The room was quieter than the rest of the stronghold.
Papers stacked for access. Sky recognized this kind of order immediately.
Esther stood by the table, arms crossed loosely, eyes on him.
"You're deteriorating," she said. "Slowly. But consistently."
Sky didn't bother correcting her. "Lack of sleep does that."
"And lack of purpose," she added.
That earned a faint look from him. "You already know where I'm from."
"Yes," Esther replied. "Verrith told us everything. Or everything he could remember clearly."
The voice behind Sky spoke, Good. No pretending. No masks.
She stepped closer—not threatening, just observant. Her gaze moved the way physicians used to look at patients who refused to admit they were dying.
"I wanted to hear it from you," she said. "Not the story. The confirmation."
Sky exhaled. "Well I'm not really sure, what confirmation you are looking for.."
"Well I want you to confirm my thoughts that say that you were part of the old kingdom before it was destroyed and was one of the members."
"Yeah, I was,"Sky replied.
"I know." Esther nodded. "My father told me about you."
Sky's eyes flickered—just barely.
"Dane," she said. Then, after a moment, "Or Hans, when he didn't feel like correcting people."
Esther's posture loosened, just a fraction.
"You knew him."
"I worked with him," Sky replied. "Argued with him. Trusted him and even watched him fall in love with a girl, missed the wedding though."
A pause.
"He was stubborn," Sky added. "Too kind for the work he did. But brilliant."
Esther looked down. Not in grief—acknowledgment.
"He died before the collapse," she said. "Not violently. Just… worn down."
Sky nodded once.
"That's how we thought he'd go," Sky replied quietly. "Used up, but still sad to see that's the case"
Esther cleared her throat and turned slightly, moving away from the weight of memory.
"After you disappeared," she said, "things didn't fall apart immediately. People tried to maintain structure. Systems. Continuity."
Sky listened attentively at this information.
"Then the disease appeared," Esther continued. "Irregular spread. No consistent vector. It killed without pattern."
Her jaw tightened.
"And while we were trying to understand it… someone began killing people."
Sky's fingers curled slowly.
"Not randomly," she added. "Methodically. Cruelly. Enough to turn fear into paranoia."
"That's odd," Sky said aloud. "That kind of chaos doesn't come from nowhere."
"Well either ways, It caused a revolt," Esther said. "At the worst possible moment. And that's when the Dark Knights attacked."
Sky didn't comment. He didn't need to.
After a moment, Esther changed direction.
"Hey, I heard you used your daggers to reflect light from far away to see the path in front." She said, "how did you do it?"
Sky looked at her. "You're asking out of curiosity?"
"Yep," she replied.
"Well the only reason it's functional is due to The physics rule stating that the angle of incidence is equal to the angle of reflection, which means that, if light hits the blade at 30°, it will bounce off at 30° relative to the surface normal." Sky said, "Well the main problem is that I have to anchor the dagger perfectly still and adjust it by millimeters, orient it at precise angles and keep it suspended at height but due to my strings and a lot of practice it's become easier thought can't do it for that long of a distance during winter due to weak sunlight, making it more difficult."
"Hm…" Nesther said, thinking for a second, "that's impressive and all but I feel like there's a significant difference between your combat power that I could estimate on the basis of Verrith's report and your combat power I estimated from the takes my father told me."
A thin smile crossed his face. "That's because I'm weaker."
"How much?"
He considered. "Twice, maybe more. Hard to quantify."
Esther nodded slowly.
"Wanna talk about something else?" Her gaze shifted again. "Tervain."
Sky sighed. "Yes. I know, that he's an undead and that it's weird and that it shouldn't function,"
"Undeath shouldn't function," Esther said, almost ignoring Sky's recent remark "From what I remember, our souls are divided into two. One bound to the brain and the other, bound to the heart. Without circulation for a long time, the interpretation of his should collapse as he lacks the soul to have a soul's interpretation."
"And yet," Sky replied, "he walks. Talks. Jokes."
She asked, "Does it bother you?"
"It confuses me," Sky corrected. "And that's worse."
Nesther put an arm on her chin and said, "Luminar knew him."
