This pain… It felt rooted in me now. Woven into my flesh, my thoughts, my dreams. A tight, relentless, piercing ache in the back of my head tore me from oblivion once again, leaving only a muffled groan somewhere deep in my chest.
I dared not open my eyes. Not because I was asleep. But because I did not want, again, to face this world.
But the voices… They were already here.
They rang clear, as the drip of water on a stone floor.
A man's voice. Measured. Steady. But beneath it, a faint tremor of unease. Somewhere near. Perhaps by the head of my bed.
"I'll have to submit a report… about what happened. About the use of force. And about… the refusal."
I knew him at once. Eiron. His timbre. The breath between his words, everything struck a chord inside me.
"I know."
A short answer. But in it, a cold fire.
Adel. Her voice, a blade. Fragile, but lethally sharp.
And then, the realization.
I understood them. Every word. Every intonation.
I did not know how. But I understood.
Inside, everything tightened from the shock of it.
Yet I still lay there. Eyes shut. Silent. As if the knowledge might vanish if I breathed too loudly.
Their voices were closer now. I felt them not with my ears, but on my skin, as though the words slid across me, seeping beneath the surface. I did not open my eyes, but I heard everything.
"She wounded one of the oldest Blessed Guardians. You understand, that's almost impossible. We still don't know if it was truly her. She will remain under watch until HE returns."
I caught the sound of Eiron's breath leaving him. Slow. Heavy.
And then Adel. Louder. Colder.
"Blessed Guardians cannot be wounded. They are woven from blessings, from magic itself, the magic of healing. They do not know pain. They can be cursed, if you wield the darkness. Or killed, if you are darkness. At most, you can destroy the body. But not wound it."
The words magic and darkness fell into the abyss of my memory like sparks. Echoes of something lost shuddered through me from within. Magic? Dark magic?..
In this world there is darkness. And they… they think I am…
My chest rose in a silent gasp. I was still lying there, locked inside my own body like in a cage. And in my head swirled only one thought:
They are afraid of me.
But am I afraid of myself?
Adel's words rang like steel rings in armor, pulled taut over the fragile silence of the room.
"I will also write my report for the SUPREME… She placed Solemir in danger. I could not simply stand aside, and I will not, until we learn who she truly is."
Her voice was level, yet pain hid within it. A faint rustle of cloth, the shift of her steps across the floor, and then her voice again:
"I will speak with the generals now in the castle, and we will decide… what will be permitted to her, until the SUPREME returns."
Eiron's softer, slightly restrained voice followed, as if trying to blunt each of Adel's sharp words:
"Nimor and Mister Solemir found no magic in her, no mana crystal. Which means… she has nothing to do with it. You understand that, don't you?"
His defense was like a sturdy cloth thrown over bare skin. I felt those words slowly aligning into a puzzle, threads leading toward understanding.
Nimor… that must be the thin man in the grey robe. His hands, like roots of a tree, are thin yet full of secrets. And Mister Solemir… yes, without doubt, the old man. They called him "Mister," as though to mark not only his age, but respect. Even Adel, strong, unyielding, almost heeded his words. Almost.
I shuddered, remembering her rushing at me with the water sword, her eyes alight with resolve. Almost.
And in that silence, thick with voices and meaning, I suddenly felt unsettled. I was among them, like a mystery no one would leave unsolved.
"Captain, I think you have stayed here longer than you should," Adel's voice sliced the air like a cold blade. I realized she was changing the subject. She did not speak directly, but her words were not meant for me, they were aimed at him. At Eiron. As if his presence here was no longer welcome. As if he was the intruder.
But if not him, then who else?.. Who, if not him, would at least try to protect me?
"I remained only because I was a witness. And because Mister Solemir himself asked me…" Eiron's voice was calm, almost serene. No trace of challenge or reproach. But in every word lived a restrained firmness. "Because you, General Adel, in my opinion, crossed the line today."
General… The word rang inside me. A general, one of the highest military ranks. So she truly stood at the top. And yet she was here. Here, in this room. Dealing with me.
