“She’s insane…”

  “You already said it the first time.”

  “And I’ll say it again as many times as necessary, Sev.”

  “And I’ll ask you again as many times as necessary not to call me that way, girl.”

  Tristessa sighed, feeling no pain in her chest. She was half-naked from the waist up, covering her breasts with a towel, leaving the injured part of her chest exposed. A few centimeters below her sternum, a large, dark bruise had spread, now being attacked by healing magic, reminding Tristessa of when the Baptism in Ruins used to haunt that same spot.

  The strike she had suffered from Aurelia had torn through her abdominal muscles and the integrity of her stomach and diaphragm. Had it not been for the two elemental blood glyphs that the attacker herself conjured…

  “You could have died. Choking on your own vomit and blood,” Severus had warned her, now sitting across from her, his cane pointed at the wound, the glintstone just a few inches from touching its surface. “Favalon Koros.”

  He whispered the same healing spell he had used on her in a forlorn past, and with greater effectiveness than Aurelia had. It didn't seem long before the muscle tissue would finish regenerating thanks to the luminous aura around it, leaving only the blood vessels beneath the skin to heal.

  “By Kantrus, you're incredibly lucky. A little more to the left and that blow would have imploded your heart.”

  “Seeing you so worried about me makes my heart implode.” That's what Tristessa longed to say aloud, to express the love she felt for that elf, along with the permanent blush that adorned her cheeks from being half-naked before him. But she didn't want to upset or freak him out more than necessary, given the circumstances. And because she wasn't the only one he was worried about. “Severus... We're going to save them. You know that, don't you? We've already come this far... Only one more step left.”

  She didn't tell him she loved him, but she dared to place her right hand on his cheek, drawing his attention away from the wound and into her gray gaze. She offered him a tender smile, which the blood elf accepted with a nod, on the verge of tears.

  “I hope you're ready for another miracle, lady.” Flushed, Tristessa glanced at the table in the center of the room, where Auron was readying speedloaders with new bullets and doing some basic maintenance to his weapons. There were cleaning supplies scattered along the table, such as cloth rags, vials of black oil, and small, highly complex tools. “We’re going to face Aurelia Eramisaptor. Just thinking about it makes my stomach churn. I fear it will end up like yours.”

  “Luckily, our thaumaturge here is becoming quite the expert healer.”

  “Don’t exaggerate.”

  “Graa!” Behind Severus, Vergil roared in a friendly manner, but with a pitch so loud that the elf jumped.

  “See? Vergil agrees.”

  “You and your aracross, Tristessa…” In that moment, the girl’s stomach rumbled in anger, demanding sustenance. “I’m afraid our guest only had the decency of giving us water.”

  “Don’t worry: if I eat something right now, I’m going to throw it up…” she said, a longing smile tugging at her lips as fragments of a memory she had recovered some days ago at the Inn stirred within her. About a blurred place on Earth that was abounding with a divine aroma worthy of the Gods. “But I’d sell my soul for a slice of pizza.”

  “Pissa?” Severus raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

  “…let’s leave that for another moment.”

  Illuminated by magical lamps in the corners of the ceiling, the room they were in was nothing more than a hall in the Lord’s Castle’s military barracks. Made of cold, damp stone, it contained five beds, wardrobes with uniforms and civilian clothes, bookshelves, and that long table with several chairs. It was now deserted of military personnel, by order of Aurelia the moment she stepped out of the Hall of the Bereft Throne, so that the duel to the death between them would remain a secret, reserved only for those who witnessed the palaver.

  KLANG! TING!

  The clashing sounds of metal came from Astoria's sword as she practiced her upward and sideways slashes on a dummy. She had removed her armor for more comfortable but equally heavy protective gear, made from a special iron alloy. She was completely focused on perfecting each stance and attack, knowing she would be both the offensive and defensive element in the approaching battle.

  “You should go talk to her when she stops to rest,” the elf whispered to Tristessa. “I'm almost finished here.”

  “You think my words of encouragement will do any good?”

