to comfort him.

Dan Feng cut him off with a bitter laugh.

"When will it be? When will it end? In a year? In a decade? In a century? And how many Vidyadhara will be lost in the meantime?"

Yingxing didn't try to contradict him. He didn't think he could. Not when he knew that he was right.

"It's not your fault," he simply said.

"Isn't it?" the other retorted. "I am the High Elder. The well-being of my people is my responsibility! I should be protecting them. Instead, I can only watch them die, helpless to do anything!"

Noticing the stunned expression on his friend's face, Dan Feng realized that he had almost shouted. So he stopped and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have raised my voice to you. It's beneath me."

"Even the best of us need to vent sometimes. Don't worry about it," Yingxing replied in his lightest tone.

He was aware of the responsibilities that weighed on his friend. There were very few moments — apart from when he was with him, Baiheng, Jingliu and Jing Yuan — when he could afford to be himself. He always had to be the perfect High Elder. Always impassive. Always wise and measured. So if he exploded in front of them every now and then, that was fine. He deserved a break.

Dan Feng's gaze drifted away again, in the general direction of the window. He didn't seem to be looking outside, but lost in his own world. Yingxing didn't bother him and waited. He had known him for years and had learned to read many of his quirks. He knew that if he was there, there had to be a reason. If he wanted to know it, he would have to wait until he was ready to reveal it.

It didn't take long. In his heart, Dan Feng must have already made up his mind. And when he looked back at him, his expression was steely.

"I have to do something, Yingxing. I have no choice."

"What, exactly?" the craftsman asked, frowning. "You're powerful, Imbibitor Lunae, but you can't vanquish the forces of the Abundance with sheer willpower, and nothing else will stop the war. Nor can you change the entire biology of your species at will."

He saw a flash in Dan Feng's eyes, and a bad feeling crept into his heart. When his friend approached the table again, he instinctively crossed his arms, as if to shield himself from him.

"But what if I could? What if there was a way to save my people from extinction? Not just now, but forever."

It was clear that he had thought long and hard about this. And it was also clear that he had long since come to a conclusion. However, Yingxing didn't know what that conclusion was. Or maybe he was afraid to know.

"What are you talking about?" he asked despite himself.

"Only one thing has the potential to perform such miracles. And it's currently in my custody."

There was no need to elaborate. No need to pronounce its name. He knew exactly what he was talking about.

The Ambrosial Arbor. The plaguemark of the Xianzhou Luofu.

Yingxing stood up, pale like a ghost. He felt as if he had been thrown into a vat of ice water. And when he looked at his friend, he felt as if he were facing a stranger.

"You can't be serious."

"What if I was?"

"I'd think you were insane. Or worse, possessed by a psychopathic Heliobus," the craftsman replied. "Just talking about that 'thing' could get you thrown in jail. It's downright sacrilegious to even consider using it!"

Seeing his companion's obvious aversion, Dan Feng lowered his gaze. He must have expected that reaction.

"I know it might seem like madness."

"It doesn't just 'seem like madness'. It is! There is a reason why that... 'thing' is sealed away! It has done nothing but harm! It's one of the reasons why people have to deal with the Mara, and why we're constantly targeted by immortality seekers. And also why this whole conflict is happening!"

This time, it was Yingxing's turn to start pacing around the room. His heart was pounding in his chest, but it still felt like his blood was stagnating in his veins. He couldn't even bring himself to look at Dan Feng, and a part of him hoped that if he didn't meet his gaze — if he didn't see his determination — it would make it less real. As if it were a tasteless joke.

But he ended up being disappointed.

"What else can I do?" the High Elder replied.

"Don't use the Ambrosial Arbor. The Abundance corrupts everything it touches. You would only be trading one curse for another."

"The alternative is to let my people die without even trying to change things. I can't do that! I don't want to stand by and pass the problem on to my next incarnation without having solved anything. And you of all people should know that."

Yingxing stopped and clenched his jaw. This was a low blow, and a part of him wanted to lash out, shout at him, or even hit him. But he didn't, because he was right: he, more than anyone else, understood.

His mind went back to a long time before, to memories he would have preferred to bury forever. Pictures of a comfortable home and people he loved. Faces who looked like him, and eyes the same color as his. Smiles and loving words. Gentle hands stroking his hair and loving hugs.

Before the wolves came. Before the flight into the unknown. Before the anger, the despair of knowing there was nothing he could do. Nothing but stand by and watch, while the things he loved were destroyed.

Amidst the turmoil of his thoughts, he felt Dan Feng approaching. Even without looking, he could feel the guilt radiating from him. But, when he finally glanced at him, he saw that his resolve hadn't wavered. He was sorry for bringing back bad memories. And he was sorry that he had disappointed him with his insane idea. But he wouldn't back down because he believed that this was the right thing to do.

This was Dan Feng. He had always been like that, and he would never change.

"Listen, I don't intend to use the Transmutation Arcanum recklessly. I won't do anything until I'm sure that it's safe. For now, I just want to do some research. If it turns out to be too dangerous, I will stop immediately," he said. "But I need to know if there's even a chance of saving my people's future. Can you understand that?"

Yingxing scowled, but in the end, he sighed in resignation.

"...Are you going to tell the others about this?"

"No. Baiheng would disapprove and Jingliu would try to stop me. And I don't want to involve Jing Yuan."

"Then why did you tell me? Do you want me to help you?"

For a moment, Dan Feng's eyes lit up with hope. However, it immediately turned into hesitation. Finally, he shook his head.

"I can't ask you to do that. I know how you feel about it, and I know that it could get you into trouble. All I ask is that you keep it a secret. If I'm found out, I'll take full responsibility. I won't involve you or the others. I promise."

He should have expected this reaction. The proud Imbibitor Lunae would never ask for help, no matter how much he wanted it. He would carry the burden alone, as he always had. Because he always put others before himself, for better or for worse.

...That fool.

"Do you at least have a plan?"

Surprised by the question, Dan Feng blinked.

"Nothing concrete yet. I intend to proceed with caution."

"As I suspected," Yingxing sighed and dramatically brushed off his friend, sinking back onto his chair with crossed legs and folded arms. "Luckily for you, you came to me before you got yourself into trouble. How would you manage without me, I wonder?"

Dan Feng stood frozen, his mouth comically open as the meaning of what he said sank in. Then the hopeful look from earlier reappeared.

" Do you mean —?"

"I mean that if we're going to break every single precept of the Xianzhou Alliance, we might as well do it for a good cause. But know that after we save the Vidyadhara, I'll demand a commendation, a statue bigger than yours, and you will call me Yingxing the Magnificent for the rest of my life."

"I will never call you that. But for the other two conditions, I'll see what I can do," Dan Feng replied, giving him one of his rare smiles. "Thank you."

Yingxing dismissed his friend's thanks with a wave of his hand, still irritated by the whole situation. It felt like making a deal with a demon and compromising everything he believed in. But if there was a chance that something good could come out of this evil power, then maybe Dan Feng was right. After all, it was against his principles to abandon a friend in need. He would do that and more for his companions. He was made that way.

"You'll thank me when we get results. And now, if you don't mind, we need to fetch Baiheng and Jingliu. I really need a drink tonight."

Blade awoke abruptly, the air forcefully expelled from his lungs. Leaving the dream and returning to reality was difficult — more difficult than it should have been. Just as difficult as keeping his mind from slipping away. But he had to do it, one way or another.

His endless battle with the Mara continued. And there was no escape.

Taking some time for his aching body to recover, he lay on his back, breathing slowly. Beneath him was soft, moist earth. Above him, the branches of a bush. Looking beyond them, he could see black smoke rising into the sky.

And he remembered.

He was in the middle of a mission, one of many he had participated in since leaving Belobog. An organization had discovered the location of a Stellaron, and he had been sent to find out where it was. The kind of job Kafka was usually better suited for. This time, though, Elio had no preferences regarding the fate of the organization in question, nor time for subtleties. They were probably criminals who wanted to profit from the situation and he saw them as meaningless. In any case, Blade hadn't asked any questions about their identity or goals. He had been given the coordinates of the world they were hiding in and told to eliminate them all and get the information. And so he had done.

It was nothing out of the ordinary, and for the most part, there hadn't been any major problems. The only inconvenience had been when he had gone to retrieve the information after clearing out the organization's base.

Someone had installed a bomb as a security mechanism for the data in question. He didn't know whose idea it was — probably someone who'd seen one too many movies — but the device had nearly exploded in his face. With no time to defuse it, he had jumped out of the window. After all, he already knew it wouldn't kill him, so there was no point in trying. But the explosion had thrown him off course. The building wasn't too high, and he had landed in the middle of some bushes, which had broken the fall. He must have hit his head, though, because he lost consciousness immediately afterward.

After a while, the dream came.

Since he had regained his memory, this had become the norm. As long as he was awake, he could keep himself busy and try to contain the memories. But as soon as he let his guard down — especially when he slept — there was nothing to stop them. He saw things and people he wished he could ignore. He relived events he wished he could erase. Sometimes they were so vivid that it took him a while to realize where he was when he woke up.

It was a sensation he loathed, and that's why he tried to avoid it, minimizing inactivity as much as possible. He had thrown himself into work, avoiding sleep whenever he could. And when he couldn't, he'd set alarms every two or three hours. That way, if he began to dream, there would always be something to bring him back to reality. As a result, he was constantly exhausted, but at least he avoided 'losing himself'.

Of course, there were also failures from time to time. Like the one that had just happened.

