Tarmo awoke to the sharp scent of medicinal herbs—a smell that found its way to the chest before the mind.
An old wooden ceiling hovered above his head. Light crept in shyly through a small window, and the sound of his breathing felt heavier than he remembered.
For a moment… he didn't know where he was.
Then everything returned at once.
Niva.
Ravan.
The laughter.
The betrayal.
The blood.
He sat up suddenly, as if his body refused to sleep any longer. His head spun, his pulse was uneven, and a faint chill crept from his limbs toward his chest.
He looked at his hands… intact.
But it did not feel like survival.
It felt like being one step late from hell.
The door opened slowly. The doctor who had once treated Ravan entered. His features were worn, his eyes sunken, his shoulders bent as if carrying more than one man should bear.
He said in a low voice, "You're in my home… you were unconscious for a full day."
Tarmo did not respond.
His eyes searched for only one thing.
"Ravan?"
The doctor fell silent.
He looked at the floor.
That silence… was heavier than any word.
Finally, the doctor said, "I searched among the shattered rocks… the ruins… I didn't find a body."
Tarmo lifted his head quickly, a desperate spark of hope flashing in his eyes.
But the doctor continued, "Only… blood. A lot of it. And I confirmed it was his."
The air froze around Tarmo.
That cold… he knew it.
The same cold he felt the day Ravan first found him—the day he saved him, the day he pulled him back from the edge of collapse.
Tarmo took one step forward… then his knees betrayed him.
He fell to the ground without a sound.
And darkness swallowed him.
Tarmo stood in a place with no ground and no sky.
A white void—quiet… painful.
Before him stood someone.
He could not see their features.
He did not know their name.
But his heart… knew them.
A strange, deep feeling—like love.
A love never lived, yet undeniably present.
He felt danger.
"Watch out!" he screamed.
He ran toward them—desperate, confused—each step feeling as if it were torn from inside him.
Suddenly… time stopped.
The person vanished.
Another appeared.
A black shadow holding a sword.
It stabbed Tarmo in the chest—in the same place… the same strike… the same angle.
The pain was real.
He fell.
But before his consciousness faded, a strange aura appeared.
A hand seized the sword… and shattered it.
Another figure stood behind him.
He couldn't see the face, but the presence was heavy… unshakable.
The hand rested on Tarmo's back.
The wound closed.
The pain withdrew.
A calm yet decisive voice said, "I am here for you."
It paused, then added, "Not Ravan."
Tarmo's eyes widened.
Suddenly… he saw the face of the White Sword before him.
A cold smile.
Eyes that knew more than they revealed.
He said, "I am waiting for you in the north… my brother."
Tarmo awoke screaming.
His body was drenched in sweat, his breaths rapid, his heart pounding against his chest as if trying to escape.
The doctor stood by the door.
He looked at Tarmo with sincere sadness and whispered to himself, barely audible, "We are all… unpardoned."
Tarmo rose slowly.
He did not ask.
He did not cry.
He took his scarf.
And for the first time in his life… he did not run.
He said in a steady voice, "I'm going north."
In his silver eyes, anger was present.
Not blind anger… but responsible anger.
The anger of one who knows he was late… but will not be late again.
At night…
Beneath the rubble…
Between collapsed rocks…
Ravan opened his eyes.
He breathed with difficulty, as if the air itself were punishing him.
His black hair had grown longer, clinging to his blood-stained face.
He screamed… and clawed his way out from under the debris like a wounded beast.
The city was drowned in darkness.
Silent.
Dead.
The place where he had been wounded—from his chest to his right arm—had turned a strange shade of red, as if something within him had changed.
He ran.
Not knowing where.
Not thinking.
Just running.
Until he fell.
The world vanished.
He awoke at dawn.
He was on the peak of a mountain.
The air was cold.
The light was sharp.
An old man stood nearby, with a woman beside him.
They offered him water… and food.
Ravan did not ask.
He did not thank them.
He only looked toward the horizon.
And inside him… something new was taking shape.
Something that was no longer fully human.
Nor a demon.