"Let me out of here!"

She pounded on the door with her fists, with all her strength. But, of course, she failed to open the door, she just moved it a little. Because it hadn't been locked.

Only blocked with another piece of furniture. As if he was taunting her, giving her a false chance to escape. Even at her age, she understood his cruel intentions instinctively, almost as if it were second nature.

Even though this was only the beginning. That too she understood, albeit vaguely, in a corner of her subconscious.

She screamed and cried, and pounded endlessly on the door without receiving a reward, or even an answer.

She screamed until she ran out of words to beg.

She screamed until she ran out of a voice to raise.

And, finally, she sat with her back against the back of the closet, curled into a ball.

She told herself she was merely resting.

A part of her whispered that she was actually giving up, though. That she had fallen and would never get up to fight again.

Time passed.

Here, in this lightless darkness, an instant was equal to eternity and eternity was an instant.

Her first and only indication that perhaps too much time had passed was that she became hungry. And, for the first time since her strength ran out, she became afraid. This one was worse. Not the brief fear at the anticipation of pain.

A more powerful, older fear, the kind that ate you up inside.

That consumed your thoughts.

She had thought of this as a harsh, nay, cruel punishment. But punishments, however terrible they turned out to be, were temporary, to then give her another chance.

The idea that he intended to leave her here forever, until she died of starvation or thirst....

It was simply too much.

She clenched fists that had lost their strength, gathering what little courage there was in the small, frail body of a six-year-old girl. And, to fill the hole of what she had lost and would never regain, she created an illusion.

Strong enough to help her stand up and come back to it.

She told herself that, even if it had seemed impossible to move what was blocking the door before, it shouldn't be. And this was probably some sort of test. He hadn't left her locked up to rot, but to prove with her own hands that she deserved to be out.

She had spent a lot of time and strength. But she would do it. She had to do it.

She didn't want to stay in the dark, where anything could dwell.

The girl was braver, stronger, than could be demanded of a child of her age. But her bravery and inner strength weren't rewarded this time either.

She was unable to move the furniture and there was no response from the outside world that she longed to see again.

It was not a challenge she could overcome.

No, she was sure now.

But had she been discarded? No, no, that couldn't be true. If he wanted to get rid of her, it would have been simpler to poison her food or cut her throat and bury her corpse somewhere remote.

He didn't want to get rid of her. She was a useful tool.

No, he wanted her to be useful, but a tool couldn't be useful until it served its purpose.

This was a challenge, after all.

But of a different nature. The challenge of letting go of her pride. Suddenly, she had a bad taste in her mouth, as if she had recently vomited. She swallowed saliva. She closed her eyes softly and leaned her head against the closet door where there was nothing but her and the darkness.

He, no doubt, was waiting on the other side. Waiting to hear the words that would doom her.

Even then, she had been very aware of that. Yes, she had been a very smart girl from the beginning. For she had been forced to mature terribly fast.

This was but another step on that road that led to hell.

"I give up," she said slowly and clearly.

When even stooping so low didn't grant her an answer, her heart leapt into her throat, believing she had exhausted all her options.

But, at last, the closet door slowly opened. After so long in the dark, the light that entered her small world hurt her eyes, forced her to squint. In the light she saw the dark silhouette of a man.

"Have you learned your lesson? "

She opened her eyes slowly, as her sight became accustomed to the light again.

"Yes, Father," Amy Sunderland said.

■

Desmond waited, lying on the floor, for Christina to speak.

What she did at last was to stand up, grab the book with both hands and press it to her chest. She was still looking at him as if she wanted to say something. But she gave the impression that he wouldn't have a chance to hear her real thoughts.

He stood up too, without taking his eyes off her. The blood he had spilled on himself, mixed with the blood that had been on the girl's body because they had been so close to each other, was trickling down his body.

Of course, the same was true the other way around.

They were both 'monsters' who could kill people with a stony face, or a smile. Maybe he was getting his hopes up too high, but he had a powerful feeling that someone like her should be able to understand him.

That the words of someone like her could put all the pieces in place, as if by magic.

Yes, as if something so convenient could happen in a world like this.

But it was what he had needed, what he had always needed. And especially now, when the personification of his worst nightmare had come to life again in front of his eyes.

"What were you thinking?" she asked in an accusing tone.

She had spoken, but not to voice the words he wished to hear, at least not at the moment. But... what he wished to hear was nothing but formless mist. . If he wanted to tell it to himself, he wouldn't even know where to begin.

All he had was the desire to get himself together, to feel better.

