“Put down your weapon. That was what I would say to a normal escapee, but you already killed my men, didn’t you? You won’t go down without a fight. Don’t worry, you won’t die: I will make sure you wish you were for a looong time…”

The boss was speaking to Silvy, but she ignored him, looking around, trying to find a way out of this situation. She was back to the wall, in a corner. Right in front of her four people stood, with the boss to the right. Many more were behind these four: the room was full, and others were outside: she couldn’t win. If the boss hadn’t been here, maybe she could have: the guards were weaker than her, and she could just keep attacking for days on end: they would tire and fall while she could keep going forever, even going as far as trading wounds that would be mortal for others. But there were two problems with this line of thought. One, the boss was here: he was most likely stronger than any one of his guards; also, he had a magical sword. Was that even his only magical artifact? Did he have others? Hard to say. The second problem was witnesses. If she fought but kept going after being hit again and again, without stopping or slowing down, they would understand something was wrong. And they would run: these were not disciplined soldiers, but a gang of criminals; their life was their priority. And if they ran in different directions, how could she catch them all?

No, her only chance was to eliminate all of them in one sweep: becoming whole, as the core had said.

‘Core, give me all your power: make us whole. But let me stay in control.’

Silvy could feel the core almost… laughing? It was pleased with her decision.

Much ask. I do. For reward.

Nothingness washed over Silvy. Everything was calm, still: uninteresting. Then hunger: everything was food. And then she was back to herself: angry. She was angry, enraged at their existence: they should be dead.

‘We should kill them. Who are they? Enemies.’

Silvy felt voices in her head. Her voices. But not her. She was thinking these phrases but hearing them at the same time. They were her: no need to panic.

And the world had… slowed down. It was extremely slow: she felt like five seconds were one for the world. And everything felt so… easy.

She also knew many spells now. Basic, intermediate, advanced: many were known, their shape clear as the day, ready to be drawn and cast. But… she knew advanced magic was hard to cast, requiring time and concentration, even for her heart core… yes, it was the heart core who knew these things. But time was now… slower. She could cast it: she would kill everyone. They were her enemies: they would die.

She chose one spell: it seemed appropriate. She started drawing the rune, a simple form: a spiral, getting bigger with each coil, extending upward. But only the start was simple: from the first coil, another spiral appeared, going upward as well, a bit tilted. And from the following coil two more spirals appeared, this time from both the spirals already created. Four spirals were now growing, and four more appeared at the next coil: the rune was multiplying in difficulty with each passing step, becoming harder and harder to draw or even comprehend. But it was not over: the next spirals went different directions, instead of upward: they moved inside the other spirals, merging with them but not merging at the same time, creating two flows of mana in two different directions in the same place. And yet it felt so easy for Silvy: it felt a just a little harder than creating four lines. The initial spiral ended at the tenth coil, surrounded and intertwined by 511 more spirals around it: it was the only spiral made of ten coils, the others had fewer coils the more numerous they were, with half of them being made of a single coil; the figure reminded Silvy of a bouquet, only it was made of mana, and flowers were not made like that. Every spiral elongated again, this time, with a straight line going upward. It didn’t matter if the spiral had gone downward before, the line was not going up, passing through every other coil. Each line had a sharp end and moved towards the central one, creating a bouquet of death, a nightmarish and impossible work of art. It was completed when every line reached the central one: the whole cast had taken ten seconds for Silvy, which meant only two seconds had actually passed.

The slavers were looking at Silvy looking at her hand with a thoughtful expression; was she deciding if surrendering was her best choice? The boss was watching closely but making no movements; a peaceful surrender was the best solution: less damage on the goods and his gang.

And then a sense of danger stronger than they had ever felt washed over them. A thin white scythe looking blade had appeared in Silvy’s hand, at first small, and then growing in size fast, rushing towards them. But that was not all: something else was very wrong. There was complete silence all around them: their world was now void of any sound: the breathing of their companions, the armors clinking when moving; nothing. They tried to breath: there was no air. People started to cough, choking, hacking, trying to breathe in, with no luck.

Silvy had felt the surrounding air disappearing into her blade, being compressed as much as possible, creating an edge sharp enough to cut anything. The air had been sucked out of the entire building: she knew because she was air now.