With considerable effort, he forced his aching body to sit up. If it had been anyone else, it would have been wise to stay still after a blow to the head. But since it was him, any head trauma had probably already healed. So, he had a job to do.

He took his cell phone out of his pocket — miraculously intact after the fall — and started the program Silver Wolf created to make calls untraceable. Then he dialed the number of his companion.

The answer came almost immediately, a sign that Silver Wolf had been waiting for him. Her image — or rather, a super-deformed portrait of her — appeared on the screen, followed by her voice.

"Took you long enough to get in touch."

At first glance, her tone was as usual: slow, flat, bored. Anyone else would have noticed no difference from her normal demeanor. Blade, however, immediately picked up a hint of hostility. In fact, it had been there since they left Belobog. More precisely, since Silver Wolf found out about his conversation with Stelle. Since then, he had the distinct impression that she was angry with him.

How long had it been? He had trouble remembering. The stress of an overloaded mind combined with the Mara had caused him to lose track of time. At least a few weeks must have passed. For the first few days, her behavior had been normal. Then Silver Wolf had received news of an event on Belobog. She tried to explain what it was about, but Blade was not very receptive to such things. He had only understood that it had something to do with 'catching monsters and using them in fights' and that she wanted to participate. Obviously, she hadn't been there in person. Silver Wolf hated the idea of going back to the 'freezer planet', as she called it. But she had appeared via hologram. 

That was when the passive-aggressive attitude towards him had begun.

She had met Stelle. She and one of her Astral Express companions had also participated. Blade didn't know what they talked about, but Silver Wolf must have guessed something. And when he had tried to ask her how Stelle was, her answer had been a brusque "Why don't you ask her yourself, ship-wrecker?"

Ignoring the obscure reference to vessels — the context of which continued to elude him — he concluded that Stelle was alive and well. If something bad had happened to her, he was sure Silver Wolf would have mentioned it. And as far as he was concerned, that was enough. He would not investigate further. He had no right to do it.

Of course, it would have been easier if the hacker had stopped treating him like the most despicable person in the universe. He didn't believe he was among the most worthy people in the galaxy, but she wasn't in the position to judge him.

"Did you get the coordinates I sent you?" he asked her, getting right to the point.

"Yes, I got them. Sam is in that area, so all is well. You can return to the base whenever you want."

Blade received the news with a dissatisfied noise. He didn't want to return to the base. That would mean downtime.

"Is there no other work for me?"

The question was met with a short silence on the other end of the line. When Silver Wolf answered, she sounded even more irked than before.

"Listen, Blade. You can't keep working like this forever. Sooner or later you'll have to stop. Or are you planning to single-handedly track down all the Stellarons in the universe? If you keep doing that, you'll work yourself to death."

"I cannot die."

"You know what I meant," she replied in irritation. "Everyone is worried, you know?"

"'It's not necessary."

Silver Wolf let out a frustrated growl, and he could picture her throwing her arms up on the other side of the screen.

"Do what you want," she finally conceded. "By the way, a message came for you."

A message for him? About what? From whom? No one — other than his companions — knew how to contact him.

Blade rose from the bushes, shaking off grass and dry leaves. The building he had attacked was still burning after the explosion. The heat of the flames was pleasant on his sore body.

"Tell me."

"The message was encrypted and left on a private communications channel I was monitoring. As if someone was expecting me to find it. And it was addressed to you."

"Where did the message come from?"

A short moment of silence before the answer.

"From the Xianzhou Luofu."

Just hearing that name was like a nudge to the Mara. He felt it react, like a beast stirring in its sleep.

Calm. He had to stay calm and face this new situation in an orderly and efficient manner. For all he knew, it could be a trap. He couldn't afford to be careless.

"Send it to me."

Silver Wolf must have sensed the sudden edge in his voice because she didn't even try to dissuade him. In fact, she didn't say anything at all. After a few seconds, a message appeared on his phone. Keeping the call in the background, Blade opened it — a process that took longer than he would have liked, given his limited skills with the gadget.

The words appeared on his screen, their refined language contrasting with the stark letters of the virtual document.

"I looked for you in our old home. Unfortunately, our paths did not cross. I trust you will rectify this unfortunate circumstance and honor our ancient vow. Let us meet again in the lands of our past to celebrate a long-awaited reunion. And show me the fate of the most beautiful sword the Xianzhou Alliance has ever seen."

As the sentences unfolded before his eyes, Blade could almost hear their sound. He could hear her voice — calm, slow, and cold — echoing in his ears as it had hundreds of years ago. It was sweet as a caress and sharp as a blade. The same blade that had pierced his heart again and again, shattering his body and mind.

Jingliu.

A phantom pain ripped through his chest, as strong now as it was then. His fingers tightened around the phone so much that they risked breaking it.

It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.

"Blade, are you still there?"

Disturbed by his long silence, Silver Wolf called his name and he snapped out of it. The pain vanished as if it had never existed, and he loosened his grip on the phone.

"Yes."

"So, have you read it? Do you know who's the sender?"

He knew, but how could he explain? Was she a friend? An enemy? Their relationship was complicated even for him. How could he explain it to someone so far removed from those events?

"It's from an old acquaintance."

He could sense the surprise in Silver Wolf's silence. The idea that he still had acquaintances outside of his recent ones must have sounded strange to her. After all, he never talked about it.

"So you don't think it's a trap?" she asked when she regained her composure. "A trick to lure you back to the Luofu and capture you?"

If it had only been Jingliu, it would have been hard to say. But what she wrote...

'Honor our ancient vow'...

He closed his eyes, Baiheng's voice filling his ears like a whisper from the past.

"...no matter what happens, we will meet here to drink and laugh together... and we can forget all the terrible things around us..."

No, it wasn't a trap. Jingliu could be many things, but she would never break this promise. Never, for any reason. None of them would.

He was no exception.

"I have to go back to the Luofu," he said, completely forgetting to answer the question.

At the other end of the line, he heard the sound of something falling. Silver Wolf must have knocked something over. 

"Are you sure? Doesn't seem like a good idea. Remember how you ended up last time? And Kafka is on a mission. She can't come with you."

It was an inconvenience, but it didn't change the facts. He had to go. He couldn't not go. Not even a direct order from Elio would stop him. It was one of the few things he wasn't willing to compromise on.

"I'm sure."

Another moment of silence, filled with disapproval. Blade realized that Silver Wolf didn't agree, but it wasn't something she had a say in. And she knew it.

Finally, a sigh came from the other end of the line.

"Well, go then. You're a stubborn old man, so I'm not going to waste my time trying to talk some sense into you. Elio hasn't said anything, so it's not up to me to stop you. I still think it's a terrible idea, though."

He couldn't argue with that. He knew the risks, and he knew that under any other circumstances, it wouldn't have been worth it. But this time he had to take it. And maybe, just maybe...

"Do you want me to tell Stelle?"

The question tore him from his thoughts like a splash of cold water. Before he realized it, he snapped like a viper.

"What?"

"Besides Kafka, she's the only one who can calm the Mara, right? If she's around —"

"No."

He was harsher than necessary, but he couldn't help it. The very thought horrified him.

If his hypothesis was correct, he wouldn't be the only one present at this meeting. If he had been summoned as well, it was almost certain that the Astral Express would be on the Luofu. If Stelle suspected that her friend was in trouble, she would certainly get involved. As things stood, he could only hope that Dan Feng wouldn't want to put her in danger and would keep her at a distance. But if Silver Wolf warned her, nothing would stop her.

No. That was out of the question. She couldn't be around when he and Jingliu — not one, but two dangerous Mara-struck individuals — met. And if, as he thought, Dan Feng would be present, this meeting could turn into a recipe for disaster.

He didn't want Stelle there. He didn't want her a thousand miles from there.

"Promise you won't tell her anything," he barked, to make it clear that this was not an option.

"Fine, fine. I promise," Silver Wolf murmured, more disappointed than intimidated. "Are you going straight to the Luofu, or will you return to the base first?"

"I'm going to the Luofu."

"Okay. Then I'll prepare some fake documents for you and hack into some systems to make your passage easier. You don't want to massacre every single Cloud Knight you meet, do you?"

Avoiding detection altogether was out of the question. It was almost a matter of course that Jing Yuan would attend their meeting. But he hoped that he wouldn't go after him out of respect for their vow. And as far as the rest of the authorities were concerned, Silver Wolf's skills would be more than enough.

"Thank you."

She scoffed.

"Don't thank me. And try not to get yourself into too much trouble," she warned. "None of us want to come save your butt."

"I'll be careful."

That was all he could promise. He had no idea what would happen once he returned to the Luofu.

"I'll send you the necessary documents as soon as I'm done preparing them," Silver Wolf said, and it seemed as if she wanted to end the conversation there. But just before hanging up, she added in a low voice: "See you soon."

The line immediately went dead, and Blade slipped the phone back into his pocket, his gaze drifting to the burning building. If he wanted to get to Luofu in time, he had to leave immediately. There was a lot to do, starting with finding a means of transportation, without drawing attention to himself. As Silver Wolf said, it would be inconvenient to rush in and massacre every single Cloud Knight he encountered. So there was no time to waste. In any case, staying there would be counterproductive. He killed most of the members of the organization, and those who remained probably died in the explosion...

The sound of a twig snapping echoed behind him. In an instant, Blade turned, the sword already in his hand. Before he could see who or what it was, it plunged into a stranger's chest, accompanied by a gurgle and a groan. Only then did he realize who he had just pierced: a middle-aged man, one side of his head covered in fresh burns, a dagger in his right hand, his face contorted in surprise and pain.

