The days oozed by, thick and heavy.
Time no longer moved forward; it corroded me from the inside, slowly, without haste.
The world ceased to be interesting. Even when I was allowed to go out, to walk anywhere, to look at anything inside, nothing resonated within.
I was afraid. Not for myself, but that this cruel, bloody world would break me completely. That one day I would look at it and feel nothing except revulsion and emptiness.
The colors had changed.
What had once been light, noisy, alive had become dull.
Gray.
This color seeped into everything. Into the walls, into the sky, into faces.
And together with it, something inside me was crumbling.
The days of the week passed excruciatingly slowly.
I was losing weight. My appetite had almost completely disappeared.
But Ada did not give up. Every day some kind of sweets appeared in my room. Something caloric, bright, calculated so that I would at least try it.
I did not refuse. I simply did not eat. Sometimes I gave everything to the girls responsible for order in the living quarters. They always accepted it gladly. At least someone benefited from it.
I no longer saw Roger. Just as he had said.
But I knew that he was nearby. Somewhere here. Everywhere there was shadow.
Was he really always there? Always close?
The thought was strange. But not frightening.
On one of those days I was sitting by the window and looking at the river.
I did not know where Blake was. And I did not want to know. I did not follow.
But suddenly I wanted to know, simply to distract myself.
"Roger, are you here?" I asked quietly. A wave of a new hysteria was already rising. I did not want it to overwhelm me again. I wanted to slip away from it, even for a moment.
"Yes," the voice replied. Quiet, low. It echoed in the room.
But he was nowhere to be seen.
"And is Blake in his room?"
"No."
The voice remained just as calm.
That calm worked. It did not heal. But it dulled the edge.
"Isn't it hard for you to be my nanny?" I asked.
Without mockery. Simply honestly.
"No. Given the circumstances, it is necessary."
I exhaled. His voice lulled me.
Not gentle. Just even.
And that helped.
"I am not chosen. Even if I stay alive… still. I am useless," I said. Not with bitterness. Already as a fact.
"Your time has not yet come. That is all," Roger replied.
"There is no magic in me. I am physically weak. I do not stand out either in mind or in memory. There are no seals on me, no prophecies, not even a hint of destiny," I sighed, trying not to burst into tears. "There is no black curse upon me. In history there has never been a case where magic simply disappeared and then appeared. I do not have it. At all."
He was silent.
"You must believe in yourself. Just as Blake believes in you."
"He is mistaken," I said quietly. It was not an objection. Just a thought spoken aloud.
"I heard what happened," Roger continued. "There was no fault of yours in it. Even a good mage of the Exalted rank would not have been able to defeat an Avodants. And the boys knew that. They were trying to save you."
He said aloud the truth I'd been refusing to face for days.
Because to accept it meant to admit: they died for me.
I was holding their sphere in my hands. That very one. The magic inside was still shimmering.
I squeezed it with my palms, trying to hold back the tears. At least this time.
"Even if they were protecting you, that means you must live," Roger's voice became a little harsher. But still just as quiet. "Do not let their act be in vain."
I did not answer anything. And silence came again.
The next day, and all those that followed, merged into one. Outside it was growing cooler. Autumn was approaching slowly, but surely.
They brought me warmer clothes. They hung on me as if on a hanger. I had lost a lot of weight. My own reflection in the bathroom mirror frightened me. My face had become foreign, as if I were looking at someone else.
Roger's words kept spinning in my head: "do not let their death be in vain." But could I allow myself to go on living as if nothing had happened?
That morning I decided to go down to Ada. She was glad to see me and immediately served hot soup. Along with it—a large plate of fish, carefully prepared, with small cuts in the skin and steam rising from the flesh.
"You have lost so much weight," she said softly, touching my face with her palm.
I did not know whether she knew what had happened. I did not know whether I could tell her anything.
"And won't you feed me?" a quiet voice sounded behind me.
Roger stepped out of the shadow and sat down nearby, on a wooden bench.
"Mr. Roger, you have returned? How long have you been in Ventarion?" Ada instantly smiled, bustled about, took out a second plate and quickly set it in front of him. "Shall I brew you tea, the way you like it?" she asked in the same kind tone, as if he were an old neighbor.
She knew him. And it did not trouble her that he was dark. Even despite the fact that the dark ones had taken her family. She still treated him with respect. Perhaps he was not a bad man.
I looked at him. In books I had read that dark ones of the highest rank wear a mask because magic has mutilated their faces. But I had never seen this with my own eyes.
He slightly shifted the mask downward. On his dark skin, in the area of the cheeks and nose, old scars were visible. He noticed how I was looking at him.
"The faces and upper body are most often damaged among the dark," he said, beginning to eat. "The Keepers often heal me. That is why I do not look so frightening."
He spoke calmly. Evenly. As if giving a lecture. He understood that I was studying his face.
