Date: November 6, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
Three days had passed. The Tower greeted Datuk with its familiar silence. The glowing lines on the walls pulsed evenly, calmly, and the dwarf, stepping over the threshold, felt the tension of the past days slowly begin to ease. He was dirty, unshaven, wearing rags that had once been clothes. His left arm still hung in a sling, but he had taken off the splint on the way — the bones had knitted, and the arm obeyed, though it ached with every movement. The axe hung heavily on his shoulder, its nicked blade glinting dully in the light.
A training session was underway on the central platform. Ulvia stood on her track, her left arm — a living vine — pulsing in rhythm with her breath. Rosh ran along the outer circle, his fingers woven into the familiar pattern, vectors flickering around him. Sobra sat by the exit, his silver stripes glowing faintly.
Datuk coughed — loudly, deliberately.
Ulvia was the first to break off her exercise. She turned, looked him up and down.
"Oh, Datuk's back," she said.
"Were you having doubts?" Datuk grinned, spitting on the floor. "Thought I'd been eaten?"
Rosh walked over, gave a silent nod, his gaze sliding over the bandaged arm. A questioning raise of the eyebrows.
"Rats," Datuk threw out. "Big ones. Your size."
Sobra ran up and nuzzled his shoulder. Datuk ruffled his scruff, but without tenderness.
"Get off, furball. I didn't die."
They sat down by the fire. Datuk fell upon the food first thing — chewing greedily, without looking, smacking loudly, spraying crumbs.
"So, spill it," Ulvia said once he had somewhat sated his hunger.
Datuk leaned back against the stones, scratched his belly, grunted contentedly.
"The crater," he began. "What a hole. Dark, cold, rabid rats. First the little ones, the Warriors. Then bigger ones, the Pillars. Then a queen, then a king. I took them all."
"All?" Rosh repeated.
"All," Datuk bared his teeth. "Piled up skulls on my way out."
He reached into his shirt and pulled out two long, smooth bones. Warm, with a silvery sheen. He laid them on his knee, drummed his fingers on them.
"What's that?" Ulvia asked.
"A gift from the Dragon," Datuk replied. "Dead. But chatty."
"And what do you need them for?" Rosh narrowed his eyes.
Datuk looked at the bones, then at him. Grinned.
"Gonna make soup. Dragon broth — cures all ills, they say."
Ulvia snorted. Rosh rolled his eyes.
"You're insane."
"I knew that even before the dragon," Datuk hid the bones back. "Alright, moving on. Jumped into the hole, fought my way through, climbed out. There was a village, firzes. Rested a bit, had a drink."
"A drink?" Ulvia raised an eyebrow.
"You thought I only did fighting there?" Datuk smirked. "They threw a party. In my honor."
He didn't tell them about Zemkhal. Didn't tell them what the dragon had shown him. Didn't tell them about Namida. Some things he kept to himself.
"That it?" Rosh asked.
"That's it," Datuk answered. "Climbed out, came back. You can start clapping now."
"Don't hold your breath," Ulvia said, but there was no malice in her voice.
---
Datuk slapped his knee and roared with laughter.
"Oh, right!" he shouted, wiping away tears. "The letter! Did you read my letter?"
Ulvia frowned. Rosh tensed.
"We read it," she replied.
"And? How was it?" Datuk leaned forward. "Liked it? I wrote so beautifully. 'You say goodbye like little girls with their girlfriends.' Huh? Good?"
He burst out laughing, looking at their faces. Sobra, sitting nearby, suddenly started making strange sounds — not quite a growl, not quite a snort, but clearly laughter. The bear jabbed a paw toward Ulvia, then pressed the paw to his chest, pretending his heart was breaking.
"Sobra, show us how they read it!" Datuk said.
The bear stretched out a paw, pretended to hold a parchment. Then rolled his eyes, clutched his head, pretended to be deep in thought. Then pointed at Ulvia, folded his paws on his belly and mimed wiping away a tear.
"I did not cry!" Ulvia protested.
"And who hid the letter in their pocket?" Datuk shot back. "Sobra saw it!"
Sobra nodded and nudged his nose toward Ulvia. Then turned to Rosh. He sat there with a face of stone, but the bear didn't give up. He mimed someone standing with a straight back, and then suddenly his paw twitched and he clutched his head.
"He's showing how you twitched your eyebrow!" Datuk jabbed a finger at Rosh. "I told you he twitched!"
Rosh didn't answer. But the corner of his mouth gave a barely perceptible twitch.
"Sobra! He's smiling!" Datuk howled. "Mark this day!"
Sobra grunted contentedly and nudged Rosh's shoulder with his nose. He moved away, but not unkindly.
"Enough," Ulvia said, trying to regain seriousness. "We're not here for this."
"Then what for?" Datuk spread his arms. "Sit around waiting for the old man to give another lecture?"
"We're training," she replied.
"Well, keep training," Datuk got up, stretched, cracked his back. "I'm going to go count my bones. The dragon ones. Maybe I really will make soup."
He headed to his cell, whistling some silly tune. Sobra trotted after him.
Ulvia and Rosh remained by the fire.
"Is he really going to make soup from dragon bones?" she asked.
"No," Rosh answered. "He just wants us to think he is."
"Why?"
"So we leave him alone."
Ulvia shook her head, but smiled.
"He's unbearable."
"I know," Rosh replied.
They fell silent. From the cell came Datuk's voice — he was telling Sobra something, and the bear snorted approvingly.
The Tower lived its own life. Training, arguments, rare moments of silence. And they all knew: it wouldn't last. Soon they would step beyond the threshold. And then the real battle would begin. But today — today they could just sit and listen to Datuk spin his yarns. And laugh. At least a little.