  “Are you joking? You're the reason she just gave up what little she had left in this world... There's no going back now, Tristessa. Not for her, not for us.” The veins finished regenerating, the remaining blood dissipated, and there was no trace of Aurelia's attack left on Tristessa's chest. Severus withdrew his cane and released a weary sigh. “All done and good as new.”

  “Thanks, Sev.”

  Without giving him time to dodge or avoid it, the gray-eyed girl leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek. In response, Severus rolled his eyes and avoided meeting her gaze at all costs.

  “I’ll get to work brewing spirit potions.”

  That was his cue to escape to the table, leaving her alone and rejected.

  “History repeats itself… I’ll never have any luck in love, huh?” she thought, a broken smile playing on her lips as she turned and began to dress, her back to the two men seated at the table. “I think I’ll have to formalize my relationship with Vektra… Oh, I hope Jonas didn’t have too much trouble healing the wounds that evil Sylas inflicted on her…”

  Tristessa’s attempts to distract herself borderline the sad absurd, dwelling on romantic nonsense or the physical condition of the assassin who had left a scar on her soul after what had happened in the previous loop. Anything to avoid succumbing to the fear that grew with each passing second; with each grain of sand that fell into the imaginary hourglass, bringing them ever closer to the appointed time.

  The duel to the death with Aurelia Eramisaptor. Just thinking about it made her hands tremble, making it even harder to fasten the belts of her trench coat.

  “Fuck…f-fuck, fuck…,” she insulted in her inner, frozen domain. “C’mon, idiot. No time to be a fucking coward.”

  Astoria stopped her training after a few minutes. She leaned her greatsword against the wall and unfastened the cast iron-made protections over her limbs and chest, letting them fall to the floor with their inherent hardness. The black linen shirt and trousers she wore were soaked with sweat, as were her face and long hair, which she dried with a towel as soon as she sat down.

  “Good work,” Tristessa said to her, taking the opportunity to sit at her side and offer her a glass of water.

  Astoria removed the towel from her face and placed it on the table. She didn't look tired, nor was she out of breath. She was a machine who could keep practicing for hours if she desired to.

  “I’d like a pint.”

  The overwhelmed grimace Tristessa made upon hearing that comment was devastating. She remembered with grim helplessness what the alcohol had done to Astoria in the previous loop. She remembered her insides spilling out of her body, split in two…

  “Kidding. I’m kidding, damn… You look like someone who lost someone dear,” she said, a hint of annoyance in her voice as she accepted the glass. “Thanks.”

  The platinum-haired woman didn't just gulp down the contents in one go; she attacked the water jug, which held almost two liters of liquid, and downed half of it as if she'd been walking through a merciless desert overwhelmed by the sun's rays. The smell of sweat was strong, and some muscles were faintly defined beneath her shirt. A detail that didn't escape Tristessa's notice, her greedy, love-starved mind scrambling with its priorities.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Hey, Tori. Uh… Look.” She cleared her throat and her thoughts, feeling a little intimidated by Astoria's undivided attention. “I know this is all a relationship of convenience that isn't even official, and it can't have been easy for you to have done what you did… Giving up everything for a dream. I’m grateful that you decided to help me, but, uh, well…”

  “…”

  Astoria went down memory lane for a moment before speaking, as Tristessa’s stutter was leading them nowhere.

  “Lady Eramisaptor accepted me as an Imperial Guard of Entrana when I had nowhere left to go. No one across the Empire wanted anything to do with me, because of my surname… End-World was my last stop, and if I die today at the hands of the woman who took pity on a miserable failure like me, I think I can at least atone for betraying her and daring to dream about a brighter future.”

  “Tori…” Tristessa sensed the knightess was on the verge of despair. A wrong interpretation. Far from it, even; she was surprised to see a determined expression emerge in her icy gaze.

  “But what did I tell you a couple of hours ago, through the military radio? What did I tell you, kitten?”

  “That we will prevail.”

  “Exactly. And I know we will. I will continue dreaming of the future by your side, Tristessa Irandell.”

  With the pitcher half full and stained with saliva and beads of sweat, Astoria poured water into two glasses and handed one to the girl.