"My magic and its use take my health from me. That is the price. The skin darkens, burns appear, blisters. Sometimes—rotting wounds."
Ada listened with half an ear, but continued bustling in the kitchen.
"You look wonderful. Simply handsome," she said cheerfully, brewing tea. "You do not need a mask at all. I am sure you are just shy about your beauty."
Roger froze. He was a little taken aback by such a compliment.
"Ada, you have always known how to speak beautifully," he smirked. "Next you will say that I am the finest groom in the entire barracks."
"Well, why not, you are a fine catch. Strong, smart, tall, and handsome. If it were not for my years, I would invite you to dinner," she laughed.
"Age means nothing. I am sure I am older than you," he played along, raising an eyebrow slightly.
For the first time in a long while, I felt warmth. Small. But alive. As if a little flame had kindled inside me, one that had not been there for so long.
"I am already one hundred and twenty-one," Ada said, squinting.
"I am one hundred and twenty," Roger replied in surprise.
I looked at them. Ada looked like an elderly woman. Roger—like a mature man. But… a difference of one year?
"One year is not so much," he laughed.
He turned to me.
"And you, eat."
He nodded toward my plate, where the soup had already had time to cool.
"Food really is magical. It melts on the tongue."
"You are praising it again," Ada waved him off. "But you really do need to eat."
She placed a second cup of tea in front of me.
"You need to be strong. It will get cold soon."
I forced myself to finish the soup. I no longer had the strength to try the fish. Ada noticed this and said softly:
"I will save it for your dinner."
She carefully covered the dish and wrapped it in a towel.
"Thank you," I answered shortly. "I will go outside."
I cast a glance at Roger. He only nodded, finishing his tea. His appetite was excellent.
Outside it was cool. Overcast. A cold wind struck my face, and my lungs filled with sharp freshness. All of this reminded me of that day, my first awakening. Then I had run out here in exactly the same way, with the same emptiness inside. The sensations were almost no different.
I passed by the training ground. It was empty now. I headed toward the river.
I no longer wore the white mantle. I was in a simple brown one, and no one said anything. Neither Blake. Nor Nimor. I had not seen Solemir for a long time. It seemed that everyone was avoiding me. Perhaps they were afraid to say something. Perhaps they simply did not know what to say.
The lessons with Nimor had stopped. He came only once, to ask whether I wanted to continue. He saw my silence and left. He did not raise the topic again. Sometimes he stopped by to check on my condition. We did not talk. I did not ask, and neither did he.
By the river it was quiet. Unusually so. Almost unnaturally.
The wind tousled my hair, stung my skin.
Before, at moments like this, I would barely have time to close my eyes before Kay or Lian would already appear nearby, and it would begin: jokes, chatter, voices.
Now there was only silence. Deaf, complete.
I clutched the sphere with their magic in my hands. I turned toward the academy. There was no one there. No silhouette, no sound.
Inside there was the same silence. Only different. Worse.
They were gone.
They were not there.
They would not return.
I closed my eyes, holding back tears.
How much time must pass for me to forgive myself? To be able to breathe again? For this to stop squeezing my chest with every step?
How much?
I stood there with my eyes closed until I felt that the hysteria had receded a little. It was better to return to my room. There I could cry. Without unnecessary eyes.
As I climbed the stairs, I felt my legs growing heavier with every step.
In front of the door to the old room I froze.
I pushed it. The lock was open.
I went inside.
Almost nothing had changed inside. Everything stood as it had then, except for the carpet—it had long ago been moved to my new room near the Keeper's quarters. The bed on which I had slept, coughed up blood, lost consciousness. The window from which almost the entire city could be seen. Cold, empty walls.
And the pillow. That very one. It had long since been replaced. But it was precisely it that had pulled me out of sleep then. Awakened me into this cruel, unbearably real world.
A wind passed through the room. At first I thought it was because of the open door.
But then I understood.
These were Blake's winds.
I heard his steps behind me.
A moment later I felt his presence with my whole body. The wind became different. The air in the room seemed to stop.
"Sometimes I regret that I woke up," I said, knowing that he could hear. "Sleep was the best thing I had."
He was silent.
He came closer, standing on the same level as me. I did not look directly, but in my peripheral vision I caught his silhouette. White armor smeared with earth, gray stains on the plates.
"Do you think I should fall asleep again? Since I woke up too early?" I turned my head in his direction.
He still did not look at me.
His gaze rested on the bed. Dirt on his face, weariness under his eyes. An empty mana belt hung at his waist. He held the second one in his hand.
"I want to fall asleep again," I whispered, squeezing the sphere in my palm more tightly.
He did not answer. Did not even turn.
As if he were afraid of meeting my eyes. Or did not know what to say.
"I will speak with Nimor and Solemir. They will prepare everything," he finally said. His voice was honed. Military. Without a trace of doubt.
He turned around and left.
That day I stayed to sleep in my old room.