I didn't know what that meant: a crack in her authority or a threat coming from me. Perhaps both.
In that moment of silence I quietly admitted to myself. Quietly, so no one could hear, not even the thought itself:
Dangerous, I whispered deep within.
Yes… perhaps that is the truth.
Inside, everything churned. My thoughts, disordered, boiling, like water before it bursts into steam. I did not open my eyes, couldn't, dared not. But every breath, every sound cut me sharper than a blade. The room was heavy. The air, drawn tight like a string ready to snap. I could feel the threat building, mute, cold, heavy.
I knew: she wanted him gone. Wanted me alone. Without protection. Without a chance.
Anger rose in me like darkness from the depths, cold, clinging. I tried to push it away, but it crept to my throat, and the pain in my head sharpened, as though someone were slowly driving needles into the base of my skull. I thought even the walls here were breathing anxiety.
And before I could think, before I could open my eyes, my lips tore the silence apart on their own. My voice rasped, as though it had clawed its way out of the pain, from the ashes:
"Maybe he's here only because otherwise you'd have killed me… you crazy… bitch."
Everything froze. I felt their gazes pierce me, heavy, sharp, restrained. The world outside stilled, but inside, everything kept burning.
My voice was low, hoarse, as if it had come not from my throat, but from the pain itself. I pushed up onto my elbows. A wave of headache gripped the back of my skull, traveled down my spine. The world swam. My chest still beat, not my heart, no, but despair.
I saw their faces. All had turned toward me. And in their eyes there was no pity. Only silent fear. And an unspoken question: what are you?
Two gazes, one warm, the other cold, pierced me like arrows into a trembling target. I sat there, leaning on shaking arms, still reeling from my own words. They had broken free of me like a wild animal, unfiltered by thought, raw, real, crude.
I couldn't hold them back… because I could no longer stay silent.
Inside, everything boiled, from pain, from fear, from humiliation. My whole body shuddered, recalling that moment when I had been torn apart from within, when the dry agony in my head had twisted my mind like cloth wrung to nothing.
I had not begged for mercy then. But now, looking back, everything in me screamed: It was too much.
"Now you understand… don't you?" Adel hissed. Her voice slit the silence. I flinched, from her coldness, from my nakedness before their eyes.
Then, steps. Soft, certain, not threatening. Eiron came closer, and his voice was a whisper woven of care: "Are you all right?"
I only nodded, unable to find words. His face was near. Striking, sharp, yet gentle, as if painted in light. His chestnut hair fell carelessly over his brow, as though the wind itself had chosen its course.
I caught myself wanting to reach out, brush back a strand, dissolve into that moment. His gaze, warm and troubled, touched me more gently than a hand.
"She's fine," Adel snapped, as if speaking of a patched wound, not of me. "The Guardian mended her. She's already normal."
Her voice filled the room like a cold wind slipping through cracks. To me, to Eiron, she continued:
"Your caretaker will bring you more proper clothing. You're permitted to go down to the kitchen, only in her company. The rest will be decided by the General Council until the Supreme Magus arrives. And I strongly advise, no unsanctioned wanderings. If you try to run again… I cannot guarantee you won't be killed."
My eyes flew open as if struck. Her words cut deeper than her water sword. "Am I… a prisoner?" The question escaped before I could stop it.
"No," the answer was short, but her eyes said otherwise. They burned with something that could not be called care. She looked at me as if something broken… or too dangerous.
"In this bed," her gaze slid downward, "slept the most powerful sorceress of the last century. And awoke… a girl. An empty vessel. No blessings. No magic."
Her voice turned to stone, stripped of all human trace. As though before me stood not a woman, but a sentence. Then she looked at Eiron:
"And you, a chance witness who was never meant to be here. You know a secret hidden even from the Royal Council. Therefore you will come with me. Now. To the generals. Where your fate will also be decided."
For a moment the room seemed to darken at her words. And when Adel's eyes flared gold, I felt my body sink back into the bed.
