"…"
Roxy sat without moving.
The light by the window grew dimmer. She blinked, and the room shivered. Now, instead of houses outside, a barren field stretched away. Dry grass and ragged patches of earth had appeared. A gray sky hung over the horizon.
Sofya stood nearby—same pose, same face, but her gaze had changed. Her lips didn't move, yet the words sounded clear.
"You knew how it would end."
Roxy turned. For a moment her breath caught.
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Death… because of you." The voice was level, as if reciting memorized lines. "You were there."
Roxy backed away, feeling soft ground underfoot.
Sofya took a step. Her dress stirred; her face went paler.
"What are you saying? You're alive—you're standing right in front of me."
"Have you forgotten?"
Everything quivered. The field vanished. In its place—a narrow corridor, gray walls beading with moisture from a web of cracks. The light flickered, smearing into blotches.
Sofya stood at the end of the corridor. Her figure warped, her face lengthened, her eyes grew darker. Her voice sounded closer than it should.
"You forgot how it began."
Sofya reached out. Her fingers touched only air, yet the distance didn't change.
"Look."
Roxy tried to scream, but no sound came. The corridor flared white.
A sharp crack, a flash—and a bolt of lightning tore everything apart.
***
Crack!
The dream snapped off. No warning. Somewhere far off lightning struck, and the thunder that split the sky hung in the air.
The girl's eyes flew open. She stretched slowly, working her shoulders. Her mouth was dry. The last scraps of the dream throbbed in her temples, leaving only irritation behind. Her mood had already crumbled while she was still asleep.
Heavy clouds sagged low overhead, as if the sky were about to cave in. The wind broke loose without warning. It slapped her face, ruffled her hair, and nearly whipped off her pointed hat. Her hand shot up, pinning it to her head.
Roxy squinted.
"Great. Just what I needed…"
Her gaze snagged. Beyond the line of hills something strange churned: a funnel, long and twisted, as if the sky itself were sucking the earth up. The clouds near it moved differently—fast, jagged.
Her fingers slid to her staff.
"Alright… Let's see whose breath is driving this wind."
She rose with lazy reluctance, as if she hadn't meant to move at all. She brushed the dust from the hem of her robe. Without taking her eyes off the funnel, she ran through possible explanations.
Spatial displacement?.. No, wrong color. Illusion? Too massive. Ghost-breath? Then there should be a pulse…
Possibilities flickered—unstable portals, atmospheric tears, the residual bite of ancient rites. None of it fit.
If it were sorcery, there'd be an echo. And there's nothing.
Her hat still wanted to fly off. The wind was rising, tugging at the cloth of her robe. Roxy narrowed her eyes, peering into the whirl.
"So, not magic… Then what?" she muttered, her voice swallowed by the roar.
She stepped forward. The ground trembled, very faintly.
The tip of her staff glowed a little. Roxy ran a palm along the shaft to see if it would answer on its own.
"Silence…" she murmured.
Her gaze climbed back to the sky. The funnel seemed just a little closer.
"Alright. If you're not magic and not an illusion… then we've got a different kind of problem."
The thought had already taken shape: she had to check.
Even if it wasn't dangerous, the locals might decide otherwise. It could scorch crops, scatter livestock, twist a house out of true. With something unfamiliar on the horizon and a mage next door, blame came easy.
Roxy turned lazily and drifted toward the horse.
A door creaked somewhere behind her. Rudy stepped out of the house.
"We've got the end of the world out here, and you stroll out like you just rolled out of bed into paradise," Roxy tossed over her shoulder.
"Well, if it's the end of the world, that means no lessons?" he called back, coming closer.
"Naïve. If it's the end of the world, lessons are accelerated."
"With a final exam at the end?"
"With surviving alone. Try not to flunk."
Roxy stopped by the horse and stroked its neck.
Rudy halted halfway, tipped his head back. He squinted, hand to his brow as if that would help him see what was boiling past the hills.
"Is that moving? Or is it just me?"
He didn't raise his voice. There was caution in it.
"It's moving," Roxy said. "And I'm afraid not because of us."
Rudy fell quiet. Then he stepped closer, came to stand beside her. The wind worried at his shirt and drove dust into his eyes. He didn't even try to wipe it away.
"Listen," Rudy said, now right beside her, "if it doesn't notice us, can we pretend we don't see it either?"
"And if it eats half the village? You going to play the fly on the wall?" she drawled.
"You'll cover me, right?"
"Mmm… You overestimate my sense of responsibility. Or underestimate the price of my patience."
"Seriously," Rudy said more quietly. "Is it something serious?"