Sky looked up sharply.
"…Before?"
"Yes."
She met his eyes.
"Before he became what he is now, an undead. Before the armor. Before the name Tervain."
Sky's breath hitched slightly.
"Before the name Tervain? You mean this is not his real name?"
"Yep, his real name is Draelith."
"He was a novelist," Esther continued, "Gifted. Dangerous."
Sky's eyes narrowed. "Dangerous?"
"He could create life through writing," Esther said, "With strict limits. Energy cost. Complexity scaling with detail."
Sky stiffened.
"That ability…"
"Yep," Esther said. "As you can guess it's quite powerful."
She sighed.
"Luminar described him as an overthinker," Esther went on, "A man who suffered under his own thoughts. Who questioned many things until it hurt."
Sky swallowed.
"But she said he was good," Esther said, "Genuinely."
Silence filled the room.
[So that's what he was.]
The shadow murmured.
[Someone who couldn't stop thinking.]
Esther leaned back.
"When we first met him, even Luminar didn't recognise him at first," she said softly, "his soul's interpretation has disappeared and now he's an undead."
Sky looked down at his hands,
"And yet," he said quietly,"He's the happiest one of us."
Another silence.
Then Sky spoke again. "Verrith, can we talk about Verrith for a minute?"
Esther didn't look surprised.
"He's not stable," she said. "He lost large portions of memory. Not erased—fragmented. Moments without sequence. His soul's interpretation weakened because it lacks continuity."
"Didn't know that," Sky said, "so how did he lose his memories?"
"I'm not sure about that but by the time we met him, his left hand's index finger's distal phalange was almost completely cut off and the middle finger's distal phalange was completely gone." She said, "he also has a large scar near his heart and was completely covered in blood by the time we reached him."
Sky closed his eyes briefly, "Seems like the missions he faced caused him quite a lot of problems and they falling into a trap and him being the only one being alive probably made him blame himself more so he began to have some problems with his dream, or at least that's what I thought."
"Well he also got a new big scar on his left eye, making that eye basically blind so I would say he's struggling a bit but," she said, "He's still is and was the best person for the mission,"
"So do you guys often give him something to let him sleep?" Sky asked
"Yep, it's the least we can do."
A sigh left Sky's mouth, "Well that's all I wanna know so can I go now?"
"Weird place to end it off. " Esther replied. "But yeah sure you're free to go, I do feel weird that I seemed to have talked more than you when I'm supposed to interrogate you but I just wanna say-."
A sound of a door slamming was heard as she relaxed Sky had already left.
"…rude" she said as she took a paper and an ink brush,
'Well I guess I should plan out the new re-construction of some houses that are basically ruined'
— ✦ —
Sky stepped into the room quietly.
Tervain was there, leaning against the table, helmet off, tapping two fingers against the wood as if testing its patience. Rose sat across from him, hammer resting beside her chair. Verrith stood near the wall, arms folded.
Tervain looked up first. "Oh. You survived."
"Barely," Sky replied.
"That bad?" Tervain asked, genuinely curious.
"She asks questions like knives," Sky said. "Slow ones."
Tervain nodded. "Yeah. I got that impression."
That was all the familiarity he had — an impression. Nothing more.
Rose's eyes flicked toward Sky, then back to her hands. "You look tired."
"I am."
She considered this. "You were tired yesterday too."
Sky didn't answer.
Verrith broke the silence. "She asked about the past, didn't she?"
Sky glanced at him. "Among other things."
Tervain raised an eyebrow. "Did she ask you weird questions too, or am I special?"
"What kind of weird?" Sky asked.
Tervain shrugged. "Stuff about what I remember. What I don't. Whether I feel different."
"Do you?" Sky asked.
Tervain paused — not long, but noticeably.
"…I don't know," he said honestly. "I feel like me."
That answer sat wrong with Sky.
[Because 'me' isn't really a fit answer for Tervain right now.] the shadow whispered.
Rose spoke, voice flat. "You hesitate before answering questions."
Tervain blinked. "Do I?"
"Yes. Before most of them."
