He was back home.

Amy was fine. She had kept her arm and her life. She was acting, moreover, as if nothing had happened the night before. As if they hadn't all been so close to dying.

They were fine, all of them, and they would be back to normal. Just as he had promised her last night.

Everything would be all right. Now and in the future. Now and in the future, yes. It had to be.

Watching Christina and Amy hugging, Desmond found that the holes in his heart were filled.

Now his heart was beating properly. He could breathe properly again, too.

Abigail was trapped and still out of his reach. However, Christina was not wrong. It was certainly possible for her to escape. Even after she was put into one of their facilities.

She had been doing it for a long time. Longer than he had been on this earth, much longer. Possibly longer than his family, than the Orosco's, had been on this earth even.

So there was no reason to assume that this time they were going to get the better of her.

That this time, for the first time in two thousand years, it would be the exception.

Or assume that she needed him, for that matter.

As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, that wasn't the case.

Abigail needed him to end the curse that had bound her to this bloody earth for two thousand years.

At least that was how she saw it. Desmond didn't think it was a curse at all.

She needed him to release her from her suffering, and nothing more.

And that was good.

As much as his childish heart would protest, that was good.

Desmond put a hand to his chest.

To feel the heartbeat of the woman who was everything to him more acutely.

Her heart was pounding.

She was struggling, maybe suffering. She was fighting to be free and to come back to him.

She would make it. She would eventually succeed.

And Desmond would welcome her with open arms, and he would never turn his back on her, ever, ever again.

Really, an inner voice whispered to him.

Then you will have to choose.

Sooner or later, you will have to choose.

You'll have to determine where your priorities lie.

Desmond looked at Amy, lying on the bed, hugging the other girl with her face buried in her hair.

He looked at Christina, her back to him, still refusing to let go of her friend.

His smile grew a little wider. Warmer.

Christina, at last, let go of Amy and broke away from her. Reluctantly, though.

"I'm so glad you're okay. If you had... " She couldn't even finish the sentence, for which he didn't blame her, he wouldn't be able to either. "I don't know what I would have done. What we would have done."

Amy became serious.

"It's true. It was close... I'm sorry I worried you."

What a good person she was. Who responds like that after being close to death? Who would think of others first and then themselves?

He did that, it was true.

But not because he was a good person.

He wanted to think of himself as such, but, to be honest, he didn't even resemble a good person.

He was too twisted for that.

He thought of others first, of the people he cared about....

Because he himself didn't make that list.

Amy, however, did care about herself. She wasn't twisted. Not, at least, to the same extent that he was.

And yet she had the strength and kindness to care about others first. Desmond would like to be that kind of person. He wished, by the way, that people could change.

"What an idiot you are," said Christina, "I'm sorry I let that happen to you. I'm the one who should apologize."

And me, he thought.

But Desmond said nothing, keeping to himself.

"Speaking of which, I don't clearly remember much of what happened after I was shot. No one else died?"

"No. Everyone got there safely."

"That's a relief," Amy said, proving once again that she was a better person than he was.

Too good, maybe.

For this life. For the world in general, which was full of traps, of animal-like people who would take any opportunity to swallow a person like her whole.

But it wasn't that she was innocent...

Being good didn't mean being innocent. Desmond could be a twisted person, but not so twisted as to think that way.

Amy had grown up in a horrible environment full of people like that.

Like, for example, her own father. And she'd managed just fine. So she didn't need him to say anything. She was already well aware of that.

Still, kindness, even the type of kindness applied intelligently and sensibly, could be very dangerous.

Physically and mentally. The first night, Amy woke up screaming because she had nightmares about the soldiers she had killed, even though they were not human beings.

It didn't happen to her again, but she was sure she had carried that guilt inside her for no small amount of time.

Perhaps the girl still did.

In any case, kindness was a dangerous thing. Desmond knew that all too well.

He had been kind last night.

