They were wrapped in cloaks as black as the darkness of night, the color of which contrasted sharply with the pure white glow of the daggers in their hands and their golden masks, which resembled theatrical masks. They had come at him from all directions.

They intended to end this quickly. In one fell swoop.

She wouldn't allow that.

They lunged at her and the daggers flew, trying to cut her. But only the daggers. They used no magic of any kind, at least for the moment. Amy was surprised and wondered if she might not be under attack by Empire soldiers after all.

But the surprise didn't last long for her. For she had no time to be distracted by anything.

If the enemies with the golden masks were like a wave, she became a whirlwind. Amy pushed back or dodged the blows, retreating.

Driving some enemies to retreat, pushing them back with the ice she summoned, shooting out from the tip of her sword.

She could do this.

She wouldn't die, she wouldn't be killed here. Desmond had been fighting steadily for weeks. He had gone deep into the heart of the Empire and had made it out. But they hadn't sat idly by either.

They had continued to fight in their own ways, in their own paths.

They had gotten stronger.

And if you couldn't use power to protect what you cared about, the people you cared about, then what the hell good was it?

No use, of course.

She decided never to back down again. Not to give ground, not even a single step.

These people weren't here for her. They were looking, as usual, for Desmond and Abigail. As in the previous two attacks— the one at the academy and the one at the training center.

Therefore, she couldn't give ground, leave an opening for them to sneak through her guard and up the stairs.

Amy wouldn't even let them have a chance to do that.

I'll end all of this here and now, so....

The golden masks, in their black cloaks, were a violent tempest of steel. But not of death. So far, in fact, they had never once touched her.

Until now.

They reached Amy for the first time. A cut on the neck, superficial, just opening the skin, not even much blood came out. That was all it was, really. But, for a moment, Amy feared it was a serious, even fatal wound. She feared she would die from a slight oversight, a mistake that should have been insignificant.

And she unleashed all her fury. First, with her voice.

She screamed as if she intended to knock the opponent down with the sound of her voice alone—of course, she didn't have that kind of affinity.

Then...

She plunged the sword into the chest of the golden mask that had cut her. Sinking it all the way to the pommel, causing the edge to come out the other side.

But that was not all. He didn't stop there.

Amy hadn't used the power Abigail had given her because she preferred to keep it as an ace up her sleeve, something enemies couldn't take into consideration. Not until it was too late, at least.

But she could unleash her magic, which had many uses. It was versatile.

Such as, for example, this one.

The chest of the golden mask opened. So did the back. From both sides came out ice spikes, bathed in the blood of her enemy. And the head...

The head directly exploded, sending the contents flying in all directions.

There was practically nothing left.

Only the ice colored by the blood, which was still expanding.

It was born inside the corpse, went through it and beyond.

A few hours ago, they had enacted the scene of a normal life in that room, albeit with tension, bubbling under the surface, waiting to come out, to burst even.

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Now, in a matter of seconds, the room was transformed into an unrecognizable place.

The ice 'flower' bloomed until it covered the hall, impaling several of the enemies along the way by accident, not by intent.

Others were not killed. They were only wounded. But at least the attack affected them.

Good.

The more elaborate the attack, the more magical energy it cost. That display of her skills had taken quite a toll. But it had been worth it.

One of the golden masks placed a hand on one of the chunks of ice, as if to check something.

That movement caught her attention, and Amy took off running towards that enemy as if she knew what was about to happen. But she didn't make it in time.

It burned. The fire was spreading, consuming her ice construction.

The flower and its countless petals, all sharper than her sword. Than the knives aimed at her.

It didn't matter, it had served its purpose.

It had been worth it.

And now she would finish the work she had begun.

"I'll show you what I'm capable of, you sons of bitches!"

They collided once again.

——

"Don't worry. I'm here. I'm here."

Back in bed, with Desmond. The boy on his lap. Cuddling. Caressing. While whispering promises to him about the present and the past. About the rest of his long, long life.