It had been brave to try to strike at him. Brave, but reckless. Had he slipped away instead of attacking from behind, he might have missed his presence. Or he wouldn't have bothered to chase after him.

The man looked down at the blade in his chest as if he had just realized what had happened. Pain turned to astonishment. Astonishment turned to determination. Finally, in a last effort, the hand holding the dagger rose and fell toward him.

His intention must have been to strike at the chest, but the weak grip barely allowed him to reach the shoulder. Blade felt the dagger sink into his flesh, drawing a grunt of pain out of him. The man noticed, and seemed pleased for a moment to have at least wounded him. But the pleasure turned to horror as the swordsman's grimace faded to indifference. And the sword in his chest was pushed even deeper, ripping his heart apart.

Blade pulled the sword from his attacker's body and dropped him to the wet ground. The man writhed on the damp ground for a moment, eyes fixed on him, lips trembling to form some words.

"What are you?" he murmured, his voice cracking as Blade pulled the dagger from his shoulder.

He did not answer him. There was no need to offer explanations to the dead. He just stood there, watching him until the body stopped shaking, the empty eyes staring at the sky. Only then did Blade lean over him, examining him with cold curiosity.

Reckless, but brave. And he appreciated courage, no matter where it came from.

He would take his dagger with him, and when the time was right, he would pay homage to that man too, along with all the people he had stolen life from. Until, one day, it would be his turn.

Without giving the body another glance, he walked away, leaving behind a trail of flames and destruction. His work was done, and it was time to face his demons once again.

Whether he emerged victorious, or if they would defeat him, remained to be seen.

"My dear employees, this is a very delicate matter. Please make your suggestions and I will consider them carefully."

Sitting on the floor of the Parlor Car, Stelle pushed her reading glasses (stolen from Dan Heng) up her nose, trying to imitate a businesswoman from the movies. Her subordinates, Mr. Trashy, Ms. Garby, and Mr. Junky (the kitchen, bathroom, and engine room trash cans) returned her gaze with trepidation. They knew full well that their careers as consultants could be completely ruined by whatever they suggested.

"The most logical solution, boss, is for you to face the situation head-on," suggested Mr. Junky, the most rational of the three. "The General extended the invitation of his own accord. There's no reason to be afraid. Go to him, listen to what he has to say, and make a decision accordingly."

"No, no, no, boss! That's a terrible idea," squealed Mr. Trashy, the most fearful. "I suggest you barricade yourself in the Express and not attend the meeting. What are you going to do if you don't like what you hear? And do you think Blade would be happy to know that you've been investigating his background behind his back? Of course not! And if he finds out, we'll have to answer to his sword! We'll all die!"

"Oh, shut up, you two! It's clear you don't understand a thing," Ms. Garby, the most aggressive, cut in. "The truth, boss, is that there are only two things you can do to resolve the situation with Blade. The first is to find him and kick his butt for dumping you like an old rag. Preferably with pointy shoes, so he'll remember it for the rest of his long, long life. The second — and the one I'm leaning towards — is to find him and make him understand exactly who's in charge in your relationship. So my suggestion is to pounce on him and have your way with him. Nice and clean."

"NO! THAT'S MADNESS! If she does, he'll kill her! And then he'll kill us too! We'll all die!" cried Mr. Trashy in horror.

"Oh, stop it, Trashy," said Mr. Junky. "Of course he's not going to kill her. That doesn't mean it's not a terrible idea. The situation is complicated and we have to consider all the aspects. This is the only way the boss and Mr. Blade can have a safe and healthy relationship. So it's imperative that she confer with the General—"

"Well," said Ms. Garby, "I still think there's nothing in war and love that can't be solved with a few kicks in the butt and a roll in the hay!"

Stelle cleared her throat, silencing the three trash cans.

"Order, please! And for the record, I'm not asking for love advice. Blade and I don't have that kind of relationship, nor do I have a crush on him."

The three, usually in perpetual disagreement, collectively gave her a skeptical look.

"Of course you don't," they said in unison, dripping with sarcasm.

She crossed her arms and scowled. It had been days since this story had begun, with no progress whatsoever. And those damn trash cans refused to give her any decent advice.

It had been nearly four weeks since she had last seen Blade. Three weeks and five days, to be exact. A lot had happened since then.

First, their plan to enjoy the Belobog festival in peace had been derailed by the IPC and one of its executives, Topaz. They intended to collect a huge debt that had accumulated over seven hundred years, or else to gain the perpetual servitude of the planet. A great testament to poor Bronya's resilience was that she hadn't gone mad after yet another crisis.

Then, after things had settled down, she and March had participated in an interstellar Aetherium Wars tournament. She had finally managed to distract herself from all her problems. They had even adopted a Warp Trotter — Puffball — who was now dozing blissfully on one of the couches. She had wanted to name them The Ivory Menace, but March had vehemently objected.

Towards the end of the event, however, something brought it all back to her. 

Silver Wolf had appeared via hologram to take part in the tournament. Stelle tried to ask her how Blade was doing and how he was coping with the Mara. The only answer she got was a cryptic "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

As a result, when she and March finally returned to the Express to leave Belobog, her mind was even more cluttered than before. And now a new feeling was rising in her.

It was anxiety. The worst kind of anxiety, she might add. The kind that makes you question yourself.

In the end, it was true that she wasn't involved in any way. Blade's affairs — apart from what concerned Dan Heng's safety — were none of her business. He made it plenty clear. And she was pretty sure that Dan Heng himself didn't want her involved. It was the one thing she gathered in the long, painful four-hour lecture he had given her when she had reunited with him and March. Nor could she say that he was wrong. What right did she have to interfere in something she could not possibly understand? And even if she did understand, what could she do? If anything, she risked making things more complicated.

It had been her idea to return to the Luofu when they left Jarilo-VI. She even had a good excuse to keep March from accompanying her everywhere. It was true that Jing Yuan had personally invited her to visit him, after all. And as suspicious as Dan Heng had been when she told him, he hadn't tried to stop her. All she had to do was take action.

But they had been on the Luofu for two days, and she was the only one who hadn't left yet. Almost all the other crew members were ashore. Himeko had gone to get spare parts for the engine room. Welt was looking for "interesting scenarios". March had gone to buy the newly released volume of Wuthering Hearts. Only Pom-Pom and Dan Heng were on the train with her, and even the latter had gone out the day before. Nothing was holding her back, yet she kept procrastinating. And the more she procrastinated, the more she became afraid of what was waiting for her.

So even that day, she found an excuse to put it off: helping Pom-Pom clean the trash cans. All the while, she felt like a complete coward. And now, those same trash cans had the audacity to think they knew her feelings better than she did!

"Listen, boss, it's time for you to face the truth," Ms. Garby said. "You have a crush on that psychopath. The sooner you admit it, the sooner we can move on to the mattress mambo. Or the butt-kicking. Or both."

"I told you, I don't have a crush on Blade," she replied firmly.

Sure, he was handsome. And strong. And when he fought, his eyes lit up just so. But that didn't mean anything. She had fought with a lot of attractive people. He was one of many.

She didn't have a crush.

"And yet, everything points in that direction. You even put the handkerchief you lent him and the whetstone you stole from him in a place of honor on the treasure shelf," Mr. Junky countered, as logical as ever.

"That in no way implies that I have feelings for him. And I didn't steal the whetstone, for the record."

Sure, he had been nice to her a few times. Starting with the handkerchief incident. Or when he let her keep the whetstone. Or when he took her for a walk in the snow. Or when he saved her life in the tunnel. Or when he revealed that he had met her before she lost her memory. Or again—

No. Absolutely not. She had to stop right there. Okay, he had been nice to her many times, but that didn't mean there was anything special about it. Neither on her part nor on his. And even though the latter fact made her stomach turn, it still didn't mean that she had a crush.

"I know it's awful, boss, but you should admit there's a problem," Mr. Trashy whimpered. "Only then can we solve it and keep everyone from dying."

"There's no problem because I don't have a crush," Stelle repeated stubbornly.

She didn't want to think about how warm his embrace was or how nice his hands were when he massaged hers. Nor did she want to remember that when he had leaned his forehead against hers, she had foolishly thought that he was going to kiss her.

She shouldn't think about it, because if she did, having a crush would seem less impossible. And if she ever accepted having one, she would also have to accept having feelings for a dangerous and unstable person. For an unrepentant criminal who, as far as she knew, had killed hundreds of people without a second thought. For the same man who wanted to kill her best friend.

She remembered what she had told him during their walk in the snow: when you love someone, that person is the only thing you want. Everything about that person. For better or for worse. It was something she strongly believed in. Admitting to having feelings for Blade meant accepting everything about him, even the 'worse'. But any reasonable person would understand that accepting it would be madness. Was she capable of that? Could she throw all reason out the window and plunge into the abyss?

She couldn't love halfway. Either she did or she didn't. If she had doubts, it meant she didn't like him enough. It was as simple as that.

The trash cans looked at her with open skepticism, and she was about to launch into a sermon on all the reasons why what they were saying didn't make sense. But right then, a shrill scream echoed through the carriage.

"STELLE! Don't play with the trash cans! Especially not in the Parlor Car."

Stelle jumped to her feet as if she had sat on a bed of nettles. She pushed Dan Heng's glasses on her forehead to see her 'attacker' better. Of course, it was none other than Pom-Pom, who approached with a broom in hand.

"I wasn't playing with the trash cans," she said. And it was true: she wasn't playing. She was having a debate!