It had all ended well, in the end, but that mistake had almost cost him everything.

Everything.

It had cost him Abigail, which was more than enough to tear him apart.

Desmond shook his head, as if to shake off those thoughts.

Be happy. Be happy with what you already have.

"Desmond, what are you doing there? Come closer, won't you?"

He had been keeping a lot of distance for some meaningless reason.

Desmond came closer, as she had asked him to.

"She... you know, she...?"

"She's been taken," he replied. And he was still waiting to hear from her, beyond the other heartbeats in his chest.

"I see."

Amy took a deep breath, as if to gather strength.

"I can't imagine how you must be feeling. I'm sorry. We'll... We'll get her back. We'll do something about it, I promise."

Desmond didn't know how to respond to that. So he just nodded.

"It's too bad they won't let me leave yet," Amy said. "I feel good. Everything feels fine, even this... this new arm. I don't think anything's going to happen to me."

"But you'd better stay," Christina said. "Just in case."

"You can never be too cautious."

It was possible that the arm, even though it might look like everything was fine, had not grown the right way. Or it wouldn't adapt, causing her to lose the arm again.

Causing them to have to intervene again.

That's what the nurse had explained to them, before letting them pass.

"I know. It is," she repeated, letting out a sigh, "but I can't wait to get out of here. The sooner the better. I want to go back. I want to be in our room. I don't feel comfortable in these four cramped, white walls."

No one felt at ease in a hospital. Not entirely, at least.

But few people had to spend so much time in a hospital.

It usually only happens in cases like this. Really serious cases.

"I understand. You're not the only one. But... anyway, it wouldn't be the same without you."

Amy was kind of taken aback.

After a moment, however, she smiled.

"Wow," she said. Even though it doesn't look like it, you really know....

She stopped, however. She didn't finish the sentence, as if she had thought better of it. In other circumstances, he would have left it alone out of respect and consideration.

However, to keep the mood of the situation light, he decided to mess with her a little.

He wasn't good at that sort of thing.

That was true. He knew all too well.

He had too many examples to prove it.

And he could keep complaining about it until he was out of breath and blue in the face.

But if he didn't try, he was never going to get better.

People couldn't change.

But improving what they already had? That was another story.

"I do know what?"

"Nothing. I was going to say a stupid joke. Mostly to hide my embarrassment. Forget it."

He wanted to mess with her some more, but suddenly his mind went blank. He didn't know how to respond appropriately.

He could only nod his head.

But, as he thought he was going to have to let it go after all, Desmond nodded his head.

"I see. Tell. We could use a joke."

Amy blushed.

"You sure know how to charm the ladies," Christina said with a smirk. "I have to agree. Sometimes you just say some stuff that, well... You speak sincerely, without a second thought. Phrases like a sudden stroke."

"That doesn't sound pleasant."

"A heat stroke."

Amy was red. My red.

Yeah, she definitely looked like she'd had a heat stroke.

"Ah, I see. Oh, I see. You may be right. She does look very hot."

She blushed even more, if that's possible.

She picked up the pillow and threw it in his face. Well, she tried. Desmond caught it in midair before it touched his face, laughing with surprising ease.

An ease he had thought he would never find.

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"How mean of you, picking on a bedridden girl. "She crossed her arms, sulking. "Someday I'll get revenge."

"I look forward to it," said Desmond, sincerely.

"You've grown a sense of humor overnight," Christina said.

Awesome.

They both looked at her, at that.

"What?

"Nah, you just don't seem like the type of person who says things like "awesome"," said Amy.

"And you don't seem like the type to say things like nah.

"You got me there. Guilty as charged.

Yeah. At home, she was at home.

Amy might have missed it, but Desmond knew the truth. They were back in the team room.

They carried home with them. In their hearts.

As corny as it sounded, it was the truth.

They kept talking.

Talking like ordinary kids.

No scars, nothing weighing on their hearts. As if there was no dark cloud hanging over them.