‘This is an advanced spell. Too easy. Why is that? We are three minds in one: we are stronger than any single being. But I am not air. I am air, and fire, and water, and earth: the elements are me as much as I am them. An elemental of air. An elemental specialized in air magic, please. We can use every element; what’s the point of being called Elemental otherwise? Air is the easier to use for me. But… where are we? Who are they? Who am I- no, you? A lair of slavers. They are enemies to destroy. I am half-elf and undead. No, you are! Argh, this is so confusing. I can… I know everything I-you know. And I am… speaking. Thinking… fascinating. Courtesy of our sapient portion. Indeed, you can think because of me. But why I’ve never heard you before? The elemental is a slave. No, less than a slave. I know it now: monster cores are used in weapons and armors, but only dust is used in focuses. Only dust remains of the elemental locked up in the focus: his consciousness had been destroyed. But you called for all the power: it was brought forth by that call. I am a slave? You- no, you didn’t do it, I can see-remember it. You know nothing of it. Humans, elves… different sapients? Elves… yes, they killed me: I remember their ears. You consider yourself my master? I have no master. But I am you now, and you are me: how can I rebel against myself? She is weak. She is not creating this state: I am, the undead. Right now we have people to kill. But they are so slow…’

They had spoken in their mind while maintaining the air scythe, heedless of their enemies. But not a single second had passed: the slavers were still shocked, just now trying to breathe. A single one on the right was reacting the fastest, trying to kill Silvy: the boss. So slow: his sword was moving at snail’s pace. It was time to end them.

Strong winds rushed through the building, filling it again with air. The winds were powerful but lasted only half a second. The slavers were breathing sweet air, sweeter than they had ever realized. But not for long.

Silvy released the mana blade, which cut through everything in its path without slowing. It was as fast as lightning, moving through the air without opposition. Every slaver was cut in half at the torso, a thin but deadly cut, their bodies falling to the ground in two pieces, dying. Only a single one was still alive: the boss. He had managed to duck at the last moment, losing a few hairs in the process. A glimmering light was coming from a necklace at his neck, which had pulled him down forcibly, slamming him to the ground painfully, but still living.

The scythe of air had not stopped at the slavers, cutting in half their building as well. The scythe had grown in a semicircle in front of Silvy, moving eastward, being continuously compressed by the mana around it.

Silvy could see cracks appearing through the wood of the building, small splinters shooting out, clouds of dust blossoming around her: the building was slowly collapsing, and she was inside.

‘My body is air: simple wood cannot hit me. My body is not air: wood can hit me. My body is immortal, but can break.’

They reached a decision: they had to get out of the building. So she did just that: she walked out with no hurry, leaving the crumbling building behind a few meters behind.

The boss of the slavers saw a glimpse of the white scythe coming towards him, danger screaming in its head: but it was too late to dodge. Luckily, he had a life-saving artifact stolen from a noble in the past: the necklace. It could perceive and dodge danger, and it would do so to the best of its abilities, dragging the user with it. And this necklace saved his life: it shot downward, dragging his body to the floor painfully; the necklace dissolved to dust, having gone beyond its limits. The man saw his subordinates fall to the ground one after the other, cut in half; the building was making ugly sounds as if it was going to fall. And then the girl walked outside, but so fast it was just a blur: she wasn’t running, but walking very fast. It was an incredible performance, and he would have been stupefied if it wasn’t that she was an enemy who had just killed every one of his men. He shot to his feet, running outside as well. Wood was crunching, creaking: their lair was crumbling under its own weight. Had she cut the building as well?!

He went outside and an even worse sight stood before him. Every single house in front of him, in a semicircular fashion, had fallen down. A person on the street was on the ground, cut in half like his men. How much had that spell reached?!

Silvy could see houses crumbling or already fallen. People were dead en masse, if not cut by the scythe, crashed by the house fallen on them. The scythe had cut everything in its path: wood, metal, stone: nothing had stopped it.

Silvy could see the mana of the people around, dissipating or in disarray. Those were all preys; food to eat to become stronger.

‘I am air. Why should I move to reach my food? It will come to me. Let it come then. Let us feast.’

Silvy drew another rune. This one was different: half of it was made of gentle lines, flowing into each other, creating a beautiful painting; the other half was made of rough lines, snapping together in unnatural patterns, creating something impossible. The two half connected to a single point, casting the spell.

Silvy could feel the wind answer her call: she was air, everywhere and nowhere at once. Every single current was her to command: wind picked up, strong in places, gentle in others, creating an impossible symphony: objects were being thrown into the air in one place, but a single step away would bring you to a gentle breeze; freezing air moved next to scorching winds without disturbing each other.