"You were supposed to be cleaning them!" the conductor scolded her, their long ears trembling with irritation.

"I did," she countered, pointing to the cans.

Skeptical, Pom-Pom approached and examined the cans one by one. Realizing she hadn't lied, they grunted in agreement.

"Well, what are you waiting for, girl? Go put them back in their place! Come on, we haven't got all day!"

Stelle didn't need to be told twice: making the Conductor angry was a terrible idea. So it was time to adjourn the meeting and dismiss her subordinates until further developments.

Avoiding more distractions, she completed the task and returned the containers to their respective places. When she got back to the Parlor Car, she expected Pom-Pom to immediately assign her another task. Instead, she found them examining a strange piece of paper on a table.

"Why do strange things keep finding their way onto our train?" they muttered, ears vibrating with nervousness. "We need to update security around here."

Intrigued, Stelle approached and peered over the conductor's head.

"What's going on? What's that?"

"Pom-Pom doesn't know. It wasn't here this morning."

In fact, that kind of paper wasn't the type they used aboard the Express. She had only seen similar ones on the Luofu. Had the others brought it on board?

Cautiously, she took the sheet from the table and turned it over in her hands. It was folded like a letter, but there was no sender's or recipient's name. She could see faint traces of ink, but they were illegible.

"Did someone sneak onto the Express?" she wondered aloud. "Or was it a ghost?"

Pom-Pom shuddered.

"Please don't say such things! It's creepy!"

Either way, she wouldn't know until she checked inside. Hoping not to incur a curse for doing so, she carefully unfolded the sheet. The moment she did, the ink traces became sharper, and crisp characters appeared on the paper, forming one word at a time.

"I have learned of your return to your home, how you upended the ancient seas and saved the world from danger. I am sure this has recovered your forgotten memories. In accordance with our old vow, we should once again roam our lands of past, drink in celebration and recount our great adventures."

 

At least it didn't look like a cursed letter, and its purpose was quite clear. It was an invitation, and unless someone else had recently opened the sea, the recipient was Dan Heng. However, both the calligraphy and the speech pattern were unfamiliar to her.

Who could it be? The terms of the invitation seemed friendly enough, so maybe Jing Yuan?

...No, come to think of it, it couldn't be him. If it was the General, he would have signed the message. He had no reason not to. But who else would have an interest in inviting Dan Heng to supposed 'celebrations'?

Another much more disturbing idea came to her. She knew of another person who would have every interest in meeting Dan Heng: Blade, of course.

A feeling of threat clenched her stomach and her brain froze. If it was him, what would she do? Of course, Dan Heng's safety was her priority, but she didn't want to fight him if she could help it. She wasn't even sure if she could win if it came to that: Blade was a damn strong fighter, much more experienced than she was, and had no qualms about killing. Dan Heng had managed to fend him off so far, but he didn't underestimate him either. They'd have to face him together, and Dan Heng would probably have to use his powers...

Before these thoughts could overwhelm her, she forced herself to stay calm and think. It wouldn't help anyone to jump to conclusions, and she didn't want Pom-Pom to worry if there wasn't a concrete reason. Even now, they were watching her with concern.

Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she reread the invitation. The more she thought about it, the less likely it seemed that Blade was behind it. Why would he send an invitation to Dan Heng? It wasn't his style. If it were Kafka, she might believe it, but he didn't play such games. If he had the means to get a message to the Express, he would find a way to get there himself. And if he could get there himself, he would simply attack. Also, he said he would avoid Dan Heng for the time being, because it was against his orders. So it couldn't be him, right?

Somewhat reassured, but not completely, she folded the letter back and tried to smile at Pom-Pom.

"It's for Dan Heng. Maybe it's from someone he knows."

"Oh, okay! With all your friends coming and going, one of them might have brought it for him." Pom-Pom sighed in relief. "Why don't you take it to him, Stelle? Whoever sent it will want an answer."

Oh, there was no need to ask! If she wanted to get to the bottom of this, it would be best to ask the man himself.

"Alright. I'll go right away!"

Trying not to sound too eager, she put the letter in her pocket and left the car. She tried to keep a normal pace until she reached the next wagon, but at that point all pretense fell away and she practically ran to the archive.

"Dan Heng, are you there? Can I come in?" she called, knocking on the door at the same time.

"Come in. It's open," he replied, his voice calm and steady in contrast to her agitation.

Stelle entered the room and saw Dan Heng sitting in front of one of the many monitors in the archive. He was busy transferring data from a notepad into the computer, the blue light of the screen casting a multitude of shadows on his face. He finished transcribing the sentence he was working on before turning to her.

"What is it, Stelle? Do you need..."

He paused, his gaze moving up her face until it settled on her head.

"Are those my glasses?"

It took Stelle a moment to realize what he meant. She touched her forehead and realized that Dan Heng's reading glasses were indeed still there.

"Oh. Yes. They are, actually."

"That's where they went," he replied in a monotone that didn't bode well for her. "Where did you get them?"

"I found them while I was... scavenging in the archive. Sorry."

Embarrassed, Stelle removed the glasses from her forehead and offered them as a peace offering. Dan Heng took them, but his stern expression didn't soften at all.

"You've taken to stealing anything that shines now?"

"I didn't steal them! I borrowed them! I would have returned them immediately! It's just that they're cute, so I wanted to see how they looked on me."

That. And they were shiny!

"...Stelle."

His voice, halfway between reproach and annoyance, alarmed her. She had spent enough time with Dan Heng to know when a lecture was on the way, and she still hadn't recovered from the last one. Not to mention that this was definitely not the time.

"Anyway, that's not why I'm here!" she interrupted before he could start. "Look what I found in the Parlor Car."

She took the letter out of her pocket and handed it to him. The gesture was enough to distract Dan Heng. His gaze shifted from her to the paper and he gently took it from her hand. Stelle watched him as he unfolded it, the gray-green eyes moving from side to side as he read the contents.

"There's no signature, and no place or date. It seems that whoever wrote this message expects me to remember," he said when he finished, looking up at her. "I'm afraid they're going to be disappointed."

"I was wondering earlier if it was from Blade. What do you think?" she asked him, shifting her weight anxiously from one foot to the other. "Because if there's even a chance that it's from him, I'm ready to be your bodyguard! I'll stay with you all day, every day!"

"Stelle."

"I'm going to sleep in the archive. Don't worry, I won't take up much space! A small corner is all I need. And I don't snore at night, so I won't bother you... I think."

"Stelle!"

At her friend's decisive call, she fell silent. Having finally gotten her attention, Dan Heng's voice softened again.

"Calm down. I don't think it's Blade. It's not his style."

She smiled, relieved. So she was right! And if Dan Heng, who had known him longer than anyone, said so, then she could relax.

"Who do you think wrote it? If you want, I can help you find out. After all, it's been a long time since we've done anything together. I can also call March. She's out, but I'm sure..."

"Thanks," he interrupted her, "but honestly, I wouldn't even know where to start."

Dan Heng was calm and collected as usual, and he had spoken to her kindly. Still, it only took a moment for her to realize that she had been rejected.

It was all right, she told herself. He was a reserved person. If he didn't want her around, she couldn't force him. Anything related to Dan Feng was a delicate matter for him. Only recently, because of her own involvement with Blade, she was beginning to realize just how much.

She shouldn't take it as a slight. She shouldn't feel hurt. She shouldn't think that he didn't trust her.

"All right," she murmured, trying not to look disappointed. "It's something that affects you, so you know how to handle it better than anyone."

A flash of guilt crossed Dan Heng's face and he opened his mouth as if to say something. Instead, he changed his mind.

"If you don't mind, I think I should keep this letter. Anything related to Dan Feng's past should be carefully preserved."

Stelle nodded.

"Of course. After all, it's addressed to you."

She hesitated for a moment, trying to think of something else to say. Or hoping that he would speak. But neither of them said anything, and in the end, Stelle couldn't find a good reason to stay.

"I'll go then," she said.

Dan Heng nodded in understanding, but did nothing to stop her. So she turned and left the archive, walking at a slow pace back to the Parlor Car.

When she arrived, Pom-Pom was gone. They had probably gone to another car or the engine room to do some work. At any other time, she would have gone looking for them to see if they needed any help. Now, though, the mere thought of doing anything made her feel nauseous. So she collapsed on the nearest couch and curled up in a corner like a cat.

Everything was fine, she tried to tell herself. Dan Heng was capable and he had lived on his own for a long time. He could take care of himself, and he wasn't obligated to share everything with them, just like she wasn't. An unwritten rule of the Express was that each of them had their past and burdens, and no one should judge or interfere. Likewise, if one of them asked for help, they should be there. It was a rule that had always served them well, and she had no reason to change it now. Besides, Dan Heng had confirmed that this invitation most likely hadn't come from Blade. So, at least for the moment, he wasn't in any immediate danger. And she would not be caught between two fires again.

For now.

It hadn't been ten minutes when the door of the carriage opened again and Dan Heng appeared in the doorway. At first, Stelle thought he had changed his mind and wanted to discuss the matter of the letter with her. But it took her only a moment to realize that wasn't the case. He had put on his usual white and teal coat, and from his brisk and determined pace, it was clear that he was just passing through. His mind must have been elsewhere too, because it took him a moment to realize she was there. When he noticed her, he stopped in surprise.

"Oh. You're here." His face returned to its usual neutral expression. "I'm going out. If the Conductor comes looking for me, can you let them know?"

"Okay. Where are you going?" she asked.