Verrith exhaled through his nose. "You didn't used to."
Tervain turned to him. "You knew me before this?"
Verrith hesitated.
"Not… before everything," he said carefully. "But before now."
"Oh." Tervain smiled. "Then I guess I'm improving. Or deteriorating. Hard to tell."
Sky watched him closely.
"You don't seem bothered," he said.
Tervain tilted his head. "About what?"
"About missing things."
Tervain thought about it — actually thought this time.
"…I don't feel like I'm missing anything," he said. "Does that make sense?"
Rose picked up her hammer, resting it against her shoulder. "If you lost something important, wouldn't it hurt?"
"Probably," Tervain said.
"Then maybe it wasn't important," she concluded.
Verrith didn't agree. Sky could tell.
"Or," Verrith said quietly, "maybe the part that could feel it is gone."
Tervain didn't respond immediately.
He stared at him for a moment — then smiled.
"Lost things turn up sometimes," he said lightly. "Or they don't. Either way, no point staring at the ground."
Then he laughed — short, awkward. "Well. That sounds ominous."
Suddenly, Skelra stepped into the room with the same quiet authority he always carried, his presence cutting through the low murmur without effort.
"Rose," he said. "We're low on food. I'm taking a small team to hunt, join us."
Rose looked up slowly. Her eyes locked onto him, empty and alert at the same time.
"Hunting," she said.
"Yes."
She stood immediately, rolling her shoulders once as she reached for her hammer. No questions. No enthusiasm either—just readiness.
Skelra then turned his head slightly.
"Verrith," he continued. "You're needed elsewhere."
Verrith straightened. "Understood."
"Luminar's preparing supplies and checking the children's shelter. She shouldn't be alone out there."
Skelra's gaze shifted again, landing on the remaining two.
"Sky. Tervain. You're tagging along with Verrith. Help Luminar. Keep watch."
Sky nodded once. "That works."
Tervain paused, then inclined his head politely. "I'll follow."
Rose glanced back at them as she passed the doorway.
"Also mind if you spar with me when I come back, Verrith?" she said flatly.
Tervain blinked. "I don't wanna."
Skelra ignored the exchange and gestured outward.
"Move," he said. "All of you."
Verrith was already heading in Luminar's direction, his pace steady but tired. Sky fell in beside him, while Tervain followed a step behind—quiet, observant, strangely careful with each movement.
As they separated, Sky glanced back once.
Rose and Skelra were already gone, on their way into the forest.
— ✦ —
Soon they reached the orphanage, Its stone walls were worn smooth by time and hands alike, patched carefully rather than crudely. The roof sagged slightly but didn't leak. Someone had taken the trouble to make sure of that.
Inside, rows of children sat on low benches, legs dangling or tucked beneath them. Some wore thick woolen socks, slightly mismatched in color and weave. Others had simple sweaters layered over thin shirts, the stitching uneven but sturdy.
Sky noticed it immediately.
Handmade.
Every piece.
Luminar stood at the front, sleeves rolled past her elbows. Her hands were empty—no book, no notes—just calloused palms and burn scars she never tried to hide.
"…when you don't have grain," she was saying, voice calm, "you don't panic. You look at what is around you."
She turned and lifted a thin strip of pale, dried bark from the table.
"This is threebark," she continued. "Only the inner layer. Never the outer. If it's too bitter, spit it out. If it makes your tongue numb, throw it away."
A child raised a hand. "What if that's all there is?"
"Then just hold on, most of them are poisonous and cause food poisoning, nausea, headaches especially the ones in the dark forest and for the other forest I'm not sure but make sure to only eat if you are sure they are safe," Luminar said gently. "Surviving isn't about filling your stomach. It's about not dying today."
The room was quiet—listening quietly.
She gestured to a small bundle beside her.
"And mushrooms," she said. "You never trust color. You trust smell, texture, and what grows nearby."
She crouched so she was eye-level with them.
"If it smells sweet, leave it. If it stains your fingers, leave it. If animals won't touch it—"
"Leave it!" several children answered together.
Luminar smiled, a small, tired thing.
"Good."
Sky stopped just inside the doorway.