Roxy cut him a sidelong glance. The wind whipped her hair; her eyes were slightly narrowed.
"Don't know yet. But if it isn't serious, that's worse. It means someone can't be bothered to hide their tricks, and I'll have to go find whoever learned that poorly…"
Rudy snorted, and his smile held something between amusement and nerves. A spark lit his eyes: he looked genuinely pleased that something was finally happening.
"Can I come with you?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
Roxy snorted.
"You sure you want in on this? Not just because you're bored?"
"Absolutely. I'm your apprentice. Might come in handy as live bait."
"Convincing," she said, amused.
He only shrugged.
"I'm going anyway, unless you forbid it. So you can save time on the speeches."
Roxy sighed. She shook her head. When she spoke, the distance was gone from her voice; what remained was weary resignation.
"All right then… Go fetch the saddle, since you're so determined."
Rudy jerked a nod and hurried back into the house. The door thumped a moment later. Roxy stayed where she was, stroking the horse's neck, checking whether it was ready for another foolish excursion.
"Live bait, huh…" she murmured under her breath, tilting her head. "I should probably teach him not to scream if something crawls out."
A couple of minutes later Rudy returned, dragging the saddle with a conqueror's air, only slightly out of breath. He held it out to Roxy, doing his best to look solemn.
"Ready."
"We'll see how ready you are when you have to roll down a hill," she said, taking the saddle.
The horse flinched under the weight. Roxy cinched the straps deftly and nodded.
"Alright. Let's go find out what kind of sigh the sky is heaving."
***
The forest began with scattered trees marching evenly along the slope. Farther in, they thickened, their crowns weaving together to roof the ground in shadow. The leaves were dark, wet. The earth smelled of damp and rot.
A road ran along the edge. Filthy, rutted hard with old tracks, its sides tufted with stiff grass. It stretched off toward the funnel, which kept vanishing behind the bends of the hills only to reappear again.
The forest felt empty.
No sound, no motion. No birds, no animals—as if everything living had left or was hiding. The silence was unnatural. Every step landed too loud.
A horse moved along the road. Step by step. Two in the saddle, speaking in low, clipped voices, unhurried.
"You sure we're going the right way?" Rudy asked, clinging to the saddle and cutting a wary glance at the trees.
"No. But if it turns out we're not, then at least we'll know where we were when we got it wrong," Roxy said.
"Reassuring."
"You wanted to come, didn't you?"
"I'm just clarifying how deep my enthusiasm needs to go."
Roxy smirked slightly but kept her eyes on the road. Ahead, between the trees, the air trembled. There was definitely something there—the only question was how stupid it would be to get closer.
"If anything happens, you grab the reins and ride however you can…"
"And you?"
"I'll distract it. Nicely. With flashes."
The horse stopped on its own, tossing its head stubbornly. Roxy slid down first. Rudy followed, nearly tripping.
The funnel was close now. A gap showed through the trees. The light there was different, dim, as if seen through clouded glass.
"On foot from here," Roxy said quietly. "I don't want the horse bogged down or bolting."
They moved forward. Twigs crackled underfoot. The air thickened. The ground ahead was dry, fissured, as if scorched.
The funnel breathed. The motion was subtle but steady. Nothing sounded from within. Only silence, and a tremor in their legs.
Rudy frowned at the funnel.
"Is that it?" he asked. "Is it dangerous?"
Silence. No answer, no gesture. Roxy didn't react.
He tried again, a little louder:
"Roxy?"
He turned—and froze. She wasn't looking at the funnel. Slightly off to the side, deeper into the forest, where the shadows lay thicker.
Rudy followed her gaze—and his heart skipped a beat.
Off among the trees stood a man.
He swayed faintly, as if he'd just stopped after a long road. His cloak was dusty, the hem torn. His hands hung at his sides. A shadow hid his face, but it was clear he didn't blink. He stood silent, staring straight at them without changing his expression, without a twitch.
Rudy opened his mouth to say something. But Roxy lifted a hand without a word. The gesture was cutting. He froze; the words stuck in his throat.
She stepped forward, placing herself between him and the stranger. Her staff slid ahead—not threatening, but unmistakable.
The man didn't move. The silence stretched.
A hoarse voice broke it:
"The boy can go." The drifter glanced away, pulled a skin from his belt, uncorked it. "I don't touch children."
Roxy's voice came from her side, calm, without strain:
"Rudy, you can go. You know where the horse is."
"But…"
He began, frowning, but Roxy cut him off at once:
"Don't worry. Just an old acquaintance dropping by. But you go home… The funnel's nastier than it looked."