Dan Heng didn't answer right away. Stelle realized that he didn't want to reveal it nor lie to her. In the end, he decided on a compromise.

"There's something I want to check. It shouldn't take long."

"Do you want me to—?"

"No."

Before she could finish her suggestion, he had already rejected it, silencing any protest. She slumped back onto the couch, her eyes downcast.

Realizing that he had reacted a bit too harshly, he hesitated again. He looked to the back of the wagon, where the exit awaited him. Then he looked at her. Finally, he approached her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"I'll be back soon. I promise."

He gave her one of his rare smiles, which she couldn't help but return despite her concern. Seeing that her mood had lifted a bit, he let go of her shoulder and headed for the exit. Stelle watched him go in silence, her gaze fixed on him until his back disappeared behind the carriage door.

He had told her not to worry, but she couldn't shake a bad feeling. The letter was suspicious, no matter how she looked at it. Why else hadn't the sender signed it? She didn't feel comfortable, and the fact that he wanted to leave her there doing nothing while he investigated didn't sit well with her.

On the other hand, if he had decided not to trust her, she couldn't blame him. After all, with Blade's problem hanging over her head, she didn't seem like the most reliable friend right now.

...She hated all this. And she felt lonely.

While she was thinking about it, Puffball had woken up from their nap and when they saw her so gloomy, they jumped on the couch next to her. Stelle felt their snout brush against her hand, and when she looked down at them, the Warp Trotter tilted their head to the side with a soft squeak. It almost seemed as if they wanted to comfort her.

Stelle smiled and stroked their head.

"Staying here and brooding isn't like me, is it?" she said.

Puffball rubbed against her hand in what seemed an agreement, and she nodded.

"You're right. I've waited too long. If I don't like this situation, only I can fix it."

She jumped to her feet and stretched. She wasn't the type to brood. She was the type to take action, bat in hand, ready to fight against a thousand odds. She would not go against Dan Heng's wishes. If he wanted to investigate on his own, that was his right. But that didn't stop her from continuing her personal investigation. There was more than one possibility that the two issues were connected, anyway. And if that would bring her a little closer to unraveling the huge tangle that was Blade's past... well, all the better!

She grabbed a notepad and pen from one of the tables in the carriage and scribbled a message to Pom-Pom, letting them know that both she and Dan Heng had gone out. Then she gave Puffball one last pat.

"Stay here and be good, okay? I have a General to visit."

Chapter Text

The last time Blade left the Xianzhou Luofu, the ship was recovering from a crisis. The tension was still high, but it was gradually easing. He expected things to be much calmer upon his return.

That wasn't exactly the case. If anything, security had increased.

When he had arrived a few days earlier, he hadn't expected his entry to be uneventful. Reaching the Hexafleet itself wasn't a major problem: it was so large that it didn't go unnoticed. The problems came after that. It would have been easy to blend in anywhere else, but on the Luofu he was on top of the wanted list. The entire ship had been plastered with posters of his image until a few weeks before. The fact that he had managed to get in at all was due to the impeccable fake identity provided by Silver Wolf. Perhaps also because no one expected a wanted criminal to have the audacity to reappear so soon.

Nevertheless, he had managed to infiltrate the Luofu without leaving a trail of blood. He was sure that Jing Yuan would appreciate that, considering that it was his men they were talking about. And since the Hunters' safe house in the Divination Commission had not been compromised yet, he had a reliable foothold for as long as he would stay. Not that he spent much time there.

Since his arrival, Blade's main activity had been to keep an eye on what happened around him, and several things caught his eye.

First, there was indeed an increase in security. The change was rather subtle, and Alliance citizens might not even have noticed it, as it didn't affect their routine. However, Cloud Knight patrols had been strengthened.

Second, the Mara-struck were more active. It was inevitable to encounter mutated Mara-stricken people on the Xianzhou ships. Most citizens, when they began to have symptoms, went to the Alchemy Commission for initial treatment. Then, they were registered and monitored. But there were always those who didn't, whether for fear of repercussions or other reasons. Sometimes these individuals persisted until it was too late. Usually, when a citizen encountered one of these abominations, they would contact the authorities and let them handle the matter. This time, though, the situation seemed a bit more serious.

There weren't more cases than usual — at least not that he had noticed — but they had become more aggressive. They roamed closer to inhabited areas, and even if there were no victims, the ship had become less safe. And Blade, who had to frequent isolated areas to avoid the authorities, had been attacked twice in three days.

But the strangest thing was that — aside from protecting citizens — the authorities were not trying to get to the root of the problem. Considering how efficient they were in dealing with such things, it was strange that they were standing idly by.

Something was brewing. But aside from noting the facts, Blade had neither the time nor the will to worry about it. What he was interested in was a single place, and that was Scalegorge Waterscape. More specifically, Dragonvista Rain Hall, next to the High Elder Statue.

The letter didn't say where or when the meeting would take place, but Blade was sure of the place. Only the date was unknown, and for that reason, he had spent the last few days watching the area.

So far there had been no movement. And while he waited, questions continued to flood his mind. For example, why had Jingliu reappeared after all this time? Why had she decided to fulfill their old promise now? And how had she managed to get her message to him? It didn't seem like something she was capable of. And even though a person could change a lot over the centuries, it wasn't her style. Maybe she had someone helping her? But who was it? And what about her Mara?

Everything was so murky. And that, combined with exhaustion and Mara, made his stay a veritable nightmare. His mind's tendency to slip back in time whenever he let his guard down didn't help. Be it events from centuries before or more recent ones.

For example, the memory of light footsteps following him through the streets of the Divination Commission.

He was on his way to the Alchemy Commission to reach Scalegorge Waterscape. As always, he had to take the same side street he had walked with Stelle the night Kafka sealed his memory. As always, he knew he would feel her presence at his side all the way to the intersection. 

Anyone else would have thought he was going crazy, but Blade didn't care. His mental health had been compromised for centuries, and this was a minor symptom. Or even a distraction from more oppressive thoughts.

He had told her never to come near him again, and he hoped that she would listen. But the memories belonged to him. They were his . Until the Mara allowed it, no one could take them away.

If only they had also served to let him escape reality, that would have been wonderful. Unfortunately, that was not to be.

The path he walked was isolated and remote. There was no one else but him. He had made sure of that, given his desire to avoid law enforcement. So when he heard fast footsteps coming towards him — footsteps that did not exist only in his head — he realized he was in danger.

An armed figure appeared in front of him from an alley, a rusty glaive trying to cut him down. He intercepted it with his sword before it could strike him. The weapons clashed, stopping the assailant's clumsy attack. He must have once been a Cloud Knight, at least judging by the remains of his uniform. However, he had long since been Mara-stricken: his body was severely mutated, his face covered in solid bark. Every breath he took was a heavy wheeze, his movements hampered by the mutations. Given his condition, it was a miracle he could still wield his weapon.

A life form violated and ruined by the Abundance. The final fate of the Mara-struck.

A fate that might eventually become his own.

The thought crossed his mind at the worst possible moment. Instead of counterattacking immediately, his hand hesitated for a split second. That was enough for the knight to swing his glaive in a wide arc. Blade dodged, but the delay prevented him from completely avoiding the weapon.

It reached his left arm, and the sharp pain finally jolted him. Without any more hesitation, he sliced through the knight, who fell to the ground with a groan. Blade struck him again in the chest to make sure he wouldn't get up, and when he was sure he was dead, he sheathed his sword to examine his injured arm.

The former soldier's glaive had grazed him, leaving a superficial cut. It broke the skin, but the muscle wasn't damaged too badly. It would soon heal without a trace. Still, it was bleeding enough to annoy him, and walking around with stained clothes was a sure way to attract attention. A bandage would be much more inconspicuous.

He pulled out the gauze he always carried as a precaution and roughly wrapped it around the wound. As he tied it, his treacherous brain flashed another image, like a frame from a movie.

An alley in Belobog, in the Underworld. A girl with gray hair pressing a white handkerchief against a much more serious wound. Her astonished — but not disgusted — expression when she realized how quickly it was healing.

Frustrated, Blade closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to chase the image away from his mind. It could conspire as much as it wanted to make him think about her, but he wouldn't give in. He had lived for centuries without knowing her. He could continue to do so. Memories had to be enough.

"He went that way!"

An unfamiliar voice, followed by rapid, unsynchronized steps, brought him back to reality. There must have been at least two people — Cloud Knights, most likely — and they were approaching. They were hunting the same abomination he had vanquished.

He couldn't let them find him there. If they saw him injured, they would insist on checking his condition. And if they looked, they might recognize him.

He had to go.

Before they could reach him, he slipped into a side alley, getting away from the scene through an alternative route. He knew the area well, having visited it recently. And even if he hadn't, this was the Luofu. Foggy memory or not, it used to be his home once.

Because of the detour, it took him a little longer than usual to reach the Alchemy Commission, but he didn't encounter any other problems. By the time he reached the large courtyard, his wound had already healed. Still, he decided to keep the bandage on. It helped him blend in with the patients passing through the courtyard, waiting to be seen by one of the healers.

During the crisis, the dragon-shaped tree in the center of the courtyard had been surrounded by the wounded — both soldiers and civilians. He hadn't had a chance to observe the situation, but he remembered the chaos and the healers scrambling to take care of everyone.

Now, the situation was back under control. The healers continued to receive the less serious patients in the courtyard, but all the procedures were smooth and organized.

Or at least almost everything was.

As he lingered in the shade of the tree, Blade noticed a small figure jumping from one patient to another, full of positive energy. A Vidyadhara girl draped in precious silks, tiny draconic horns adorning her forehead, a scaly tail whipping behind her with each step.