  “Don’t worry about me: I’m ready to give it my all,” Astoria assured her, raising her glass and clinking it against Tristessa’s. “To our dreams, cheers!”

  “Yes! Cheers!”

  The two women also waved to Auron and Severus from a distance, causing both men to chuckle and raise a vial of black oil and a flask full of liver bits, respectively.

  “Graa!” Even Vergil celebrated, lying near Severus’s feet, waiting for some of those raw and delicious-looking alchemical ingredients to drop on the floor.

  That moment of calm before the storm was interrupted when Jonas Youngblood entered the room. He wore the same blood-stained suit and tie and carried the catalyst cane he had used for hours trying to save Stormcrow’s life.

  “How is she, Lord Youngblood?” Tristessa asked as soon as the man sat down across the table, exhaustion etched in the wrinkles beginning to appear on his weathered, dark face.

  Not from overexerting himself with healing thaumaturgy, but from the stress of the current situation.

  “Crow will survive. I left her in the hands of the same professional healers who are caring for Karla Luchie.”

  “Is she alright?” Astoria asked, in regards of the merchant. “Shifting into her beast form at such an advanced age... I saw Crywolfean warriors killing themselves from the strain.”

  “Mademe Luchie is good and well, Miss Silverthorn. And you can rest assured, Miss Irandell, that I won’t let anything bad happen to Crow. You have my word.”

  The red-eyed man forced an empathetic smile, aware that he was now the center of attention. It didn't escape Tristessa's notice that Jonas now seemed to see her with a different expression, knowing that she was a Stranger wielding four Divinities.

  “Jonas…”

  It was unsettling. There was gentleness there, but…

  “There isn't much time left, so I'll get straight to the point.” The Advisor pulled Tristessa from her troubled train of thought, forcing her to pay attention along with her allies. “Please, I implore you to be merciful. Don't kill Aurelia.”

  He lowered his head before them. Bowing, a man that was one of the eyes of the highest authority of the Empire of the Night’s Watch, reducing himself before four commoners like them.

  “Please, have mercy. I beg you…”

  Repeating please as many times as necessary wasn't going to snap the quartet out of their shock any faster. Tristessa exchanged confused glances with Astoria, and Auron scratched his head as if bewilderment was part of his scalp.

  Severus spoke first, setting down the mortar he'd been about to use to grind alchemical ingredients.

  “With all due respect, Lord Youngblood, what you're asking is ridiculous. She's the one who proposed the duel to the death, and she won't hesitate for a second to massacre us at the slightest opportunity. Furthermore…” The blood elf clenched his fists to control the fire coursing through his veins, roaring from within. “Not only are our lives at risk, but the Mercer-Archeos's as well. I didn't come all this way to let them die.”

  “I know, young Malak Drakan. Believe me, I know, but…”

  “We're talking about the She-Dragoon of End-World, Lord Youngblood. She has far more combat experience than all of us combined. I'm surprised you have so little faith in someone you've been advising for so many years,” Auron added.

  “Listen, please.” Jonas raised both hands slightly to signal for silence, preventing Tristessa or Aurelia from adding their own comments. “I don’t know what the outcome of the duel will be, but it is my duty to protect the interests of the Empire. I cannot allow the ruler of one of the Dominions to die, even if a duel to the death is perfectly legal.”

  “Are you worried that, by order of hierarchy, you will have to take the reins of End-World?” Astoria asked, causing the man to sigh and his shoulders to slump. He looked older than he was, as if he had lost years of his life in an instant.

  “No, Miss Silverthorn: I’m worried about the death of someone I’ve known since she was a child.”

  Hearing that was like a bucket of cold water being emptied on Tristessa. It silenced the reply she had prepared for Jonas, which wasn’t a malicious or insensitive comment.

  Because she didn’t hate Aurelia.