Her tone was even, but her eyes never left the figure in the shadows.
Roxy drew a slow breath. Her voice stayed steady, only a shade lower than usual.
"Rudy, I said—go. It's under control…"
No answer. Only the whisper of branches, and the occasional crackle under the horse's hooves.
She didn't turn. She watched the shape in the shade.
"Seriously. Nothing to it. I'll say a couple words and catch up."
Silence.
In Roxy's head, the usual curses were already circling.
That stubborn kid had decided again that he knew better. No doubt he was standing somewhere behind her now, pretending to hold the line. Or he'd gone to ground, thinking she wouldn't notice. How many times had she told him—do as you're told.
She tightened her grip on the staff to keep from saying it aloud.
Her voice sharpened.
"Rudy, are you deaf?! I sa—"
She swung around to lay it out properly, and the words stumbled.
Rudy was already far off, running between the trees; he flashed and vanished into the branches.
Roxy blinked, losing her tone for a heartbeat. Then she sighed and muttered under her breath:
"Khmm… Right… ears are acting up lately…"
The drifter still stood in the shade, motionless.
Roxy gave a slight shake of her head, as if flicking off the last of the awkwardness. Her staff dipped until it touched the ground.
"Well, well… Edgar? I figured you were dead. What, fifteen years?"
Silence. Then a short, dry chuckle.
"Almost."
"So what dragged you out here?"
He didn't answer at once. He swayed a little, choosing his start. The shadow shifted on his face and revealed a gray scar by his mouth.
"Wanted to make sure you're still walking on your own two feet."
"Mmm…" Roxy rolled a shoulder, as if brushing away dust. "Well, as you can see, I'm holding up."
He nodded. No mockery, no regret.
"Then good…"
Roxy narrowed her eyes a touch. The air between them quivered. She tipped the staff, not as a threat, just to give her hands something to do.
"No cloak now?" Her voice came soft, almost lazy. "And no order at your back. Unusual, isn't it? When no one whispers when you pass, no one falls face-first in the dirt?"
Edgar didn't answer. He looked straight ahead, like always.
"And what now?" she went on, taking a step closer. "How's life without the chain?"
"Better than yours without a brain," he said with a brief tilt of his head. "Same as ever. You wouldn't listen then—at least pretend to hear me now."
Roxy snorted but didn't back off.
"I hear you fine. Last time you said it too—Harry will help, the Church will save us, they'll sort it all out. Well? Did they? Did he help?"
Edgar gave a quiet grunt, as if he'd heard all this before.
"Idiot," Edgar said evenly, as if stating a fact. "You never understood Harry. Not then, not now."
Roxy smiled; the corner of her mouth twitched.
"Wasn't it him who tossed you out when he realized he didn't need you?"
"Just like you—everything's simple, everyone's a fool but you."
He tipped the skin, checking if there was any wine left.
Roxy nodded as if agreeing, but her fingers tightened slightly on the staff.
"Of course. And you're still the clever one with the proper speeches. Only now in the mud and without a mast—"
"Where is she?" Edgar broke in.
He stepped out of the shadow and came closer. His voice dropped lower—no strain, but heavy.
Roxy edged back a little. The staff stayed between them, a casual boundary.
"Who's 'she'?" A touch of puzzlement in her tone. "I don't know what you mean."
Edgar took another step. The light from the funnel fell across his face; his eyes glinted dully, like metal.
"Stop it. You know who I mean. Where is Sofya?"
Roxy lifted a shoulder, as if the question were nothing.
"No idea. Why—miss her?"
He let out a slow breath. His lips twitched in a smile with no warmth in it.
"Funny. You still think you get to joke about this."
"And you still think you've got the right to ask."
The pause hung between them.
Roxy tilted her head.
"And why do you need her?"
Edgar didn't answer right away. His gaze dropped to the ground, then climbed back to Roxy.
"I want to take her somewhere safe…"
Roxy gave a short laugh.
"Somewhere safe? Again? Like that time you tried to kill me? Funny hearing that from you."
Edgar opened his mouth, but Roxy lifted her hand and cut the sentence in half.
"Wait… I remember!" She tipped her head, as if chasing down a detail. "Sophie asked me to pass something on to you."
He tensed. His whole face seemed to freeze; his gaze locked onto her.
"What exactly?" His voice went muffled.
Roxy stepped closer. The corners of her mouth trembled.
"Listening carefully?"
"Say it!"
She held the pause, looked straight at him with no trace of a smile.
"She asked me to tell you… to go fuck yourself."
"You bitch," he hissed, lunging a step.
