“You scared me badly. I thought the lamia had wounded you,” Neymar said, his voice filled with genuine concern.

  Kel’s head felt as if it were splitting apart, and a dull ache gnawed at his chest. He forced himself to sit up.

  So he had actually passed out. Good that it happened now, not in the middle of the fight.

  “I helped as much as I could,” Neymar went on in an apologetic tone. “But my strength doesn’t stretch very far.”

  “Thank you. Did I miss anything interesting?”

  He had been unconscious for about ten minutes. In that time, the camp had been thrown into alarm. The mages reported detecting a massive surge of mana and, together with a detachment of soldiers, headed toward the place where they hoped to catch one of the archmage’s accomplices. So far, no one had returned with news of success.

  Well then, my plan worked. The crossing of mana currents and the forming corrosion zone helped my spells stay unnoticed for a while. The final strike couldn’t be hidden, of course, but against that backdrop the teleport was almost invisible and gave us a chance to slip away quickly. Good thing the magic threads only register spells and can barely interfere on their own. And any trace of the portal to the camp will easily get lost among the marks left by the Tower mages themselves.

  “As you understand, I couldn’t leave your side, so I had to rely on what drifted in from the camp,” Neymar said. “Maybe we’ll learn more once we get back.” He ruffled his fair hair with a nervous gesture, glanced at Kel, but said nothing more.

  And asked nothing. Even though it was obvious he wanted to. He had promised not to pry–and he kept that promise. Kel felt a sincere surge of relief that fate had given him a companion like this.

  So he said, “I swear on my life–I’m not the archmage’s accomplice. You don’t need to worry about that.”

  And there wasn’t a word of lie in it.

  Neymar’s face brightened.

  Kel went on, “If we stop by one more place before resting, will you be able to heal if needed?”

  “If you help me with mana, I can.”

  “Good.”

  Though Kel hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He felt awful as it was.

  They headed to the part of the camp where the kitchens were.This time the girls weren’t cooking – they sat silently at the corner of the table. They looked even more worn out than before. But they were alive, and that meant the severance ritual had worked. The lamia hadn’t managed to drag them with her to the other side.

  Kel tried to smile in a friendly way.“Hey. Sixth… and everyone else.”

  Unfortunately, he had only remembered the unusual name of one of the girls.

  “Do you remember me? I’m Kiana’s brother. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

  They weren’t doing well. Madam Janet had disappeared the day before and hadn’t returned. The girls had been under her care, and without Janet no one intended to keep them in the camp. The head cook had said he already had enough proper helpers and told them to leave tomorrow. They wouldn’t be fed here anymore.

  “I feel sorry for the kids,” Neimar said when they left the kitchen and headed to check on Vanessa.

  “I do too,” Kel agreed. But he had absolutely no idea how he could help them.

  At the healers’ tent, they were met with good news – Vanessa had regained consciousness. And, judging by everything, she was feeling fairly well.

  They heard her voice before even stepping inside.

  “I always wanted to be a warrior, you know. It’s a shame Father wouldn’t let me join the assault on the castle. At least after the archmage’s death he allowed me to see how real heroes live. So I went to the Wastes to meet the Alliance soldiers… and the first thing that greeted me was a monster. Not a very heroic story, when you think about it.”

  “Looks like my squad has gathered the most talented liars on the continent,” Kel thought and pushed aside the tent flap.

  Vanessa still hadn’t left her bed, but she no longer looked like a corpse. More like someone exhausted, slowly recovering after a long illness.

  “The healers from yesterday weren’t in the tent. Instead, an elderly woman in the robes of the Temple of the Silver-Handed was adjusting Vanessa’s pillows. She gave the two gays an irritated look.

  ‘When visiting a lady, you should announce yourselves first, to avoid awkward situations,’ the woman remarked in a lecturing tone.

  My entire life lately is one endless awkward situation, Kel thought.

  Noise drifted in from outside.

  “My lady, I’ll fetch some medicinal broth. I’ll be back shortly,” the woman said to Vanessa. She nodded.

  Kel would have bet anything the healer wasn’t worried about broth at all, but about news from the returning mages. He could feel the flows of mana stirring across the camp as portals activated one after another.

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  As soon as the woman left, Vanessa asked only one question.

  “Did it work?”

  After hearing the answer, she hid her face in her hands.

  ‘Is it really over?’ she asked after a while.

  “Yes… and no,” Kel said, taking a seat on the chair beside the bed. An idea had suddenly occurred to him, and he went on.

  “Usually, in stories, the hero defeats the monster and that’s where everything ends. The storytellers might add a celebratory feast for good measure. Our situation is a little more complicated. The lamia had many victims. Three of them are here in this camp.”

  Vanessa flinched and looked up.

  “That’s why I wanted to ask you to take them with you. Maybe you need servants. Or perhaps there are special homes for such children in your lands. I’m afraid that if the girls are left on their own, nothing good awaits them.’”

  They left the camp as soon as it was safe to move Vanessa.