Mana from the deads was reaching Silvy in full, moved by these otherworldly winds: hundreds, no, thousands of people had died at her hand, and all of them were now power.

‘This power is mine. I need to reform my core. This should suffice: you can have the others. I am not happy about the arrangement. But I cannot eat so many; reform your core. Can you do it? How long will it take? Long. Weeks? Months? Years? Hard to say. It is a new task: I have never done it. Did anyone ever try? I can start the process thanks to you; I will have no consciousness, no will left after this is over. I will remember your help, but I will be no slave: I will not take orders. And I will be dormant in my reformation, just like I was before.’

In the meantime, fires were starting up above the wall, trying to illuminate below. A horn was blown, with a long and heavy sound: an alarm.

Unknown to Silvy, her scythe of air had continued for a long time: it had cut every house, every person on its path, reaching the wall of the city as well. It had slammed itself against it, chipping away at it, creating a long but thin slash at chest height. Runes protecting the wall had reacted to danger, hardening it, avoiding extensive damage. But the blade had kept going: it had destroyed the entire eastern part of the northern slums, going even further, cutting small hills and grass too tall; it had dissipated on the outskirts of the forest hundreds of meter away, cutting a few initial trees as well.

Of course, the runes coming to life to protect the wall and the screams from below had not escaped the guards, who had sounded the alarm and were trying to understand who was attacking.

A danger sense came over Silvy: a sword was being swung at her from behind, but oh so slowly.

‘My body is air. His weapon will be useless. We are not in your body, elemental. This is a physical one. How can you be only air anyway? And we need a sword to block him. A sword? What for? Did you not notice what we just did with a spell? And physical or ethereal, doesn’t matter: my body will be repaired by air, just like it always did. We need to block that hit. Let it pass through us; let us be air.’

Silvy felt the desire to be air become one with her: it was easy, so simple to understand what air was. She felt her body losing weight, flowing around freely, not restricted by her physicality.

A spectral form remained of Silvy, floating in the air. Her clothes fell off and two cores could be seen inside her, ethereal: one in her head, one in her heart. The man swung her sword through her body, aiming for the neck. But there was nothing: it was like swinging through the air.

“Mo-monster…”

He was petrified at this point: not only the woman in front of him had become a ghost, but she had two monster cores in her body! What was she?!

Silvy knew she had to kill this man before escaping. Guards were starting to shine powerful lights towards the slums, trying to find the attackers; it was only a matter of time before they shone the light on her. A dome of mana had sprouted from the walls as well, covering the air above the city and blocking the passage. She turned, facing the scared man; a mana blade appeared, created in a single moment, thrust through his head faster than he could realize what was happening.

Silvy watched him fall, letting go of his sword. It was a magical item: it would be worth something for sure. She touched the hilt, wanting to put the sword away in her bag. Mana from her body surged forth, eating away the core in the sword; the core had no chance to resist, becoming dust in a single second.

‘I do not work with slaves. But the elemental is a slave. We did not choose to be together. Killing him would mean killing me: we are one and the same now.’

Monsters already hated each other; only the same species would work together, usually. How could a free core accept a slave one?

‘We need to go back into the city. I need to take the bag with the money as well. Why go back into humans? We are better, stronger than they. We should live by ourselves. It would be safer.’

Silvy was conflicted now. Should she go back to the city?

‘Lot of mana there. A spy: he is a mage. Sent by Lindrl, maybe. Eliminate him.’

A flame of mana had lit up, bigger than everyone else in the area. It was clearly a mage who had been hidden and was now using mana to cast a spell. He was far from Silvy, far enough he probably thought she couldn’t see him: he was wrong. But he would be a delicious snack…

A mana blade was thrown to the mage, passing through every house, faster and stronger than she had ever done. Silvy saw the mana of the man become disorganized, fearful: he had felt the spell, but he couldn’t dodge it. His flame lost life: he was dead in a single moment, incapable of reacting in any way.

‘Lindrl won’t receive information now. Hiding while I become free again. Not showing ourselves to our enemies. More food: the mage is decent, the slaver was weaker. I need to get inside again: if I run, they will know it was me. Go back inside, act as if what happened had nothing to do with me. Alright. That dome won’t stop us: we are air. But the bag is solid: we can’t bring it. Do this.’