However, that serenity, that completeness, didn't last long.

Because, instead of concentrating one hundred percent on what really mattered, he let his attention wander.

Desmond looked out the window.

It was daylight. It had been for hours.

It had taken them quite a while to give them permission to come in, even though Amy had told them she'd woken up in the middle of the night, alone, and hadn't slept a wink since.

So that wasn't what caught his attention.

What consumed his attention was the smoke.

On the horizon. A plume of smoke was rising into the sky. A smudge on the great canvas of the sky.

He slid the window open. As if that would allow him a closer look. Even with the window open, this was the only thing there was to see. The only thing that reached this far.

Because of that, it didn't seem real.

But it was real.

The smoke could only mean one thing. There was a fight. Under that plume of black smoke, countless people were fighting. Fighting and dying.

In other times, he would have wanted to join the battle no matter what.

To prove his worth and to do his duty.

Of course he would have.

But now, none of that nonsense crossed his mind. He only worried that they were too close to the fight for his liking.

That, despite what it might seem, they still weren't safe after all.

Christina walked over, stood beside him, watching the smoke on the horizon without a word.

Amy stayed where she was.

She didn't need to get close to see it.

The window was visible from the bed. In any case, she better not move too much, in her condition.

Also...

"It's taken longer than I thought, much longer, for some reason. But here it is. The war. It has broken out."

The skies burned like in his childhood. He could almost...

He could almost imagine the smell of burning flesh. And the screams.

He could almost picture a circle of blue fire.

"It didit with the attack on the academy, Desmond," Christina said.

"Yeah. But this is the real beginning. When it will fall on us. On..."

People who have nothing to do with this, was the thought that crossed his mind.

"No more battles at the borders. Now it's coming down on us. Everything."

Desmond took a deep breath.

He needed air.

Even though the door was open, he had the feeling he wasn't getting enough air.

He had the feeling that suddenly the hospital room had become very, very cramped and its four walls were closing in around him.

Desmond gripped the edges of the window. Very tightly.

"Not on us. Not yet. They won't send people like lambs to slaughter who haven't even completed the first year of training yet."

No. Not unless the situation became really desperate.

That is, under normal circumstances.

They were not normal.

If he were a high ranking army officer, he would want to make use of Desmond, who was worth ten mages thanks to his superhuman strength and speed. Who could die and come back to life.

He would want to make use of Christina, a user of the legendary shadow magic.

An affinity that, unlike all others, could and would be passed on. Not from parent to child. Users of shadow magic need not be related by blood.

It was possible, but shadow magic was a legacy of the soul, not blood.

He would want to use Amy too, of course.

The only thing that made her stand out was her exceptional talent and skill, but that in itself was enough.

Besides, they would be more useful acting as a team.

They wouldn't send just anyone as a lamb to the slaughter, but they were likely to be.

They were not mere lambs.

On the contrary.

"But we are special."

"What do you mean?"

"What you heard. You, me, Amy. We're not normal students. The attack on the academy... There were few survivors. But without us, that number would most likely have been zero."

As he spoke, he kept his eyes fixed on the smoke on the horizon.

That black, thick smoke.

Like a bad omen.

"Then there was Laura, the traitor. That whole situation. And tonight too. We go from one disaster to another and we're always instrumental. And you told me, Christina. Soldiers are nothing but tools."

"It's true," said Christina.

She remembered, then.

So did he. He remembered that conversation well, too.

That was something she had said to Amy, not to him. Still, he'd been listening and, though he hadn't let it show, it had struck a chord with him.

He hadn't been able to get it out of his mind.

In fact, the more time passed, the more he turned it over in his head.

"Tools to fulfill a greater purpose. Once upon a time, that didn't matter to me, you know?" He confessed, "I even... I even looked forward to it. To be used. Because my purpose in life was to destroy... or be destroyed. I didn't really care much how things turned out."

Christina put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing.