Draconic features were not common among the Vidyadhara. In the eyes of anyone, they would have been enough to attract attention. But that wasn't the case with Blade. What caught his attention was the long lavender braid. A distinctive color he had only seen on one person in his entire life.

A color etched into his memory, as vivid as the first day he saw it.

A memory centuries old, of a day like any other on the Xianzhou Zhuming. A day that had been one of the turning points of his entire existence.

When he first met her, Yingxing was perhaps twelve or thirteen years old. He had recently become the apprentice of General Huaiyan, Master of the Artisanship Commission of the Zhuming. He had no idea what he had seen in him among all the aspiring craftsmen who offered their services. Perhaps a talent that Yingxing himself was unaware of. Or he was impressed by his dedication and perseverance. Or maybe he felt sorry for him. Whatever the reason, he had been given a great honor, and he intended to repay it in any way possible.

He worked diligently every day. He was always the first to arrive at the forge and the last to leave. And of course, whenever the Master entrusted him with a task, he did his best to complete it.

That day was no different. They were expecting a delegation from the Yaoqing. They were coming to request reinforcements and weapons for the Crane Feather Orbit Fleet. The Master was supposed to receive them personally, but at the last minute, he had assigned Yingxing to go in his place. He was too busy with the production of new weapons and couldn't get away in time. So, he had to greet them upon their arrival, show them around the Flamedisk Forge Palace, and entertain them.

Many other apprentices would have gladly accepted that simple task, if only to get the Master's attention. Yingxing, though, would have preferred to refuse. He had never been good with people: he was too shy and taciturn to be a good entertainer. He wanted to stay at the forge, where the hard work distracted him from both the nightmares of the past and the annoyed looks of the other apprentices. But orders were orders. So he went to Radiant Zenith — the starskiff port — to greet the delegation.

The Yaoqing envoys were a dozen people, all sent by the Military Affairs Office. And of course, they were all adults. So when he informed them that he — a short-life species boy — had been sent by General Huaiyan, they looked at him with obvious surprise. One of them in particular — a Foxian lady with long lavender hair — didn't take her eyes off him for a moment. 

Maybe they all thought it was a joke. And no matter how hard he tried to appear serious and dignified as befitting a proud Zhuming craftsman, he ended up stuttering like an idiot.

He hadn't spent two minutes with the delegation, and he already wished he could disappear.

As he led the guests to the Flamedisk Forge Palace, things didn't get any better. They kept bombarding him with questions about their chances of getting what they came for. But he knew nothing about that, and his evasive answers didn't please them. When they finally stopped asking, Yingxing felt more than ever that he had failed at his task.

"Hey."

He looked up and met the bright green eyes of the Foxian lady. While he was distracted, she approached him and now walked at his side, matching his pace. Her smile was lively and reassuring, but the boy — trapped in his youthful self-pity — couldn't respond in kind.

"You said your name was Yingxing, right?" she asked, since her greeting had gone unanswered. "I'm Baiheng. Would you mind chatting with me?"

Yingxing, who had been staring at the tips of her ears in fascination — he was still not used to meeting so many Foxians — lowered his gaze so as not to appear rude.

"I'm sorry, miss. If you want to know more about your request, I can't—"

"Oh, no, no, no! None of that!" she interrupted, waving her hands in front of her in denial. "I just want to talk! You know, to pass the time until we get to the Palace." She leaned toward him like a conspirator, looking at her companions who were trailing behind them. "My traveling partners are good people, but they're always so serious. We've talked about nothing but weapons and soldiers all the way here. At one point, I tried to talk about this lovely sweet shop I found on the Yaoqing, and they thought I wanted to use cakes to fight the Borisin!"

She sighed and shook her head, drawing a small smile from Yingxing.

"All right," he replied. "I'm not very interesting, but if it makes the trip more enjoyable to you..."

She beamed and immediately bombarded him with questions. At first, Yingxing thought it was an excuse to find out more about his Master or the goals of their mission. Instead, she seemed genuinely interested in him. She asked how old he was, how long he had been General Huaiyan's apprentice, and if he liked his work. She asked what he liked to do in his spare time, what his favorite food was, and many other unimportant details. And each of his answers seemed to interest her, as if she cared about what he had to say.

Intrigued by her laid-back attitude, Yingxing observed her more closely. Judging by her appearance, she seemed to be the youngest of the delegation. Since they were all long-life species, though, so it was hard to tell. In any case, she was clearly the type who attracted people. She was pretty, cheerful, and bright, and before he knew it, he found himself relaxing around her.

It might have been because she was kind to him — really kind, not like the affected politeness of the other apprentices. And while the Master was nice to him, it was different from him as well. It was like talking to a friend, and for him — who had none — it was a pleasant experience. He felt so comfortable that when she asked him where he came from and how he got to the Zhuming, he was able to answer without the words catching in his throat. He didn't go into details — he didn't want to dredge up those horrible memories. He only mentioned the wolves that attacked his planet and the fate of his people. That was enough for her to understand how things had gone and why he wanted to become a craftsman.

"So you ran away from your home planet and want to help the Cloud Knights defeat the monsters that hurt your family?"

Yingxing nodded.

"I am not a warrior and I cannot fight. But if I can do my part to stop these abominations and protect other people, then I'm honored to work for the Alliance."

Baiheng's smile, which had faded after hearing his story, lit up again. A little less bright than before, but still sweet and understanding.

"You really are an asset, Yingxing."

The compliment tickled something inside him, and he felt warmth rise to his ears. Trying to hide it, he lowered his head.

"I… I'm nothing special."

"You came here on your own, caught the eye of General Huaiyan, became his personal apprentice, and you're already a craftsman at your age," she replied, raising a finger for each item on her list. "That sounds like a bit more than 'nothing', don't you think?"

"I mostly do repairs and small jobs. The Master has never allowed me to forge a weapon on my own."

"At your age, most kids don't even know what it means to work," Baiheng replied. "Not that that's a bad thing. Having a carefree childhood is a privilege in itself. But you know what I mean."

Once again, that warm feeling gripped his stomach. It was nice to hear such praise, especially from this kind and sympathetic young woman. Every time he tried to believe it, though, he saw the condescending looks of the other craftsmen. He heard their words, gentle in tone but veiled with contempt, as they looked at his work. And his mood sank again.

"The other masters say I have a long way to go," he said. "It's not that I lack enthusiasm or motivation. It's just that I will never live as long as they will. That's why my knowledge will always be limited. I may not even live long enough to see my parents avenged."

In the end, that's what it all came down to. No matter how hard he tried, his life was a drop in the ocean. Compared to the people of the Xianzhou Alliance, it would vanish in the blink of an eye. What would all his work be worth if he didn't have the time to achieve what he strived for? His existence was insignificant, and it wouldn't change anything. And his family, once he was gone, would be just another group of nameless victims who would never find justice.

Baiheng frowned. Her good mood was gone, her hands clenched into fists. Yingxing wouldn't have been too surprised if smoke had come out of her ears.

"Don't listen to those old geezers," she snapped in disdain. "They're jealous of you."

He raised his head again, surprised by her reaction.

"Jealous of me?"

"Exactly." Baiheng nodded firmly. "The length of your life has nothing to do with it. The Genius Society is full of short-life geniuses, and that hasn't stopped their discoveries from shaking the entire cosmos. Believe in yourself and focus on what you want to do. Fate will take care of the rest."

There was no hesitation in her words. That's why Yingxing took them seriously. Was it possible that time didn't matter? That his existence would not only be useful, but also important and remembered? After spending all this time being told that it was impossible, he should have doubted it. And yet, it suddenly seemed like a possibility.

With a weight lifted from his chest, he smiled at her — his first real smile since the wolves had arrived. It was nice to feel that someone believed in him and his abilities. Even if it was a stranger. Even if he might not see her again.

Realizing that he was staring, he lowered his gaze, the smile replaced by a serious expression.

"But I still can't ignore everything the masters tell me. Especially General Huaiyan. He's always kind to me and has taught me a lot."

"Of course! You must show respect to your Master and learn everything you can from him," Baiheng agreed. "But don't let others judge what you're worth. That's something only you can decide."

She regained her bright smile and reached out to pat his head. On impulse, Yingxing stopped her by blocking her hand with his.

"...I'm not a child," he grumbled.

After a moment of surprise, Baiheng laughed and withdrew her hand.

"Alright, alright. No head patting, at least until your Master allows you to forge weapons on your own. Then you'll have to allow me. As a token of congratulations. Is that okay?"

He nodded. He liked the prospect, if only because it meant that she would come back. And if she did come back, it meant he would have a chance to thank her. For her kindness, for believing in him when he needed it. For encouraging him to keep going. Maybe it meant nothing to her — just a few nice words for a kid she pitied. But to him, it was something huge. And not only would he prove her right by becoming the best craftsman in the fleet. He would also repay the favor when the time was right. He didn't know how or when, but he would.

This kind and wonderful person deserved nothing less.

"Hey. Can you hear me?"

A small hand touched his, and the daydream dissolved. He was no longer a child, but a man who had lived far too long. And the figure in front of him was no longer a young Foxian, but the lavender-haired Vidyadhara girl. She was smaller than he had been when he first met Baiheng, her fingers stubby against his, her face round and chubby like many children's. But for a moment, Blade was convinced that he was still lost in his illusion. And how could he not be? The color of her hair, the way she squinted at him with curiosity, even the inflection of her voice — though altered by childhood — were the ones he remembered.