  Kel hadn’t planned to stay that long. According to his original plan, he was supposed to spend no more than a day in the camp. Now he worried they had drawn unnecessary attention. It was already something of a miracle that a wounded baron’s daughter had barely interested anyone. Only once did one of Vanessa’s father’s former comrades stop by to check on them.

  The mages roaming the camp were in a foul mood.

  Using their magical nets, they had managed to capture several dozen of the dark archmage’s accomplices. But the big fish had slipped through their fingers. And when the mage responsible for the massive surge of mana also escaped, their tempers soured completely. The mages understood all too well that every servant of the archmage who got away would become a future headache for them.

  The trick with the corrosion zone had wounded their pride just as badly.

  So Kel was genuinely relieved when they were finally able to leave.

  This time, they reached the borders of the Wastelands without any incidents.

  Vanessa’s condition still caused some concern and arguments along the way, but in the end Neymar insisted it would be better to send her through a portal than to shake her for three days over nearly nonexistent roads.”

  The hardest part was explaining everything to Vanessa’s father. When he saw his wounded daughter, he flew into a rage and swore to execute everyone responsible. Vanessa and Ingis had to put in real effort to calm him down.

  Kel paid no attention to the baron’s threats. They didn’t worry him in the slightest.

  Something else did: Kiana.

  No–killing the lamia had helped, and the girl was clearly recovering. She had become healthier, more energetic… and more observant.

  Kel possessed the archmage’s knowledge, but not his memories. From Kelmir, he had inherited only the body.

  She noticed it in the smallest things.

  At first, Kiana couldn’t even explain what exactly felt wrong. It was just a vague sense of unease, like a note slightly out of tune in a familiar melody. Her brother was alive, walking, talking, protecting her – but sometimes he felt… off.

  He also stopped fidgeting.

  Before, Kelmir had always been restless – tapping his fingers, shifting his weight, pacing when anxious. This version of him could stand perfectly still for minutes on end, eyes distant, focused on something only he could see.

  Kiana told herself it was trauma. People changed after nearly dying. Everyone said so.

  But then there were the words.

  Sometimes he used expressions Kelmir had never used before–odd turns of phrase, strangely formal, or too careful. Other times he hesitated over things he should have known instantly. Just little pauses. Heartbeats of silence.

  And the way he looked at the world…

  Kelmir had always looked at things. This Kel looked through them, as if seeing layers beneath the surface. As if everything around him was a problem waiting to be solved.

  Worst of all, he looked at her differently.

  Not colder. If anything, more attentive. Protective in a way that felt calculated rather than instinctive – like someone guarding something precious they had been entrusted with, not something that was simply part of them.

  Kiana began to test him, without realizing she was doing it.

  She mentioned old jokes. Childhood memories. Half-finished stories.

  Sometimes he laughed a beat too late. Sometimes he nodded, letting her talk, carefully avoiding adding details of his own.

  He never contradicted her.

  That was what frightened her most.

  Kelmir used to argue. About stupid things. About everything.

  This Kel listened.

  She started watching him when she thought he didn’t notice.

  The way he held a cup, like someone unaccustomed to an ordinary body. The way he spoke to nobles without fear, as if he had spent a lifetime commanding them. The strange, distant look that appeared whenever magic was mentioned.

  Her brother had been kind but simple. This Kel was sharp, dangerous, and far too calm.

  One evening she asked, almost casually,“Do you still hate honey cakes?”

  Kelmir had loved them.

  Kel frowned, searching for the right answer, and in that tiny pause Kiana understood more than any confession could have told her.

  Kiana didn’t think he was an enemy. She didn’t think he wanted to hurt her. On the contrary–she felt safer around him than ever before.

  But deep down, a quiet, terrible thought began to take root.

  My brother came back.

  But not all of him did.

  And she was no longer sure which part was missing.

  Ingis approached quietly, careful not to startle her. Kiana was sitting on a low wooden bench, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at the ground.

  “Are you alright?” he asked softly, keeping his voice low.

  Kiana looked up, her expression guarded. “I… I’m fine,” she said, but her eyes flickered with suspicion.

  Ingis sat down a little distance away, not too close. “I know you’ve been through a lot. ”

  She frowned. “I’m not a child. I can handle it.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Ingis said, keeping his tone calm, almost gentle. “But I also know that sometimes the heart notices things the mind doesn’t. You’ve been watching him… your brother.”

  Kiana’s grip on her knees tightened. “He is my brother. Of course he is.”

  Ingis nodded slowly. “Yes… but sometimes, even those we trust most can behave in ways that make us question everything. You’ve noticed things, haven’t you?”

  Her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t answer.

  “Ask yourself,” Ingis continued, “is it his mannerisms, the things he forgets, the questions he answers strangely… or is it your own fear making shadows where there are none?”

  Kiana’s eyes narrowed, a mix of anger and confusion. “And if it’s true?”

  Ingis let a heavy silence settle between them before replying. “Then we proceed carefully. Step by step. Truth, when forced, can break more than it heals. Watch. Learn. Protect yourself… and those you care about.”

  She looked away, the wind moving her hair across her face. She wanted to speak, to demand answers –b ut she didn’t. Instead, she sat quietly, letting his words sink in, while suspicion and unease coiled tighter in her chest.