Tervain tilted his head slightly.
Verrith rested a hand against the wall, silent.
Luminar continued.
"You don't need fire for everything. Some roots can be chewed slowly. Some bark can be soaked. Some fruits are also available but they are rare. Hunger makes people reckless—don't let it make you stupid."
A child near the back raised his hands. "Sister Luminar?"
"Yes?"
"Did you really live in the wild before?"
Luminar paused.
"…Yes," she said. "Long enough."
Another hand. "Is that how you learned to make socks?"
A ripple of quiet laughter spread.
Luminar glanced down at her own boots, where thick wool peeked out.
"I learned because my feet were cold," she replied simply. "So I didn't want others to feel the same."
"So sister Luminar, do all your things such as cooking, was learnt because you didn't want others to, let's say, eat uncooked food?"
"No, an old lady taught me that" Luminar said, "That's all for today,"the children stirred, energy returning in small bursts. Several hands shot up at once.
"Sister—"
"What if there's snow—"
"What about yesterday's mushroom—"
She raised her hands lightly. "Later. I promise."
Then her eyes lifted—and she looked at Sky and the group.
"Sorry for the delay," she said softly. "I simply had to finish my teaching."
"It's not a big deal" Verrith replied.
Luminar stepped down, moving through the children with practiced ease.
A few tugged at her sleeves; one leaned briefly into her side. She touched their heads as she passed, murmuring reassurances without stopping.
When she reached closer to Sky, Tervain, and Verrith, her voice lowered.
"Thank you for coming," she said. "I could use the help, especially with cooking."
"Of course," Verrith replied.
"We can cook," Sky said.
Tervain nodded quickly. "I… won't burn anything."
Luminar smiled faintly.
"We'll need soft food," she said. "Potatoes, dehydrated meat—rehydrated properly. Soup. Gentle on the stomach. They should be in a storey room in one of the boxes, it should be easily recognisable as it's the only door with a sign on it."
She turned to Verrith.
"And you," she added, more serious now. "Could you check on the guards near the outer street? We've lost too many. And there've been thefts from the shops and I'm not sure if they safety is guaranteed "
Verrith's jaw tightened. "I'll see what remains of the rotation."
"If something feels wrong," Luminar said quietly, "don't force yourself to fix it."
He nodded and turned toward the door.
Luminar exhaled slowly once he was gone, then looked back at Sky and Tervain.
"I'll answer their questions later," she said. "Right now, they need to eat."
Sky glanced at the children—some watching them with open curiosity, others pretending not to.
"Yeah," he said. "That makes sense."
Tervain lingered by the doorway.
"They listen to you," he said softly.
Luminar didn't answer at first.
"Yeah they do," she said finally. "That's something that makes me smile a bit."
She turned toward the kitchen.
"Come on," she added. "Before they get bored and start bothering us."
The kitchen was narrow and low-ceilinged, warm even before the fire was lit.
A single hand-made iron stove squatted against the wall, blackened with old soot. Crates of potatoes were stacked beside it, their skins rough and dusty. A bundle of dried meat hung from a nail, tied with fraying twine.
Luminar rolled up her sleeves.
"Knife's dull," she said calmly, testing one with her thumb. "Make sure to use more pressure."
Sky took it anyway, nodding.
Tervain lingered near the doorway, hands hovering uselessly at his sides. "I can… peel."
"That helps," Luminar replied without looking.
She stepped closer to the stove.
Luminar raised her hand.
At the tip of her index finger, a flame no larger than a match-head bloomed — thin, pale red in colour.
She touched the flame to a folded scrap of dry bark tucked beneath the stove. The fire caught with a soft crackle.
She withdrew her hand immediately, flexing her fingers once before lowering them.
Sky saw that she had burned herself a bit "You could've let me—" he started.
"It's fine," she said gently. "It happens sometimes."
She turned back to the counter as if nothing had happened.
They worked in silence for a while.
Sky diced potatoes into uneven chunks, dropping them into a pot of water. Tervain stirred awkwardly, movements stiff, careful not to splash. Steam began to rise, fogging the small window.