Very well.

Better she hadn't said anything. Because if she'd interrupted him, well, he wasn't sure if he'd have been able to restart.

Of continuing to get this stuff off his chest.

"Either outcome would have worked for me. But now I..."

"What, Desmond? What do you want?"

He looked away from the black smoke.

The smoke that not only reminded him of the ruins of his childhood and how it had ended that way, but also of last night's black smoke.

Of the enemy.

He moved his gaze to the trembling hands, sinking into the edge of the window hard.

"I'm just... I'm trying to be happy.... and they can't leave me be!"

All his pent up emotions came out in that scream.

Yes.

He acknowledged to himself that this was the truth.

Some time ago, perhaps he had many great purposes.

To avenge his family. To make his savior proud of him, to make her see the value of the life he had rescued from the ruins.

To destroy the enemies who had taken everything from him, for that was the only thing he could do. What he had lost could not be regained.

Perhaps, once upon a time, he had fought for the sake of all those things.

But now...

"I just want to be happy, damn it." It was good, for a change. Not holding back.

It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Strangely.

At other times, it had only made him feel worse.

But he wasn't going to complain. It was good, yes. Very good.

He took a deep breath.

At least that much was clear to him now. Recently, he had felt like a leaf in the wind. Swept here and there by the currents of air.

Currents that came from everywhere, that he couldn't control.

That was how he had really felt.

Rather than as someone who could not make up his mind, someone who was incapable of making up his mind. Directly incapable.

Because he didn't control himself.

At least now he was clear about what he wanted.

Maybe he could start to control himself. And start going in the right direction.

"I know, Desmond," Christina said, giving him a hug from behind, resting her head on his back. "I know."

"Fuck," he mumbled, slowly and after a while.

His eyes stung and his throat was constricted, as if something had gotten stuck in it. But Desmond refused to cry.

Even though he had said a moment ago that stopping holding back was okay for a change.

That was because he had to be strong to face what was coming. He couldn't allow himself to break down every time his heart wanted to give in. That way, he wouldn't get anywhere.

So Desmond bit his tongue and swallowed the urge to cry.

What was coming could be closer than he feared.

They could see smoke on the horizon.

A dense plume of smoke. Besides, the battle had dragged on.

It had started in the night and was still going on.

If their side won, all well and good. But if they lost, or were losing the fight, losing ground... they could end up in the middle of the conflict.

This could be the end of everything.

Or the beginning of them being used as tools.

Or nothing might happen, of course, but their luck had never been spectacular. And in recent times, despite the great blessings they had received at the same time, things had always gone from bad to worse.

They went from one disaster to the next. No wonder, for they were often the direct cause of that disaster.

In both the attack on the Academy and last night's attack, the Empire soldiers had gone after him and Abigail.

Abigail had led him to Laura, the traitor, and thus had ended up involved in that messy disaster.

And, of course, how could he forget Amy's "father".

Everything that had resulted from that.

For whatever reason, the points made for a horrible run of bad luck. And the current circumstances gave no hope of it getting any better.

Still, Desmond was complaining for the sake of complaining.

He had never had such good luck in his entire life.

That was true, but...

Desmond had every reason to worry, that's all.

Christina touched him and hugged him often. He was sure it wasn't out of infatuation; setting aside that they were a team, like a family, he wasn't exactly handsome and he didn't have a stellar personality either.

The odds of a girl falling in love with him, let alone someone like Christina, were zero.

He believed she did it because she had guessed that Desmond was a physical person and that was what she needed most at times like this. Moments where his vulnerability bled like an open wound.

He was still the same person who, for ten years, had slept hugging a sword, his only source of security back then.

He supposed Christina had guessed his nature because he had figured that people who were not good with words had to be physical people, by force.

Thank you, he thought.

Desmond turned away.

He put his hands on Christina's shoulders and pushed her slightly away. This caused her to break away, raise her head with questioning eyes.