"You are..."

His attempt to speak failed, his voice choking.

Baiheng.

His first, true friend. The girl he owed everything he had become to. The person who had ushered in the best time of his life. And the one who had ended it.

"Baiheng, wait! Where are you going? The enemy is too close! You will never make it in time!"

He had tried to stop her. He knew it was dangerous. He knew that the chances of victory were slim and that he would most likely lose two friends that day. He didn't want to lose a third. If he could give his life to save them all, he would. But he was powerless. She wasn't, and she knew it. That's why he failed.

"Don't worry, Little Yingxing. My luck has never failed me, and it won't start now. I'll be back soon, I promise. And Jingliu and Imbibitor Lunae will be with me."

He remembered her confident smile, the certainty in her voice. And he remembered that, in the insane situation they were in, he had believed her. Baiheng never failed. No matter how crazy the circumstances, no matter how dangerous the mission, she always came back. And that was why he had tried to help her. To give her the time she needed.

"Engineers, I want all the artillery deployed against Shuhu! Rain down everything we have left on that thing! For every second we gain, we can save hundreds of lives!"

He heard his own voice barking orders over the roar of battle. The sound of a starskiff taking off, heading for the heart of the enemy lines. He remembered the fear, the anticipation, the hope as he eagerly awaited the return of his friends. The return of Baiheng.

But she didn't keep her promise. She never returned.

The small hand pulled his again, requesting his attention.

"Answer me if you can hear me! You look terrible. Have you seen a ghost?"

The Vidyadhara girl looked up at him, her small face wrinkled with worry.

Blade shook his head.

"Not a ghost."

She scratched the side of her head in confusion, but in the end, she shrugged. Letting go of his hand, she pointed to his arm.

"Are you hurt? What happened? Were you attacked?"

He looked at the bandage covering a nearly healed wound.

"It's nothing."

"Don't lie to a doctor," the girl replied, crossing her arms. "Come with me and let me look at that bandage."

Before he could protest, she circled him, placed her hands on his back, and pushed him toward a bench at the side of the courtyard. Surprised by her concern, Blade offered no resistance. In fact, he only fully realized the situation when the girl pushed him onto the bench. By the time he regained the ability to react, she had already taken some vials and spare gauze from a medical box and was reaching for the bandage.

"I am Bailu, by the way. And from now on, I will be your doctor. Is this your first time here? I've never seen you before."

Blade recoiled, preventing her from unwrapping the bandage, and ignored the question.

"I know who you are, Dragon Lady," he told her instead, his gaze going to the small pink horns on her forehead. Even if he hadn't known, her features were enough to reveal her identity. In this case, however, the circumstances were much more complicated than that. There were many good reasons why he would be aware of this girl's existence. Unfortunately, each of them poisoned his mind and broke his heart.

Bailu noticed the trajectory of his eyes and brought her hands to her forehead, as if to hide the protrusions.

"I'm one of the Commission's healers now, so those titles are irrelevant. Now, hold still, and let me look at the wound."

This time, she moved faster than he could retreat and grabbed a corner of the bandage. At that point, the only option Blade had to stop her would have been to push her away. And given her small frame, he would have risked hurting her. Something he couldn't and wouldn't do. So he had no choice but to admit defeat and let her continue. Maybe he should have thought about how to justify his healing powers, but his brain was blocked as if he had a fever.

So he stayed still, watching Bailu's movements as she untied the bandage and leaned toward the wound. Fortunately for Blade, a thick crust had formed during the healing process, covering most of it. It looked pretty normal for now.

"...It is nothing serious. Looks like it's a day or two old," she observed, scratching her chin. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she examined the edge of the wound, making a puzzled grimace. She glanced at the condition of his sleeve — torn and bloodied at the edges — then back at the already healed wound. Finally, she took one of her ointments and applied it to the wound before re-bandaging it with clean gauze.

"There you go," she said, her professional tone tempered by a toothy smile. "Give it a few more days and you'll be as good as new. Remember to put a few drops of this on it every time you change the bandages."

She handed him the bottle of the same ointment she had used and stepped back to give him space.

Blade turned the bottle between his fingers, the clear liquid rippling against the glass. He imagined it was an ointment against infection. A precaution he didn't need: even if the wound had become infected, it couldn't have killed him.

"It's not necessary."

Bailu looked at him sternly, hands on hips.

"The wound could become infected."

"It won't. Use it on someone who needs it more than I do."

Without further explanation, he handed the bottle back to her. She didn't insist, but looked at him as if he were a big puzzle to be solved. Blade was about to get up when her question stopped him.

"You are Mara-struck, aren't you?"

He didn't confirm it, but he didn't bother to deny it either. She was a healer and knew her subject. His symptoms couldn't have escaped her.

"Have you informed the authorities of your condition?" she asked.

"They already know." 

He was one of the Alliance's most famous exiles. There were probably files upon files about him and his condition in the Ten Lords Commission.

Bailu sighed in relief. The thought of having to report him herself must not have been pleasant.

"As far as I can see, you're still in the early stages. There are no mutations, and you appear to be in control" she said. "If you take good care of yourself, it will be several years before the Ten Lords Commission comes for you. So come see me at least once a week. I'll take care of you personally. In exchange, I only ask that you bring me some candy from time to time!"

She gave him a big smile, hands on hips in a heroic pose. And again, Blade saw another figure intersect with hers.

Baiheng, jumping off her Starskiff — one she hadn't destroyed yet — with that same smile on her lips. Baiheng, waving a bottle of fine wine from her travels, her thick tail quivering with excitement.

"I'm back, guys! Who's ready to celebrate?"

"Dragon Lady."

He called her before he had even decided what to say, and when he realized it, Bailu was already leaning towards him, ready to listen.

There were so many things he wanted to say to her. So many that he didn't even know where to begin. ‘I'm sorry I couldn't protect you’, for example. Or, ‘I'm sorry things turned out the way they did’. But what good would that do? This innocent child remembered absolutely nothing. She didn't know how she was connected to the past, and to know would only disrupt her life. And unlike Dan Feng, she wasn't a sinner.

There was no price to pay for Baiheng, nor could he inflict one on her to ease his conscience.

"Are you happy?"

Bailu tilted her head to the side in surprise. To her, this question seemed completely out of place. But Blade stayed where he was, waiting for an answer.

"Well, the Preceptors are a real nuisance and the whole business of becoming the new High Elder is a hassle. Sometimes everyone is so overbearing that I don't have time to play as much as I'd like," she finally said with a slight pout. But then she smiled again. "But I've met many nice people, and I like helping here. So, yes. I am happy."

Those words were like a small miracle to him. A huge weight was lifted from his heart, and for a brief moment, the constant murmur of the Mara became less oppressive.

If she was happy, then all had not been in vain. Maybe there was still something worth saving in the midst of all this horror. And even if he would never forgive himself for what he had done, at least he hadn't destroyed her second chance. And maybe, at least in this life, she would finally have all the happiness she deserved.

He rose from the bench and stroked her hair, the same way Baiheng used to do when he was a boy. An encouragement and a blessing.

"Thank you for your kindness, Dragon Lady. I hope your happy days never end, and that you spend the rest of your life surrounded by loyal friends and kind smiles."

Bailu's eyes opened wide as she looked up at him, and it almost seemed as if she recognized him.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

But Blade didn't answer and simply strode away. She didn't need to know. She didn't even had to think about him.

Bailu did not follow him, nor did she try to call him back, and he was grateful for that. There was no need to say more: he had heard everything he wanted to hear, and if only for that reason, this stop hadn't been in vain.

He walked towards his final destination—Scalegorge Waterscape—ready to face his past once more. In his heart, he had already decided what he had to do.

One last gamble to obtain what he wanted or to put his soul to rest once more. One last attempt to get, if not forgiveness, at least peace. He didn't want anything else.

Though it took Stelle some time to visit the Seat of Divine Foresight, she headed there as fast as a speeding train. She didn't want anything to stop her. Unfortunately, it was always at those moments that something would get in her way.

Right now, that something was a Vidyadhara named Qingzu, Chief Councelor of the Divine Foresight. Or rather, as Stelle called her, the Chief Gatekeeper of Jing Yuan.

"I'm sorry, Miss Stelle. The General is unavailable, and it's unlikely you'll have the chance to meet with him today. I would recommend returning tomorrow, or in a couple of days."

Her stern countenance, folded arms, and authoritative tone left no room for doubt. She was trying to dismiss her. 

Stelle was sure that Qingzu considered her a troublemaker. Of course, it wasn't true at all. Since she had known her, the most Stelle had done was look around in search of trash cans, try to read a couple of files labeled "confidential," and sneak inside to play with the giant holographic chessboard. Who would get upset about such trivialities?

Whatever the case, she wasn't planning to leave. She hadn't spent days gathering the courage to speak to Jing Yuan just to be turned away. She had the General's permission to come and go as she pleased, so Qingzu couldn't do anything. Not as long as Stelle behaved herself and didn't cause trouble.

"I can wait. After all, I have nothing better to do, and I have a lot of video games on my phone."

Ignoring Qingzu's puzzled expression, she strode into the main hall and sat on the pedestal of a lion-shaped statue.

"It might take a long time."

"No problem. I brought a power bank," Stelle said, and to make it clear that she wouldn't leave, pulled out her cell phone. What could she play in the meantime? Her favorite open-world RPG had released a new explorable area, and it seemed like a great way to kill some time. On the other hand, she had yet to get three stars in the endgame mode of the turn-based RPG she had started recently. And then there was Mortal Arena 2, of course, but it felt wrong to play it without Blade and Silver Wolf...

