Date: November 3, 542, from the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
Consciousness returned slowly, like water seeping through cracks in stone. Datuk did not know where he was, did not understand what was happening, and did not know why his head was splitting into a thousand tiny shards.
He opened his eyes. The ceiling was unfamiliar — white, smooth, without a single crack. The light filtering through the walls was soft, diffused, not hurting his eyes, but still seemed too bright.
"My head is killing me," Datuk rasped, pressing a palm to his temple. "Shaman save me, I'm quitting drinking."
He tried to sit up, and the world swayed. His body was heavy, unresponsive, and his left arm, still in its splint, answered with a dull, throbbing ache. But that was not the main thing.
The main thing was beside him.
Datuk turned his head and froze.
On the pillow, next to him, slept Namida. Her white hair was spread across the pillow, and she, curled up, breathed softly. Her blind eye sockets were closed — or perhaps just relaxed. She looked calm. Almost happy.
Datuk blinked. Then again.
"Damn," he said. "Damn, damn, damn."
He tried to remember the previous night. The feast. Songs. Dances. Drink — lots of drink. And then… he remembered Namida taking his hand. Them walking somewhere. Laughing. Then — a blank.
"I remember nothing," he whispered. "Absolutely nothing."
Namida stirred. Her eyelids flickered, and she smiled.
"How did you sleep, hero?" she asked. Her voice was soft, slightly hoarse from sleep, but there was a smile in it.
"I remember almost nothing," Datuk admitted. "Unfortunately."
"Well, I remember everything," Namida opened her eyes — her blind eye sockets looking directly at him. "That's what happens when you don't drink."
She smiled — softly, almost shyly.
Datuk felt blood rush to his cheeks. He never blushed. Never. But now, it seemed, he was close.
"Give me water," he asked, just to say something.
Namida sat up, reached to the bedside table, and handed him a clay cup. Their fingers touched, and Datuk felt a strange, unfamiliar tremor run through his arm.
He took a gulp. The water was cold, clean, and as it burned his throat, it brought relief.
"Thanks," he said, setting the cup aside.
They sat in silence. The quiet was awkward, but not hostile. Just… new.
"Listen, Namida," Datuk began, then stopped, searching for words. "I have to move on. I have friends. They're waiting. I can't stay."
She did not look surprised. Did not seem upset. She simply nodded.
"I know," she said. "You're not the type to settle in one place."
"It's just…" he trailed off again.
"Just what?" Namida turned to him.
"Just that I feel a little awkward," Datuk confessed. "About what happened. I didn't want you to think…"
"That it meant something?" she interrupted. "Don't worry, hero. I understand everything. I'm not going to keep you here by force."
"What are you going to do?" Datuk asked.
Namida was silent. Her blind eye sockets gazed somewhere into the distance, through the walls, through time.
"I just wanted to touch something new," she said quietly. "Something that isn't here. Something that hasn't been with me my whole life."
She paused, then added:
"And perhaps to bear strong children. From a strong father."
Datuk choked on air.
"What?"
"You heard me," Namida answered calmly. "But don't be afraid. I'm not going to demand fatherhood from you. That was… my personal calculation. In case you didn't come back."
"And if I do come back?" he asked.
"If you come back — then you're alive." She shrugged. "I'm not the kind who hangs expectations on men."
Datuk looked at her and did not know what to say. He was bewildered — for the first time in a long while. Inside him, where his Berserker Spirit lived, something stirred. Not rage. Not excitement. Something else, for which he had no name.
"You're strange," he said.
"And you're the first to survive the Dead Crater," Namida replied. "We're even."
She stood, stretched, and her long, flowing white hair fell over her shoulders.
"Get ready, hero," she said. "You need to go. And I need to go on living."
Datuk rose. His left arm ached, his head still pounded, but he was on his feet.
"Thank you," he said. "For everything."
"You're welcome," Namida answered.
She came close and, without touching, passed her palms over his face. Her eyes on her palms looked at him — studying, memorizing.
"Go," she said. "And do not forget that somewhere out there is a village where you will be waited for. If you ever want to return."
Datuk nodded. He wanted to say something more, but thought better of it. Words were unnecessary.
He stepped out of the house. The sun stood high, and the white world, as always, greeted him with silence.
Behind him lay a village where he would be waited for. Maybe forever.
Datuk adjusted his axe on his shoulder and walked forward. Without looking back.