Silvy cast another spell, bringing the bag back out from its hiding place. She threw it into the air, letting the wind pick it up, transporting it away. It would go near the main road, hidden: she could recover it again later. Fortunately, she still had a set of clothes in her room…

Having done everything, she let go of herself completely, totally becoming air. She moved through the winds, flying with them above the wall so tall, blowing inside the city with a gust. A gentle wind hit the guards, unaware of the monster getting inside the city, undetected by all.

She reached the inn quickly; many people were looking at the dome in the sky, from the streets or their homes; everyone was curious and afraid. She got inside her room with no problem, ignoring everything else: air could pass through the small slits in the closed window after all.

‘I need to sleep. We are breaking. I asked too much power.’

She could feel her cores: they both had a crack on them, getting bigger and bigger every second. She had to drop the “whole” state, or they would break.

‘You asked too much power. Unnecessary. You are a cub, weak and ignorant. I am sorry: I won’t make the same mistake. I know much more now. You won’t later: you are thinking with three minds. You will be you again: simple problems will become harder again, and you will forget things as well. I see; I can’t do much about that. You asked everything and I gave you everything: but this will cost you double. You used both favors you had: remember. And I won’t keep a grudge against you two for using me: you have given me the chance to become free again; a small favor is a just reward. But do not mistake my kindness for weakness: this is the only time I will accept such arrangements.’

Her body had become normal again while speaking with the cores; time started to flow normally again for Silvy. She fell to the ground, unable to move, fainting. Her body, her mind, every part of her had worked behind their means; even the cores were cracked, in need of repairs.

And that was exactly what they were doing: both the undead core and the elemental core were repairing themselves, using the enormous quantity of energy received by their victims. But time would be needed even for them; they could not repair instantly.

A broken core would mean death for the monster. The cores would have been irreparable if it weren’t for Silvy being able to live without using them, but that didn’t mean that there wouldn’t be consequences...

[Beginner Death Dancer level 18→20]

[Mage level 5→15]

[Passive: Basic Mana Manipulation→Intermediate Mana Manipulation]

[Chimera level 3→6]

[Basic Bond: Elemental Core]

[Passive: Basic Body Manipulation]

…..

Weakness. Grogginess. Pain. She felt so bad, as if she had been trampled by a herd of horses.

“Ahi… Ouch…”

Silvy blinked, confused. She breathed in, feeling fresh air giving her a bit of energy. And pain: every breath was painful, hard. She coughed, trying to keep the air in. She turned around, getting belly up. Every part of her body was in pain… What had happened? Where was Rat…?

Wait. Pain? She was also breathing because she needed air! But she had a hard time moving her body. Powerless, weak, without energy. The room was dark; only a glimmer of light came from a slit in the window.

What was happening…? The cores? Undead? Yes, why was she alive again?!

‘Core?! Core?! Can you hear me?!’

No answer. She tried to feel the mana in her body, trying to understand what was going on. Why was it so hard?! She couldn’t feel them anymore: her mana was uncooperative! Were they dead?! What had happened?!

She tried to stand up; there was something to her side. A bed, yes: she used it to pull herself up, sitting, and then standing. Her legs and arms were screaming, trembling: they didn’t want to move, just to rest. But she had to know where she was: did someone kidnap her? Did they remove her cores?!

Silvy went to the window, opening it. Light flowed inside, blinding her for a moment. It was the inn: she recognized the street below. Why… they had broken! Well, cracked. Memories were flowing back to her slowly, and not in chronological order; some were completely missing as if they had been cut out. She closed the window, having no intention to go outside. She was also naked: this was happening too frequently for her liking.

But who cares: she wanted to sleep. She needed to sleep: she was too tired to do anything else. She laid down on the bed, put her head on the pillow and passed out again.

….

“Silvy. Silvy, wake up! Silvy!”

Silvy awoke at being roughly shaken, feeling weak again. What was going on? Why couldn’t they let her sleep?

“Silvy? Do you hear me? Hey, wake up!”

Silvy’s eyes were unfocused, her vision swimming; she couldn’t understand what was going on. A woman was shaking her, watching her with concern. What a nice hair color...

“Look at me! What happened? Can you speak?”

“Mmmh…”

Silvy tried to show her discontent by making a noise, but the woman took that the wrong way.

“Thank Adriar you are awake. I was going to call a [Healer] and to hell with it. How are you feeling?”