Luminar shredded the dried meat with slow precision, soaking it until it softened, then easing it into the pot.
"Low heat," she said, "Let it rehydrate properly. Rushing ruins it."
After a few minutes, she stepped back.
"I'll be gone briefly," she said. "It seems I have to put my ointment on my skin."
"Ointment? For the burn marks?" Sky asked.
"Yep" she replied.
Tervain nodded too fast. "I won't let it burn."
"I trust you," she replied.
She disappeared down the hall.
The soup bubbled softly.
Tervain stirred it a little too long, metal scraping the pot.
"Wow…she seems real kind," he said after a while.
Sky glanced at him.
"Man, she gives me inspiration…," Tervain continued. "Maybe I should base one of my characters from my novel on her."
"From what I saw, she makes the clothes herself. I noticed unhealed puncture wounds on her fingers—needle marks. Meaning she's been sewing despite the burns"
Tervain shifted his grip on the ladle. "Is that normal?"
"Hell no, In fact sewing itself is a rare skill to see so she probably had to learn it from the start with no help or instruction" Sky answered.
"I mean—" Tervain laughed once, awkwardly. "I thought priests were supposed to be… gentle. With themselves too."
Sky watched him closely.
"Well she's probably the only priest after the bible got destroyed and the religion was essentially destroyed at its core, in fact she might just be wearing that clothes for comfort and not out of religion" Sky replied.
Tervain shrugged. "I guess I can just ask her."
He poked at the fire with the ladle, then quickly pulled it back.
"I don't think she'll mind it too much ," he added.
"Yeah I doubt you will remember to ask her and you'll regret it later." Sky said.
A couple minutes passed by and footsteps was heard.
"Is the food done?" Luminar soon came in, inquiring about the food.
"Give it another 10 mins" Sky said, "You can gather up the bowls and the children up if you want."
"I think that's what I'll do," she replied.
— ✦ —
The children lined up in uneven rows, clutching small wooden bowls with both hands as if they might vanish if held too loosely. Their clothes were worn but carefully patched—thick socks, rough wool, sleeves sewn a little too long so they could last another year.
Steam rose from the pot.
Sky ladled the soup carefully, filling each bowl halfway. Soft potatoes broke apart easily in the broth, the dehydrated meat now swollen and tender, its saltiness spread thin so it could feed many.
"Slow," Luminar reminded gently, crouching beside a smaller child. "It's hot."
The child nodded hard, eyes wide, and shuffled away.
Tervain stood near the table, helmet tucked under his arm, handing out wooden spoons one by one. He hummed quietly—off-key, almost absentminded—until he noticed a boy staring at him.
"Careful," Tervain said lightly, offering the spoon. "This thing's dangerous. Sharp edges."
It wasn't. The child laughed anyway and hurried off.
Then-
The door bursted open.
A guard stumbled in, breathing hard, cloak half-fastened, eyes sharp with urgency.
"Luminar."
The single word cut through the room.
Sky straightened immediately. "What happened?"
The guard swallowed. "Seven people. Near the eastern shops. All dead."
The bubbling pot was the only sound left.
Luminar froze mid-step, her hand tightening around a bowl.
Sky set the ladle down slowly. "How long ago?"
"Not sure but from what captain Verrith could see, around 3 hours. Maybe less." The guard said, "No witnesses. No clear signs of breaking and entering. The other guards found that most of the victims were killed with one to three precise strikes. Sir. Verrith told me to bring a person named Sky who was here."
Sky was already reaching for his cloak. "I'm Sky, now show me the way."
Tervain took a step forward, intending to follow Sky.
"No, you go back and inform Esther, she and the others should and probably want to know about this immediately."
"Alright. I'll handle the message." Tervai said lifting a hand in a brief, awkward salute—one that didn't fit the moment, but meant well.
Luminar looked at the group, concerned plain in her eyes. "I'll stay here in case something happens here. Be careful."
He and the guard were gone moments later.
Tervain watched the door close, then turned back to the room, clapped his hands once—soft, controlled.
"Alright, it looks like we're needed again," Tervain murmured to no one in particular.