The staff snapped up.
"Careful," Roxy said softly. "Or they'll think the knight's out killing women again."
He stopped. His breathing hitched; his stare flared, then dulled again.
She lowered the staff a fraction without taking it away.
"Was this you?" She nodded toward the funnel in the sky. "To draw me out?"
It threw him for a moment. His gaze flicked upward.
"No. Just a lucky coinc—"
She didn't let him finish.
The staff thrust forward.
Space shuddered—the spell took at once. No words. No flourish. Silent magic. Roxy had been weaving it from the second he appeared.
***
Roxy snapped her staff through the air.
The ground beneath Edgar tore open, broke, fell away. A column of water burst from the rift.
Edgar slipped aside, his boot skidding, leather ripping at the wet mud. His aura flared. It came off his skin—from the pores along his neck, across his shoulders, over his chest. It wrapped him at once, sealing at his legs. A pale gray clung close to the body, plain to see. Strength flooded his legs. The push came from below.
A lunge—and Edgar was already flying at her. The air shifted; the sound knifed the ears. His aura flashed again, doubling his muscle. He came straight, no deviation.
Light Slash.
An instant—and he was on her. The sword rose from below in a short, sharp sweep. Roxy didn't retreat.
At the moment of impact, her staff flicked up. A wall of water surged between them. The blade slammed into it hard, but vanished inside. The edge bogged down, the momentum killed. The water broke its stride.
"Whip!"
The wall shifted. A water lash burst from within—long, keen, fast. It snapped for Edgar's throat. He ripped his sword free, slid off-line, took a step back. The strike sliced air, not him. The lash tore past and blew apart into spray.
"Tch. A little more…"
Roxy frowned, eyes locked on him.
The staff in her hand was still warm, runes along its shaft aglow, drawing together into the blue stone at its tip. The water between them held its shape. It didn't fall, didn't scatter. It would protect her—as long as she held the spell. Edgar was on the far side. Close, but not through.
The whip ran on autopilot for her—triggered by a short formula. Better to send something heavier, something that would punch clean through. But there hadn't been time to weave it. Not in that heartbeat.
"Whip!"
Roxy gave a short cut of the staff. In her head, something new was already forming—silent. Two lashes shot out of the wall and flew straight at Edgar. He moved in short steps. Slipping past, he still edged forward. On the third—his aura flared. In the same beat he ripped forward with a hard clap of sound. Roxy lurched sideways. She already knew what he'd do next.
Edgar's hand swept—his aura tightened. The blade sheathed itself in white light.
Falling Star.
A cleaving blow from above. The motion was severe, exact. First—the wave. Then—the steel. Then—the sound.
The wall tore. The aura-blade went on—through the water, without veering. The shock wave slammed into the ground.
"Shield."
The word tore from her lips.
A honeycombed barrier flared between them. The cells contracted at the moment of impact. The aura smashed in, but did not pass. Edgar was already close. He didn't wait. He moved at once.
He slipped sideways, sharp, a half-step. The sword dropped in an arc. Target—the ribs.
Roxy barely managed to swing the staff around. Steel ripped the edge of the ward, skated along the shield, slid off.
Edgar's body pressed closer.
A second step—soundless. A shoulder drive, a shove toward her center—body weight bearing down.
Roxy slid back, her heel sank into mud. Balance faltered, but she didn't fall.
The spell was almost ready.
The shield cracked.
The blade carried on, bit into her shoulder, drove deeper. It split the clavicle. Roxy didn't cry out. Didn't even look.
The sword stopped—didn't reach.
Edgar's legs were bound: water from the sundered wall had spilled across the earth and clamped around his ankles.
Edgar tried to force the cut, to drag the sword forward. For a heartbeat the steel sang in emptiness. The water held him so tight the motion died before it could land.
Roxy sprang back. Her heels skated on mud, but she kept her footing, refused to go down.
"Water Dragon!"
Her voice broke. She thrust the staff up hard, almost a throw; the runes flared. A surge of mana ripped free, braiding power into a single vortex.
Water gathered in the air, thickening. The shape grew fast—a serpent body, long, lithe, sinuous. At its head a wide maw with curled crests. Along its back, ribs rose and fused into a ridge.
"Bite!"
The spell ripped forward—the dragon lunged in a brutal burst, its whole mass pouring into motion. The body stretched, corkscrewed, the water thrummed within. The jaws yawned—oblong, with streaming fangs—diving for Edgar.
His eyes caught the movement. His aura cinched tight again—poured into legs and shoulders. Ready to take it. Or to cut it in half.
Boom!