"And if even a single soul learns what happened here… I will make your swords an extension of your spine. Is that clear?"
I swallowed. My thoughts flapped like trapped birds. I did not know who I was. Why I was here. But now… now I had only one path: silence. Obedience. Survival. Hoping that one day I would understand everything.
Eiron stood beside me, and in his eyes for the first time flickered something like confusion. He did not step back, as though his very presence was already an act of defense. But Adel's voice cut the air like a verdict:
"You may prepare your report, but only for the General Council. Or for the Supreme. Choose. But no one, hear me, no one else may know of her. Or of this room."
There was no doubt in her voice, only iron. Only cold. She went to the heavy door. Her steps were precise, as though she carved a path through the air.
"Eiron. Follow me."
He obeyed. Not a word. But his gaze… he never looked away from me. Until the very last second, until their silhouettes vanished into the dark doorway. And only then, only then did I allow myself to breathe.
The silence did not last long. A faint rustle of fabric, careful steps, and into the room came the girl with the covered head. The same one who had been here at the start, her headscarf gathering her hair. In her hands she carried a soft brown mantle and neat boots. Her movements were quiet, almost timid, as if even her breathing feared to disturb the fragile stillness of this strange world.
She moved soundlessly, not just quietly, but almost invisibly. Like a shadow raised in a temple of silence. As though she had spent her life learning not to disturb light or sleep.
Her steps were light as breath before dawn, her motions quick, almost weightless.
And then… something cut inside me. I froze. A chill of realization ran down my spine: she had been here all this time. When I slept. When I groaned in pain. When I screamed. She… caretaker. My caretaker.
"What is your name?" I asked softly, almost in a whisper, as if afraid to frighten off this strange, fragile being.
"Sunny," came the reply. Her voice, like morning wind. Shy, gentle, barely audible.
She laid the brown mantle on the bed's edge, then set the boots neatly beside it. I slowly lowered my gaze to myself… and my breath caught.
The sheet was fresh. The bed, clean. And I… I was in a white shirt with long sleeves. Light, almost airy fabric. It… was sheer. To the last line of my body. I had not noticed before. Too much pain. Too much terror.
Moments surfaced one by one, how Eiron had flushed, how quickly he'd covered me with cloth. How his gaze had avoided my body. I… all this time… had been before them… naked?
I felt sick inside. From shame. From horror. From the sense that not only my memories had been taken from me, but my boundaries as well.
Sunny silently gestured toward the smaller door.
"There is a bath there. Would you like to bathe? I will prepare it for you…" she whispered. Her voice was as soft as her steps. Barely audible. As if she feared to disturb the fragile quiet I was still trying to hide within.
I glanced at the neatly made bed, white, clean, as though nothing had happened. And then a realization cut cold along my spine:
"You washed the blood from me?" I asked, barely breathing.
Sunny nodded and answered: "Yes…" softly, almost apologetically. As though she were the cause of my humiliation.
The thoughts of blood, of what had happened the previous night, swirled in my mind like cold wind in an empty room. The images rose again: the jolt, the skull squeezed tight, the blood pouring from me… And him. The old man. What about him? Where was he now?
That shadow of a question pressed on my chest like a warm stone, keeping me from breathing fully.
"The old man… Salemore… or whatever his name was? I can't quite recall…" I whispered, staring past Sunny, as if the answer might appear in the silence itself.
She bit her lip and averted her eyes for a moment, but answered at last with quiet resignation:
"Solemir," she corrected. "He is very weak… but alive."
Only then did I notice how her hands still gripped the edges of her clothing, she was waiting. Silently, patiently, as if hoping I would agree to the bath.
My gaze slid over the room: the bed was clean, the air, thickly still. And then I understood why Adel had not lunged at me with her former fury. The old man still lived… I had not caused a death.
It was a strange, but genuine, gratitude. I did not want to be a threat. I did not want to be someone's misfortune, especially to those I did not even know.
My guilt still remained, as if my very existence was dangerous. But at least, not deadly. Not today.