Dawn is breaking.

  The hill is no longer tense. The cold is still there, but it’s different. Like when the body finally stops fighting, and only then starts to hurt.

  I see Lucian and Mara walking back toward us. Lucian comes all the way to me. Mara stays a few meters behind.

  He picks up the sword from the ground. With a single motion, it vanishes, becoming a crucifix. He hangs it around his neck.

  “You’re leaving,” I say. It isn’t a question.

  He nods.

  “For now.”

  I don’t know what to say. Not because I have nothing to say, but because I have too much.

  “I won’t apologize,” he says after a pause. “But I won’t try to convince you of anything either.”

  I look at him closely. For the first time in a long while, I don’t see the paladin.

  I see my older brother.

  “Thank you,” I say. “For stopping.”

  His lips tighten slightly.

  “I stopped because you asked me to.”

  That hurts more than it should.

  We hug. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Enough.

  “Take care,” he says.

  “I always do.”

  He smiles faintly. Then he turns to Lorcan. His expression changes completely. They don’t greet each other with hostility—but not with courtesy either.

  “This isn’t over,” Lucian says.

  “It never is,” Lorcan replies.

  They hold each other’s gaze a second longer than necessary. Then Lucian turns away and leaves without looking back. From a distance, I see Mara and the spear-bearing figure give me a brief nod.

  The three of them walk off, with Yoma following behind.

  The place is empty again.

  “Am I late?” a voice asks.

  It’s a tall man with deep dark circles under his eyes and messy dark hair. He wears a black breastplate over a white shirt. He must have run here—he’s still catching his breath.

  “You missed all the fun, Faust,” Lorcan’s grandfather says.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  “Mr Helmut, parking your truck is impossible. It takes up multiple spaces.”

  “Don’t explain logistics to me when there are priorities.”

  The man opens his mouth. Closes it. Gives up. Celeste walks up behind him and wraps her arms around him.

  “It’s okay, Cyril,” Celeste says softly. “They left before you arrived.”

  I don’t understand any of this—or who these people are—but Lorcan looks relieved to see them. Or maybe just glad it’s over. For now.

  Elisabeth finally approaches us. She pulls both of us into a hug. Lorcan lets out a pained yelp.

  “Are you alright?” she asks.

  “We’re fine,” I say.

  “Speak for yourself,” Lorcan mutters.

  Elisabeth releases us.

  “Let’s go home. We all need sleep.”

  “Lorcan needs medical attention,” the old man says.

  “I’m fine. I can hold out a bit longer,” Lorcan replies.

  I look at the hill one last time.

  The place where it started.

  The place where I almost lost two people I care about—because of a decision I had already made.

  “Yes,” I say. “Let’s go.”

  A few hours later.

  The infirmary at the Kestrel mansion doesn’t look like an infirmary. It’s too clean. Too orderly. Like everything else in this house.

  Lorcan is sitting on the examination table, his torso partially bandaged, his left shoulder temporarily immobilized. He doesn’t complain.

  I’m standing in front of him, an open first-aid kit on the tray beside me, my phone propped up against a metal surface.

  “Don’t move,” I say.

  “I’m not moving.”

  “You were thinking about it.”

  He raises an eyebrow slightly. Still, he obeys.

  His face is still marked with cuts and burns. I’ll have to deal with those later.

  The phone plays a video with an overly cheerful voice.

  “Are you seriously following a tutorial?” Lorcan asks.

  “I once took a full first-aid course,” I reply. “Online. These videos are from the premium

  Elisabeth has been standing in the doorway for a while now, arms crossed, a glass of wine in hand. She watches silently, with that expression I can never quite decipher.

  A little farther back stands Helmut—Lorcan’s grandfather.

  “That should be done by someone with proper training,” he says.

  Elisabeth raises a hand without looking at him.

  “If you interrupt,” she says, “I’ll kick you out of your own infirmary.”

  Helmut frowns, clears his throat, and takes a step back.

  Lorcan smiles. So do I.

  I keep wrapping the bandage.

  “This is going to hurt a bit.”

  “Everything that was going to hurt already did today.”

  I don’t know if he’s talking about his shoulder.

  When I finish, I step back to inspect my work. It’s not perfect. But it’ll hold.

  “There,” I say. “Your arm won’t fall off.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  “It’s… the least I could do.”

  I put the supplies away. Turn off the video. The silence that follows is… expectant.

  “How are you feeling, Elena?” Elisabeth asks.

  The question sounds simple. It isn’t.

  I lean against the metal table. Think a second longer than necessary.

  “Tired,” I say at last. “But not confused.”

  Lorcan looks at me. He doesn’t interrupt.

  “I chose,” I continue. “I dodged protocols. I got everyone into trouble. And now it feels like everyone’s waiting for something to happen.”

  Elisabeth steps closer. Sets her cup aside.

  “Now,” she says, “comes the least dramatic thing in the world.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Living.”

  I blink.

  “You learn. You make mistakes. You get angry. You laugh…” She pauses. “And if you want, we train you.”

  “Train me?”

  Elisabeth nods. Lorcan looks surprised.

  “How?”

  “Let the adults handle that.”

  Helmut clears his throat.

  “You chose the hardest path,” he says. “But it’s the only one worth taking.”

  I look at Lorcan.

  “And you?” I ask.

  He takes a second before answering.

  “I suppose it’s for the best,” he says. “Besides—I’m still here.”

  That’s… enough for me.

  Elisabeth nods, satisfied. The moment dissolves on its own, as if it has fulfilled its purpose.

  “Rest,” Elisabeth orders. “No one slept today.”

  “A very unproductive Sunday,” Helmut adds.

  That’s when it hits me.

  Tomorrow is Monday.

  The week starts again.

  Nothing is the same.

  And that doesn’t scare me anymore.