I felt a surge of relief when Dasha asked Artur to help her forget what she had seen. After explaining what he was about to do, Artur searched her memory for earlier moments when Viola had recklessly used magic in Dasha's presence. A long time passed before he finally removed his hands from her head and announced in a weary voice:
"That's it. That was the last fragment."
He rose from the ground.
"You didn't miss anything?" Stas asked cautiously.
Artur shrugged.
"We'll know soon enough. I did the best I could, but you can't wander through someone else's mind for long. It's easy to get lost in another person's memories—to forget who you are, to lose the boundary where you end and someone else begins. We're all like patchwork quilts, made of different pieces: our choices, the events around us, our thoughts and experiences. Everything leaves its mark, shaping a unique individual with an unrepeatable story. There are no two identical people.
"When I walk through what she once lived through, I absorb her story—just as I do with anyone I touch. Erasing something recent is one thing. Digging deeper, sifting through everything inside, searching for the right shards and carefully removing them—that's something else entirely."
"Will she wake up soon?" I kept my eyes on Dasha, thinking that today she had managed to keep her ordinary life intact—but how many more times could this happen before she chose to remember? As long as Viola stayed close to her, the mystical side of Xertonia—where vampires, werewolves, and witches lived—would keep flickering before Dasha's eyes. I had little faith that Viola would suddenly abandon her foolish habit of refusing to touch door handles, preferring to use magic even when there was no real need. Habits were hard to break, even when they threatened to ruin your life entirely.
"She should come to any moment now," Artur said, casting Dasha a quick glance in search of signs of waking. Then he turned to us and spoke with authority. "All right, here's our story. Listen carefully and remember it. We were watching a volleyball match. Tatiana caused a scene in the stands with the diary, but it started raining, and we rushed into the forest to take cover. Dasha got overwhelmed because of the tension between you two," he gestured toward me, "and fainted. Viola wasn't at the match—for her. Why? She doesn't remember exactly. Is that clear?"
Stas and I barely managed a brief nod before Dasha frowned and stirred. She opened her eyes and looked at us in confusion, clearly unsure how she had ended up here or why. I hurried to her side.
"How are you feeling?" I bent over her, and this time I didn't have to pretend concern. More than anything, I wanted her to truly forget—and for us never to return to anything like this again.
Dasha rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, blinking hard.
"I don't know," she said vaguely, then felt her face and suddenly panicked. "Where are my glasses?"
"I've got them," Stas said, stepping around me and quickly handing them to her. "You suddenly felt sick and passed out."
Artur nodded in quiet confirmation. Dasha put on her glasses and studied us again, squinting slightly as she adjusted.
"Really? That's… strange."
"What's the last thing you remember?" I asked.
"We were in the stands, watching the volleyball match. Then Tanya came and started reading parts of Stas's diary out loud. The sky darkened, it began to rain." Her eyes darted from side to side, as if she were reading a scrolling line of text and barely keeping up with the words. "We hurried into the forest to hide from the rain. You started arguing with me about Tanya, and then… that's it. I don't remember anything else."
"Yes, we argued," I said shortly, still watching her closely. "Let's not talk about it anymore today, okay?"
Dasha nodded, and I offered her my hand to help her up.
"Can you walk?"
She wobbled on the first step but managed to steady herself. When she tried again, more carefully, it worked.
"Great," I said, turning to the guys. "Let's head to the main building."