  “When my path crossed with Aurelia’s, she was the same age as the boy she now seeks to execute alongside his parents. And it’s a cruel twist of fate, since she lost hers at that very age. Both [Abysswalkers], talented in the deadly art of traversing the Evil Dream and highly skilled fighters… So skilled that they trusted their abilities to the point of venturing into an old Shadow Army outpost in the midst of a dimensional shift event. They ignored the warnings of the adventurers’ guild in the city of Stormhall… Their bodies were never recovered.”

  Auron poured fresh water into a glass and placed it near Jonas, his hands clasped together and resting on the table. Downcast, the Advisor took a sip before continuing, clearly a very sensitive subject for him.

  “Aurelia had no one else in the world. Along with Crow, I took her under my wing out of pity and because at that time the Stormhall orphanages were at full capacity. I brought her with me to End-World and paid for her education. I watched her grow up in the halls of this castle until she became the woman she is now…”

  Jonas focused his crimson gaze on Tristessa, as if he wanted her to understand his feelings better than anyone else.

  “The death of her parents turned Aurelia into a zealot of rules and regulations from a young age. That led her to become someone very rigid and calculating; perfect for a military role, but with serious problems socializing. No friends, no lover, no one but me to receive even a few words of encouragement or affection. A bit of human contact, you know?”

  Jonas finished drinking the contents of his glass with a certain level of frustration at the gesture he made when he slammed it down on the table with excessive force, almost breaking it.

  “Aurelia has always been alone, even when she accepted the position of Lady of the Dominion. That could never end well, but the Emperor ordered me to replace the former Lord as soon as possible, and she was the most qualified candidate for the position.”

  “And you think that knowing her tragic past will make me feel sorry for her?” Severus spat, arms crossed and seething with fury. “She, more than anyone, should understand what the destruction of a family is like! She banished my friends because of their daughter’s sins! All three of them innocent, and yet unjustly left to their fate in the outer reaches of End-World!”

  “You have every reason to hate Aurelia, young elf…”

  Jonas stood and clasped his hands together as Tiara had done in the absent throne room. A gesture of prayer, of supplication, of peace before a force that seemed beyond his control, manifested in the vengeful spirit of Severus, to whom Jonas now implored.

  “But I ask you… No, I beg you, from the bottom of my heart, to have mercy on a woman who is capable of being wrong and making mistakes.”

  “…”

  “She fears greatly for End-World, for its people… Otherwise, how do you explain someone like her considering dying at the hands of a Stranger to save the Dominion from the malice of the Lord of Forbidden Knowledge and his Coven?”

  Severus remained silent at the Advisor’s pause. Neither Auron nor Astoria had anything more to say, though their gazes, lost in their own thoughts, gave no sign of whether they agreed or disagreed with him.

  None of them seemed to have the answer to that question… Except for Tristessa.

  She, who with her [Divinity of Death and Resurrection], possessed knowledge she shouldn't have brought into a new timeline. Knowledge of what was about to happen; Aurelia's determination, embodied as an avatar of unwavering justice, so bloodthirsty that it filled everyone in the castle's execution courtyard with fear.

  And remembering what Aurelia had said before she began killing them all in the previous loop:

  “To lay your hopes on a Stranger, thinking that she will turn the scales of our doomed existence in our favor…”

  Tristessa could swear on anything that, the moment Aurelia spoke those words, she had revealed for a fraction of a second just how deep the abyss was into which her soul had fallen long ago.

  It was strange that this image remained etched in her vast library, vandalized and reduced to ashes—her memories—but it worked remarkably well, reaffirming what she felt: she didn't hate Aurelia.

  She couldn't hate that person, so beautiful, so cruel, hopeless, and capable of anything to fulfill her inquisitive sense of justice.

  She couldn't hate that same person, Aurelia Eramisaptor, because she spared the Mercer-Archeos when all of Entrana was crying out for blood. She couldn't hate her because Aurelia was capable of mercy, and it was the titanic weight of her responsibility that dragged her down into that pit of personal misery that repelled everyone around her.

  She couldn't hate Aurelia because she saw something of herself in her. Something that her adoptive father in the shadows confirmed with his final words:

  “At the end of the day, she's a human like us: someone desperate and terrified of the inexorable shadow that is falling over Nekrom.”