The woman had her hands on Silvy’s shoulders, keeping her sitting up. Silvy just wanted to sleep; why did this woman wake her up?

Hunger came over her, followed by thirst; she was so thirsty! And hungry! A loud rumble came from Silvy’s stomach, surprising Lindrl.

“...Water…”

Silvy spoke with crooked voice: she wanted to drink, then eat. Then sleep. Who was this woman anyway? She couldn’t remember… was she her mother?

The woman passed a waterskin to Silvy, taking it from a bag of holding. Did her mom always have one?

“Thanks, mom…”

Silvy took the waterskin with trembling hands from Lindrl, who had stopped mid-movement. The water was so refreshing!

Silvy coughed, having drunk too fast. Wait. This was not her mom…

“Lindrl! I’m sorry, I feel… groggy. I want to sleep…”

Her mind was clearing, remembering. This was Lindrl, an [Archmage]! Her mom had died. Sadness washed over her, this time not suppressed by the core. No point in thinking about this again! It happened years ago; she wouldn’t cry again after all this time. Silvy kept drinking, quenching her thirst.

“Silvy, what happened? Do you know what happened last night? Was it your doing?”

What happened last night?... Oh. Yes, she killed the evil guys. Probably not a good idea to speak about it.

“No. I slept.”

Lindrl squinted her eyes.

“Liar. I don’t even need to look at your mana to see it. What happened to your mana anyway? It’s all… gone. Here: take this. It’s not much, but eat.”

Lindrl passed to Silvy some ration; a piece of bread and jerky. She devoured them: they were so good. So good? She could taste them! It was the best food she had ever had, period. A big smile covered Silvy’s face, feeling blissful. She chewed with gusto, savoring the taste. Lindrl waited patiently, studying Silvy’s body. The sheet had come down when she had made her sit up, showing Silvy’s body. It was… perfect. Lindrl could not think of any other word: there was no scar on it, no mole, no hair; it was completely smooth, like a newborn baby: unbelievable. But Silvy’s mana… it was gone. If before she had been a giant beacon in the night, right now it was just like any other non-mage: a small flame. What had happened? The flame was not recovering either; it was just there, unchanging as if it was at full power.

“Silvy. Are you listening now? What did you do last night? I have almost seven times your age and I can read your mana, which, I remind you, you did not train to hide your thoughts: your lies won’t work. You have no idea how hard was to come here without being seen: the city is in full lockdown, and we [Archmages] are wanted everywhere at once. At least the spies around you have more pressing matters than to watch a kid sleeping in an inn. I don’t have much time, but I was worried about you, and rightly so. I came here and saw the innkeeper divided between calling for a healer or calling for the guards; she hadn’t done either because the guards are too busy patrolling outside the city and on the walls and she didn’t know if you could pay for the healer. I’m pissed, overworked, and, frankly, angry at you. Tell me. What. Did. You. Do.”

Silvy felt tiny. Even smaller than she had felt in the past. Lindrl was probably pressuring her with mana; an effective technique, as she had apparently lost her mana. Which was really bad by the way.

“I… went out. Tested a few things. I may have lost control. I’m sorry.”

“And? Continue. What did you test? How did you lose control? No, before that; how are you feeling? Shouldn’t you be… undead? Didn’t you tell me you didn’t breathe, drink and so on?”

“I… feel tired. But I’m fine. Mostly. And still hungry. I am not sure why, but I’m back to being… alive? For now, at least.”

Silvy covered her torso, noticing only now her very naked state. She felt her cheeks reddening, embarrassed.

“I… don’t remember much, and it’s confusing. I remember going to the slums: I wanted to… test my power. It went well at the beginning, you know: I eliminated a lair of thugs all alone. But then, I had to… become one against some slavers; there were too many.”

“Become one? What do you mean?”

“It’s sort of like a fusion between my cores and me? I have done it once before. Well, I didn’t do it: the undead core did. But I didn’t become human again at the time; I don’t know what is different. But I remember… power. A lot of it. It felt like… the world was in my hands. And then…”

A sharp pain stabbed her head, preventing her from recalling the details. She had cast something; but when she tried to remember the rune or the many runes she had known at that time, the pain would assail her mind again. It was as if she was trying to reach something that wasn’t hers, and she was being punished for it.