"You should leave."

"How?"

Okay, that hadn't been the best way to start with that.

"I mean we're not out of the woods yet. The fighting has continued through the night. There's no sign it's going to stop any time soon, and it could spill over here. We're not safe at all."

Christina's expression changed subtly.

"So I'd like to... I can't order you around, that's for sure. But I'd like you to leave. For your own safety."

Christina removed her hands from his shoulders.

He didn't notice abruptness or coldness in his movements.

Still, Desmond made a small grimace as if she had harshly rebuffed him. As if he thought she was angry with him.

"So, what about you guys?"

"Amy can't leave yet. I'll stay here until she can. Just in case. To ensure her safety."

Amy stood upright in the hospital bed.

She had a complex expression on her face. He saw her out of the corner of his eye.

Still, he didn't think she was mad at him either. That she wasn't going to answer him with something like: I can protect myself.

Because that was true. Yes.

But that wasn't the point. The point was that she shouldn't have to, and so he would stay.

"If that's what you want," Christina began, "then is it alright if we switch?"

That caught him off guard.

"No."

"Why is that?"

"Because... because... because..."

My life is worth less than yours, clearly, he thought. Why was he finding it difficult to finish such a simple sentence?

It was obvious.

It was something he wouldn't even have to think about.

After all, he couldn't even die.

The only rational thing was that he would risk his life before everyone else every time.

So why couldn't he finish talking?

And Christina, why was she looking at him like that?

"Stop it," Amy said forcefully. When she wanted to, she could convey the presence of what she was. A noblewoman. She was capable of that even in a hospital gown. What we need now is not fighting among ourselves. Especially not over nonsense.

They both turned their gaze to Amy, sitting on the bed.

"If someone leaves, we all leave. If anyone stays, we all stay. Period."

"That's just what I think," Christina said.

"You should have understood by now, Desmond. If we split up, we'll end badly. But we're strong together. The last time we were apart...."

Desmond's eyes went wide.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so... so manipulative. I said it without thinking."

"But that's what you think," Desmond said.

"Yes. I'm convinced that this is my place, the place for all of us. That, for whatever reason, it's like... our destiny. We're connected. Like... like links in a chain, okay? I'm not blaming," she brought a hand to her missing arm, seemingly unconsciously "for this. But let's not get separated. I don't want it to happen again. I want us to always be together."

Silence fell.

Sunlight directly on his back through the window.

Burning him. And kind of pushing him forward.

Without turning his head, Desmond closed the window. Turning his back to the smoke on the horizon.

Then he broke the silence.

"It's okay, Amy. "He looked at them. Both of them. He shifted his gaze between them, several times. "That's how we'll do it. Because... that's what I want too. Always."

"Always," Christina and Amy repeated at the same time, as if they'd rehearsed it.

Desmond felt a slight shiver.

He felt as if something had happened, here and now.

A blood pact signed. Or some kind of ritual. Either way...

Something binding. Definitive.

■

They stayed in the room, talking to each other about nothing in particular. And waiting.

Until he'd had enough of the latter.

Desmond stood up suddenly.

"I'm going to see what the hell is going on," Desmond said.

"Okay," Amy replied.

Christina's response was different. Looking at him as if she was worried, she muttered:

"Don't do anything stupid."

Desmond shook his head. But he wasn't sure he did because he was promising not to do anything foolish or that he wouldn't think it was foolish. While he was doing it, at least.

It wasn't long before he found a healer down the hall.

The first person he ran into.

The hospital, or at least this floor, seemed pretty empty.

"Hey. Yeah, you... Dr. Evans. Come examine my friend."

He looked at him as if puzzled.

"Your friend is...?"

"Amy Sunderland."

"Yes, the girl who lost an arm." The healer nodded to himself. "I'll do that. But I have other patients..."

Desmond grabbed the doctor's arm, preventing him from turning away as he spoke.

"I'm having a hard time thinking of anything more urgent."