Christina couldn't help him. And there was only one way he could help himself.

To finish that spider with his own hands.

"I'm sorry for my recklessness," Desmond said. "I lost my cool, and you saved me. Thank you very much. "

"That's not what I was getting at and you know it. "

"Yes, well... One of those spiders tore apart the town I used to live in. Killed my parents, trampled everything I care about, and left me... like that. With a hole in my chest, and a need for retribution. My story is commonplace and not worthy of going into detail, so I'll leave it at that. "

"Depressingly common, indeed. That's why I didn't need you to give me that explanation either. You lost control; I understand. But do you want to die? Do you want to die fighting or do you want revenge? Tell me. "

"No. No, I... I value my life. That's why I can say I lost control when I acted like I didn't care. I wasn't in my right mind. "

Christina pursed her lips, turned away. Her small shoulders shook.

She seemed small and vulnerable to him at that moment, even though she was a mage who could easily kill him, an opponent against whom his only chance would be a stealth attack from behind.

He took a deep breath, pulled himself together easily.

"I don't even know why I bother. We're nothing but strangers. "

"We're two people caught in the same situation and I'd be willing to bet with the same scars. Similar enough, anyway? You feel it too, don't you? That we're the same."

Christina sighed.

"Again with that. Although it's true that it's easier to empathize with you than a normal student who only cares about making his parents proud, his country and stuff like that. "

She turned around again, looked him in the eye.

"I think you're lying to me. To me and to yourself, even. I think what you were looking for a moment ago was death. "

His first instinct was to respond with a resounding no. Then he thought better of it. Then he thought better of it. He thought seriously about what she had just said, even though he was sure he wouldn't like what he found there.

And he came up with an answer he couldn't escape.

"Before, in the forest and when I ran towards the soldiers, towards the spider... I thought not that I wanted to die, but that I wouldn't mind doing it. To do something important with my life. To go in a blaze of glory. "

"You don't want to die, but you wouldn't mind doing it under the right circumstances." Christina shook her head. "Frankly, I don't know which is worse. But at least you've been honest with me. That's better than the blatant lie before. "

"It was a lie, yes, but a lie I was also telling myself. You were right after all. My life... is far from being the most important thing to me. "

Christina put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't throw your life away. Survive. "

Why do you care? he thought.

We're just two strangers, after all, like you said, he thought.

Those were the first thoughts that went through his head. But not the best he could say. His words from before were also true, at the same time. He had realized that this girl was talking to herself through him.

She wanted to save herself by seeing that someone in a similar situation could get through it, after all. That would help her bear the weight on her shoulders.

It was only further proof that he wasn't right in the head, but, well, he found it easier to understand people with selfish motives like that than people who helped others because it was the right thing to do or things like that.

Selfishness might be a terrible thing, but it was human.

A truly altruistic person couldn't be normal. If he saw someone like that, more than feeling grateful, that would give him the creeps....

Except that he had seen someone like that, he believed. Did he want to believe that? In any case, he was referring to his savior, the woman who had appeared out of nowhere to get him out of that hell and had left without a trace, without asking anything in return. Even though she had gotten nothing out of it. Even though they had no connection whatsoever, be it as family, friends or something romantic.

There were people like that. Beautiful people.

"I promise you," he said.

Could she take a stranger's word for it? He didn't know, but he had told the truth.

He would survive.

He had a reason to survive.

Revenge, and...

"I have nothing," Desmond said. "No one. But, even though you might not go to the funeral if I died, you'd be sad. So I'm serious. I promise you. I'll live. "

After a moment, Christina nodded.

■

Amy regained consciousness.

She had been enveloped in a nightmare that was actually a memory. How long had it been since she had last dreamed of that moment? Not long enough, she answered herself, not by a long shot. But it was natural for her to return to it at this stage of her life.

The one that had been the end of many things and, in turn, the beginning of others.

Her first lie.

The birth of a person she didn't even recognize herself when she looked in the mirror.

She opened her eyes slowly.

A light too intense, burning her eyes. Then, after her sight was getting used to the light, which was not particularly intense or weak, but normal, she saw only more white. Even before that distinctive smell filled her nostrils, she realized that she must be in the academy infirmary.

In all hospitals, all healing places, the walls and floors were white without exception.

As if there could be no color in what was actually a place of death.

She remembered what had happened to her. In the forest, she had been shot several times, leaving her helpless, bleeding to death on the ground. Powerless. Then the teacher had rescued them and had probably been the one who had carried her here. In her arms.

Just thinking about it was humiliating.