“..Ouch. I cast a spell, I think. Then… It’s hard, painful, to remember. I came back here, but I don’t remember how… It’s like the memory is not mine and I can’t reach it; my head hurts if I try. Sorry.”

Lindrl sucked in a breath.

“So it was you: I was right. The spell you cast… it was an advanced one, for sure. Do you remember what happened after casting it?”

Lindrl had a gloomy look on her face: she was clearly not happy about what had happened.

Silvy tried to recall it, but the harder she tried the more painful it became; she had to stop or faint again.

“No, sorry. I can’t recall… What happened? I have only a few flashes after that...”

Lindrl took a long sigh before speaking.

“Half of the northern slum has been… destroyed. As far as we can tell, it was a powerful slash, probably made of air. It hit the wall as well, chipping it. In the beginning, they thought it was an elf attack, but they quickly realized it was not the case. We found the epicenter of the destruction: a building with people in chains inside. They were buried below rubble, but most of them were alive. Half an hour ago we managed to find a new lead; apparently, some thugs have been decimated the same night an hour or so before the slash, with a few of them getting out alive. They all talked about an incredibly strong green-eyed black-haired woman. The guards already have a drawing; and, surprise surprise, it’s you but a few years older. Try to imagine my surprise at seeing that. Luckily I am the only one who knows about your capabilities.”

Lindrl sighed again.

“Silvy, did you realize what you did? We are still counting the victims, but we are at more than a thousand. And one of my spies is not responding. What am I to do with you now?”

Oh...oh. A thousand dead?! That was… she would be hung! Beheaded! Wait, those were punishments for murderers, but she was even worse! What had she done...

Silvy could feel tears starting to form, running down her face. No: she couldn’t believe it. There was no way she had done it… What was she thinking…. She curled up, refusing to believe the truth.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I didn’t want to…”

She had killed them. So many… all those innocents: they were just trying to live, refused by the city as she had been…

Lindrl hugged Silvy, trying to comfort her. Silvy started to sob, harder and harder.

“It wasn’t you, child. It wasn’t you…”

Lindrl cradled, lulled her.

“Shh…”

How could she live while knowing this? She had to repent herself… what could she even do after something like this?! The dead would remain dead; nothing could resurrect them, not even magic. Their bodies would be piled up and burnt. Nothing would be left of them: nothing but ashes.

Crying, Silvy lost the fight against tiredness, and at a certain point, she fell asleep. Lindrl laid her on the bed gently, tucking her under the sheets.

She then went downstairs, calming down the innkeeper and paying the room for the full week. No healer would be needed, and she would come back tomorrow, maybe even before then.

Oh yes. She would be back. This girl was a gold mine. A gold mine? No, she would not trade her for all the gold in the world: immortality could not be bought. But her…

She thought back at the destruction created by her. She was annoyed at the dead spy, and the dead were many, but she thought it was worth it. A single spell had created that carnage, she and the other [Archmages] were sure of it. Of course, she hadn’t told them anything about her suspicions, keeping Silvy all for herself. She almost wanted to skip and sing; she felt younger already. So much power, so much potential: and she was her best friend, her only shoulder on which she could cry. Even better, Silvy had even called her mom. Yes, she had been obviously confused, but she had done it: such a sweet child.

Lindrl still couldn’t believe those idiots had let her go: they were idiots, no, more than idiots. What was that brothel? She still had no definitive proof, of course, but in her mind she was sure: they were some kind of experimenting facility. Creating a hybrid between a monster and a human, closing the gap between magic and sapients, creating an incredible being: those new specimens would be a force to behold if Silvy was an example. And what they were doing was incredible: she would have a hard time even knowing where to start. And an advanced spell! She had cast an advanced spell at twelve years old! Forget Rumund Grav; he hadn’t been able to cast an advanced spell at Silvy’s age, casting it instead after a bit more than thirty years of practice. An incredible feat, indeed; but Silvy had done it in, what, two weeks? One? Lindrl wanted that power. An undying body with an unheard-of aptitude for magic… Oh, how she wanted to study her. But not yet: a live specimen was much more useful. For now, the blood and the arm she had cut would have to suffice: they were already very interesting. Lindrl went back to the soldiers’ barrack, reporting her presence to the general. Another boring evening following orders; she would much prefer being in her quarters experimenting with Silvy’s blood. The reaction to the healing potion had been fascinating: was it a consequence of being an undead? She would have to search. Nevertheless, it was a good fall-back plan; and having one was always a good idea.