"But, the schedule, you see...."

It sounded like he was scared.

Of course he was scared. He could crush the life out of him as easily as an insect.

Desmond lowered his voice.

"There's been a change of plans. Amy has been moved to the top of the list."

"But..."

Desmond squeezed his arm tighter than he had intended. He heard his bones creak.

"Change of plans. Or I'll rip your arm off, and then you'll know how it feels, Dr. Evans."

The doctor nodded, again and again, anxiously.

Desmond released him.

"Very well," he said expressionlessly, dropping his hand.

He didn't care.

He certainly didn't. The consequences, if any, would be his to pay. Not his team. Amy would get what she needed. That was the important thing, after all.

■

Amy was examined.

Everything was fine and they could leave. Good, one less problem, he thought.

While Amy was changing clothes in the bathroom...

Desmond.

He was aware that such a small thing was not enough, not by a long shot, to solve all the problems he was having.

His heart raced.

No, not only his heart. Also the second heart beating in his chest.

Abigail was just as excited.

"Are you all right?"

I'm sorry, my child. But I've been captured. I wasn't able to get away.

"I see. I..."

He should have expected it, really. Instead of clinging to false hopes.

She had contacted him at the last moment.

In her "last seconds," to leave him a message. So that he wouldn't come. That was because she knew she had been captured.

That she couldn't escape.

Not until she was resurrected, that is.

But...

"I'm a fool."

Christina was looking at him. Tense, expectant, but nothing more. At this point she wasn't going to be surprised that he was suddenly speaking to nothing.

She was used to hearing only one side of his conversations with Abigail.

Don't blame yourself. You couldn't have done anything. Besides, it was my decision.

"But only because I was stupid. Because I made the wrong decision and you wanted to follow it."

You said it. You wanted to. If I had wanted to, I would have ignored your wishes. But I made my decision. I made it knowing the risks. If you want to blame someone, blame me for failing at the last moment. Not yourself.

"Where are you?"

It doesn't matter.

Desmond grimaced. What do you mean, it doesn't fucking matter? His teeth chattered.

It doesn't matter because I've called you so you won't look for me. So you won't risk everything, throw it all away just for me. You don't have to do such a thing. Stay where you are. I'll manage and come back to you. Without you having to sacrifice anything.

Desmond started to move. He couldn't help himself. He started pacing around the room. Mostly in circles, like a hamster on a wheel.

Unpleasant comparison. Most unpleasant.

"That doesn't matter. I don't want you to suffer even for a second. I couldn't bear to go on with my life knowing you're suffering."

He silenced. That alone was his response.

"Abigail, I know you're listening. Please, please tell me where you are. Please tell me where you are."

More silence.

No. No! He flatly refused. He wasn't going to let things end this way.

If necessary, he would go against her wishes. He didn't have to follow her wishes in the first place.

He had already decided. He had decided to pursue his happiness. No, that that was what he was doing, that that was the most important thing to him really. So he didn't need any more reason than that.

He couldn't be happy without Abigail. He couldn't let her stay captured, couldn't let her not tell him anything.

He wouldn't let those bastards make her suffer even for a second. Not if he could help it, he swore it! He swore it on his burning blood that seemed to even be melting his veins.

"Abigail!"

Desmond pounded on the window. With both fists clenched, he pounded on the only window in this room as if he wanted to shatter it.

I want wings, he thought. An echo of an old memory. Freedom.

Suddenly, the world around him distorted and changed. No, it was his vision that had changed. Suddenly he was seeing a different scene as if it were normal.

Light. A light that was too strong, but it didn't hide his new surroundings.

Metal. Large metal walls. At the top, a long catwalk. He was surrounded by a large number of people he had never seen in his life.

Suddenly, everything was different. But not only his surroundings.

His feet couldn't touch the ground. His feet... they weren't his feet.

I'm seeing through Abigail's eyes, he realized.