Qingzu rubbed her temple, impatient.

"...Why has everyone decided to show up here today, I wonder?"

Stelle, who was about to start one of the video games, stopped, her finger hovering over the screen.

"What do you mean?"

The Counselor shot her a glare, annoyed by her persistence. Eventually, though, she sighed and relented. 

"I suppose if I don't tell you, you'll find out from your friend anyway. There's not much sense in keeping it hidden."

Her friend?

"...Dan Heng?"

Among her friends, he was the only one who had reason to go there. Especially if he had decided to investigate the letter.

"Yes," Qingzu confirmed. "But he wasn't the only one. We had another unexpected visitor today. Someone we never expected to show up."

"An important person?"

"A legend," the woman corrected her. "Have you ever heard of Jingliu of the Cangcheng?"

Jingliu...

The name sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite recall where she had heard it before. It couldn't be someone she had met in person, otherwise she would remember. She knew of the Cangcheng, though. She read something about it in the history books she had flipped through.

Originally, the ships of the Xianzhou Alliance were nine: the Luofu, the Fanghu, the Yaoqing, the Xuling, the Yuque, the Zhuming, the Yuanqiao, the Daiyu, and the Cangcheng. Currently, though, only six remained. The Daiyu had intentionally crashed on the planet Thalassa to contain a Viscorpi-induced epidemic. It happened around seven thousand years before. The Yuanqiao had been lost almost five thousand years before, during the Civil War. It lost control and crashed into a red giant. As for the Cangcheng, it had been devoured by a living planet about eighteen hundred years before.

The fact that she could remember all these details was a testament to Stelle's love for anecdotal knowledge. Despite that, she knew very little about the actual events and their context. She couldn't even imagine how a planet could devour a ship. From what she remembered, an Emanator of Abundance was involved. In that case, anything was possible. Emanators were people chosen directly from an Aeon to use the power of their Path. They were crazy powerful compared to normal Pathstriders.

But the point was that if this Jingliu was a survivor of the Cangcheng, she was probably around two thousand years old by now. How had she managed to evade the Mara for that long?

"I've heard the name somewhere," Stelle admitted, stowing her phone away. She had the feeling that this discussion deserved her full attention.

Qingzu was surprised by her ignorance. Still, since she was an outsider, she explained with a tinge or resignation:

"She is the former Sword Champion of the Luofu and the mentor of the General."

At these words, Stelle's memory finally awakened. Quite sometime before, she and March had found a jade tracer dropped by Yanqing, while he was hunting Blade. The two of them had seen the recording of his encounter with a mysterious woman. A beautiful woman with a blindfold over her eyes.

At first, she seemed to be a civilian that Yanqing had saved from the abominations. However, things had become disturbing really fast. The woman turned out to be a formidable swordswoman, and despite her graceful and calm manners, she spoke oddly, as if her mind wasn't quite there. When Yanqing realized that something was wrong and tried to arrest her, she toyed with him for a while before attacking him. And with a technique like that, it was a testament to the young lieutenant's skill that he came out unscathed.

Later, when she and March talked to Jing Yuan about it, he confirmed that Jingliu was his master. But there was another detail: at the time of her encounter with Yanqing, the swordswoman was looking for Blade.

...This situation was beginning to bother her.

"Why did Jingliu come here?" she asked.

"To turn herself in to the authorities," Qingzu replied. "It's a long story, but to make it short, Jingliu was overcome by the Mara several centuries ago. She lost her mind and killed many people until the General defeated her in battle. Since then, she has disappeared without a trace. Until today, that is."

Well, that answered her previous question. She hadn't evaded the Mara. That explained why her behavior was so unsettling.

"So, after centuries in hiding, she decided to come here and surrender? Just like that?"

Qingzu nodded, and from the way her eyebrows furrowed, she was as puzzled as Stelle was.

"It seems that way. She surrendered to us without any resistance. The only thing she asked for was to have a day to herself, to visit some places and see some friends. The General agreed."

The letter.

The memory of the refined words on the strange piece of paper unfolded before her. Wasn't it about visiting places of the past and celebrating with some friends? Maybe the invitation really came from Jingliu? After all, she was Jing Yuan's mentor. And Jing Yuan was an old friend of Dan Feng's...

She stood up, unable to stay still, and it took a lot of willpower to stop herself from pacing back and forth.

"Was she here when Dan Heng passed by?"

"Yes. Jingliu specifically asked to be accompanied by him during her visit, and he agreed. Considering that she was a close friend of Imbibitor Lunae, I'm not surprised."

Qingzu shrugged, more concerned about Jingliu's motives for getting arrested than the request. Stelle, on the other hand, felt as if she had swallowed a blacksmith's anvil.

"Where were they going?"

"Jingliu mentioned Scalegorge Waterscape, although I think she wanted to stop somewhere else first. Lieutenant Yanqing went with them as well. I still can't believe the General allowed it, but—"

The rest of her words were lost to Stelle.

Scalegorge Waterscape.

Somehow, that place kept popping up, like it was the epicenter of the whole thing. And now Dan Heng was heading there with this potentially dangerous woman they knew almost nothing about.

"Where is the General?" she asked, cutting her off mid-sentence.

"As I told you," the Councilor replied impatiently, "he is busy with urgent matters. I'm not at liberty to divulge any further details."

Great. So, besides the problem with the millennial swordswoman, the General was also nowhere to be found.

She had to do something. She couldn't stand there and wait.

"Okay. I understand. Thank you, Qingzu. I have to go now."

Before the Counselor could say or do anything, she walked past her and quickly left the palace.

As she passed the guards, her mind was filled with ominous forebodings. She didn't know Jingliu, so she had no reason to trust her. If anything, after hearing about her past, she had reason to fear the worst. Then there was the matter of Blade. If she was Jing Yuan's mentor and an old friend of Dan Feng's, it was a given that she knew him. Stelle didn't know what Blade's exact relationship to the rest of the group was, but there was a chance that he was one of the 'friends' she wanted to meet. At the very least, she was looking for him at the time of the recording.

What if she had contacted him somehow, like with Dan Heng? What if he decided to show up?

She had to contact March, Himeko, and Welt, and they had to search for Dan Heng immediately. They had to besiege Scalegorge Waterscape if necessary!

She had already taken out her cell phone when she suddenly stopped. Without realizing it, she had reached the edge of the street, the bustling thoroughfare drowning out her fears. Amid the people passing by, chatting, smiling, and going about their lives, her frayed nerves calmed. She started to think clearly again.

It was true that Jingliu hadn't made a good impression on her, but in reality, she didn't know her at all. If she was Mara-struck, her condition looked more similar to Blade's than the mindless abominations that roamed around. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to negotiate terms for her surrender. If that was the case, perhaps what had happened with Yanqing was an occasional spike. Maybe the Mara flared up that one time, but she was capable of controlling herself for the most part.

Another thing to consider was the General. If he — who knew her best — thought it was safe to let her roam freely on the Luofu, then it had to count for something. He even allowed his apprentice to accompany her. He wouldn't intentionally put Yanqing in a situation he couldn't handle.

There was also the chance that Jing Yuan had a plan to handle this situation. Maybe the increased number of Cloud Knights patrolling the streets — a detail she had noticed in passing— was due to that. What if, by storming Scalegorge Waterscape, they ended up ruining his plans and putting everyone in danger?

As for the possibility of Blade's presence, she couldn't be sure. Not without knowing his exact relationship with Jingliu. And even if she wanted to invite him, how could she contact him? The Stellaron Hunters were difficult to locate unless they wanted to be found.

Looking at things rationally was always a good idea: it helped to put things into perspective.

She moved to the side of the road so as not to disturb the passersby, unlocked her phone screen, and began scrolling through her contacts. She thought about calling Dan Heng or Jing Yuan, but changed her mind. If Dan Heng was with Jingliu, he wouldn't have the opportunity to answer. Jing Yuan was probably busy with the 'urgent matters' that Qingzu had mentioned. As for Blade, she didn't have his contact, and even if she did, she was sure that he wouldn't answer her. Not after the way they parted.

But there was one person she could call.

She found the contact she was looking for and initiated the call. Fortunately, she didn't have to wait long. On the second ring, Silver Wolf answered in the most unenthusiastic tone she had ever heard.

"What do you want, Stelle? If you want to play Mortal Arena 2, I can't this time. I'm assisting both Kafka and Sam on two different missions at the same time, so I'm very busy."

Stelle didn't mind her obvious annoyance, as she had no intention of taking up too much of her time. On the contrary, the sooner she got to the point, the better.

"Don't worry, I'll be quick. Could you tell me if Blade—"

"No," came the immediate answer.

Stelle blinked in surprise.

"I haven't even asked yet!"

"Blade has forbidden me to tell you anything about where he is and what he's doing," Silver Wolf explained. "And you know what he is like. He's terrifying when he's angry, and he can hold a grudge for centuries."

"Could you at least give me a hint? A tiny one?" Stelle pleaded, trying to put all the energy of her best puppy eyes into her voice.

She just wanted to hear that Blade wasn't on the Luofu and wasn't involved in this matter. That he was on a mission somewhere else, giving hell to people who hopefully deserved it. Nothing else.

Unfortunately, her attempt met with an inevitable critical failure.

"Don't try to sweet-talk me, it won't work. I care about my peace and well-being, so the answer is no."

"No one will tell him you did it. Please!" Stelle tried again, undeterred.