She was almost grateful she hadn't been conscious to experience it.

Almost, because she couldn't say it would have been better than the nightmare, or the memories it had awakened in her. A flurry of memories, crashing into each other, striving to reach the surface of her mind first.

The best way to handle this was, of course, to push them to the corner of her mind and keep them at bay as she fought.

Letting them build up, let them gather strength, let them become more intense and vivid than when she'd really lived them, like now.

And let them explode.

Yes, it wasn't ideal. But it's not like she could rip them out of her head, throw them away and never find them again. Whatever she did, that was the path her memories, which were like scars, would always follow.

He dreamed of the day when they would become even less than they were now.

Shadows of the past.

But, deep in her heart, she didn't believe that day would come.

That didn't mean she couldn't or wouldn't be able to move on. That's why she was here. Amy got out of bed, not without some effort.

She crawled forward, occasionally leaning on the other beds, the furniture, even the door.

She was weak. She had lost a lot of blood.

Lost the sword, which was out of her sight. But that didn't mean she was unarmed. As long as she could breathe, she could cast spells. Attempting to fight in her state was not suicide.

It wasn't trying. While it was the most convenient thing to do, to avoid attacks, to reposition herself where she had a greater advantage, to survive, she didn't have to be able to move well enough to do all of those things.

Just to get close.

Her willpower and magical energy would do the rest.

A nurse came out to meet her.

"Wait. Wait a moment," she said, putting her hands on her shoulders. Panic was written all over her face. But not for her patient. For herself and no one else, even if she wanted to pretend otherwise. "Where are you going? You're in no condition to go anywhere. "

Amy grimaced and slapped her hand away, utter contempt in her eyes.

Always the same. Always.

"I'm a soldier. My job is to fight, and I'm still capable of it. And if, well, well..." She shrugged. -"Who cares? Soldiers die every day. So get out of my way. "

She didn't.

She didn't say anything, she didn't put her hands on Amy again, but she didn't move out of the way.

Amy pushed her so hard that she knocked herself off balance. She managed to regain her balance by the skin of her teeth, preserve her dignity. And get out of there before her bruised body gave her a second chance to fail.

No one else got in her way.

■

They didn't have to walk far.

Nor wander around the tower in search of the group. Soon after they set out, they only had to follow the sound of the voice. It was a single voice, so at first, he thought it wasn't what they were looking for, just the beginning.

As they got closer, it became clear that it was the voice of the school's headmaster.

"They've cut communications. Reinforcements will not arrive. We have to take care of these rats with the resources and combat strength we currently have. "

Desmond frowned.

So the situation would not be as simple as staying here, in the safety provided by the main building, waiting for reinforcements to arrive.

Normally he would have even welcomed that chance to shine. But, shortly after promising from the bottom of his heart that he would do his best to survive, being caught between a rock and a hard place only made him want to try his luck on his own.

Not on his own. With Christina.

She was silent. Did she still not hear what his ears were picking up, with his heightened senses?

He had hit the nail on the head. Shortly afterward she spoke as if they had received new information.

"I don't like the way things are going." She was a genius among geniuses who possessed overwhelming power. But even running away to fight another day, fighting her way through the Empire's army, seemed doubtful.

It was only natural that even someone like her, who had nothing to envy the teachers who would instruct them, would have that complicated expression on her face.

At last they arrived.

The students were gathered with the faculty, listening to the principal's speech as they had done just this morning. Except that everything had changed. Except that it felt like much more than a few hours had passed. Whole days, at least.

You could see it in the faces of all those boys and girls their age. The tragedy of this day had scarred even the adults.

Of the more than one hundred applicants, less than half were now left.

As they made their entrance, the director stopped. As he did, nearly every pair of eyes in the room turned to them.

Both bathed in blood, their bodies with some clearly visible bullet holes that had not yet regenerated. They must have looked horrible.

Surely they had been presumed dead at this point, so they must have looked like vengeful ghosts.

"I can't believe you survived out there after all this time," the director said. "But I'm proud of you. And, if fortune smiles on us, you will soon make the whole kingdom proud."

If fortune smiles upon us, eh?

The director might be a great man, but he wasn't too good at speeches, after all. At least not the ones aimed at boosting people's morale.

"Come here. I'll start over, although there's really not much to say. "

So they did.

There really wasn't much to hear.

They had heard almost everything important from the hallway. The rest was just details to fill in the frame they had been given, so to speak. Having to stand there listening to useless things when the enemy was at the gates made him feel uneasy, as if he had insects beneath his skin.

Then he heard something new, and then he wished the man would go back to the things he already knew.

-We have to take care of this alone. But we're running out of time, and we can't just sit around, waiting for the end.

One more person made an appearance.

Amy, her clothes splattered here and there with blood, but cleaner than the two of them, who did not possess any spells to get the blood off themselves, that when they did that it would be the old fashioned way. Unlike many others, not just Amy.

Most would have to have bathed in the blood of their enemies to get this far. However, the two of them were in the minority, not the other way around.

Christina had suggested that she might be a prodigy among prodigies because of that touch of madness that allowed him to take physical reinforcement so far. And she was a genius without question. However, it could be a nuisance at times to have such a refined and specialized skill.

Each of Amy's steps seemed like an effort, but she kept on advancing with determination.

Yes, she wasn't the kind of person who would just lie around waiting for the end.

"Hey, Desmond..." Was there doubt in her voice, or did it exist only in his imagination, putting weakness where there was only a whisper, which was naturally weaker?

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and her expression told him it wasn't just his imagination. There was something there.

He didn't know how or why, but there was something there.

Instead of answering, he turned away from her, moving closer to Amy. A conversation could wait. Amy needed physical help.

"Let me help you. "

Amy looked at him as if at that very moment she had become aware of his presence. Then she glared at him, as if it was his fault she was in that state. Her expression softened, however, and she eventually agreed to lean on him.

He led her over to where he and Christina had been listening to the speech. Once there, she let go of him. Rather abruptly.

"At least I can stand on my own," she said, "You don't need to worry about me. "

He had met Christina again, with whom he had had an unpleasant encounter for both of them, and she had ended up practically begging him to value his life. And now Amy, with whom he had gotten along well, was treating him as if they had parted on bad terms.

Christina wasn't the only one who was hard to understand.

Is it a woman thing?, he thought. He soon realized that was the stupidest thought that had ever crossed his mind.

He had barely spoken to people, only the bare minimum, for many years.

Therefore, his ability to understand people was atrophied. He was not a hermit, but practically. He was sure that a normal person at the very least would not feel as lost as he did. He would know what they were thinking. What to say and how to say it.

"Desmond..." Christina continued, slowly and after a while. "I'm sorry. "

"Why?"

He was more confused now, not the other way around.

She lowered her head.

"I know it's not the best time. But I'm sorry for the things I said to you and how I behaved with you. I want you to know in case.... "

"…The main building, as well as the towers, are protected by powerful enchantments, but even with that they won't resist for long against the overwhelming power of that metal creature," the director said. "So this is what we will do. Prepare for battle and open the door for them. "

It was a terrible idea. But then, in terrible situations, there were no good ideas.

Only bad ideas and less bad ideas.

"If we don't survive," Christina finished. Her face had grown grim.

She remained silent. Amy and he too.

But here too they were the exception. Many times they rose up in protest, shouting hysterically, waving their hands, clenching their fists. In an extreme situation, extreme reactions were natural, he got that at least.

"Enough! Enough of this!" shouted a boy with his head buried in his hands.

"You're going to kill us all. And for what?"

"I want to go home!"

"At least... at least..."

"I'm not going to die for anyone!"

He wondered how long it would take for these boys and girls his age, who had probably killed another person for the first time today, to throw themselves on the wheelchair-bound director if he insisted on following this path leading to suicide.

Not much, he replied to himself. Not much.

Maybe Jacob wouldn't have to do anything. Maybe it would be enough with the spider's footsteps that could be heard even in here, that made everything tremble.

It would be like a thin thread snapping under the tension, and then there would be no one who could control them.

The director tapped the floor with his cane.

It worked. Something so simple silenced everyone without any resistance. It was so sudden, so abrupt, that he seriously wondered if he hadn't used a spell to accomplish it. But he would have felt its effect too, and in any case, something like that was not possible through magic. That he knew of.

"You've all come this far fighting. You have killed. You have watched as people who should have become your companions were cruelly killed. Even more. They call us demons, but, if we fail, the women won't enjoy the luxury of a quick death. The real demons will have no qualms about using them to their heart's content before slitting their throats.

We cannot escape, and only hell awaits us if we lose. But let me ask you one thing. Even if we could, should we escape? Do you want it to be in vain? The blood shed this day? Do you want what you have been forced to do, all that you have seen, the death of your comrades, to mean nothing? "

Jacob stood up, this time leaning on his staff.

"Of course it doesn't. If we were that kind of people, we would have been devoured by the Empire long ago. We are the ones who devour, not the devoured. We will prevail today and always!"