"I'll never leave you," Abigail said. "You know, I'll never leave you. No matter what happens. I promise."

Desmond didn't stir as hard as before, in her arms.

Was it because her words were getting through to the boy?

Or was it simply that he was losing strength, so he couldn't squirm like before?

She preferred to believe it was working.

Desmond wasn't in danger. He wouldn't die from this, not even temporarily. And the transformation would be over. One way or another. There was no turning back now. However, she wished it would be over as soon as possible. As was only natural. Not because of her impatience.

Abigail had waited for two thousand years, she could wait for minutes or even hours. But she didn't want to. She didn't want her little boy to have to suffer unnecessarily. Her little boy... her savior....

She stroked his head, ran her fingers through his hair. Lovingly. Like a mother. Abigail laughed, mocking only herself. What did she know about mothers? She'd never had one. And she wasn't fit to be one, anyway.

A person like her didn't deserve to be happy, either. And yet she wanted both of those things.

But, after all this time, she had the right to be selfish, didn't she? After so long... she'd atoned for her sins and could afford... to be selfish? Right? Abigail shook her head slightly. What did it matter? What did good and bad have to do with it? Wrong and right? She was a being that existed outside this world. She belonged nowhere. She could never stay anywhere for too long, she constantly had to run, to hide.

Abigail wasn't bound to the laws and systems of this world. Nor to morality.

What mattered was what she desired, what she wanted. Self-realization. Abigail had thought that was what awaited her at the end of the road, and the only thing she desired. Yet perhaps that was what she had been pursuing all along. Self-realization. Maybe, from the beginning, she had wanted to prove to herself that....

Stop.

"I'm here," Abigail repeated, squeezing Desmond tighter, as if she was afraid he was going to slip out of her arms. "I'm here. I'm here."

Abigail kissed him on the cheek. "I won't leave you."

——

A sound

A low, but persistent sound.

Besides, it was the only sound in this darkness, so it was noticeable.

One sound.

A sound.

A sound like... A drop of water? A drop of water hitting the surface... of more water?

Like that, over and over again. A slow, maddening trickle.

Suddenly, ripples in the water.

The blurred reflection of an image from the past. Her mother's face, covered by the shadow of fear. That stood out above all other emotions.

A stone bouncing across the surface of the water. Causing it to ripple.

"I don't even know you!" Her mother's voice, painfully clear.

"I wish I didn't know you!" Her own voice, sounding so far away, so young.

Dripping. Dripping. Drip. Dripping.

A slow, maddening drip. Christina put her hands to her head. Squeezing hard.

"Don't open it. I don't want to see any of this. It's no good even if I"

Drip.

He continued. The ripples continued.

The surface of the water continues to reflect the past. One scene after another. Changing rapidly, blending together.

So quickly that she didn't always know herself what exactly was being reflected. Of course, those were memories from her childhood.

She was still young, but she couldn't expect to remember clearly all of her childhood.

Only... for sure, the moments she would like to forget.

Those had not faded, nor would they ever fade.

Though surely there had been many scars she had forgotten. Moments that had torn her apart, in the past, but were now nothing.

But her brain did not forget.

It was all there. The good, the bad and...

"Don't open it.

She watched time pass.

Christina saw an undulating shadow, hanging from the ceiling by a rope. And she saw the empty rope. No, it wasn't like someone had put down

(him him him him him him him)

the person hanging, leaving the rope empty.

This was another rope, in another time.

This was...

"I'd better finish this on my own terms. It's only one step. It only takes... the courage for one step."

Which he took.

The chair fell, the rope tightened around her neck. Her eyes were bulging out of their sockets. She was running out of air.

The worst of it all came, something she had also feared: regret.

But she was alone and in the dark. No one would come to help her. She kicked hard, as hard as she could muster, but that wasn't going to get her anywhere.

Beneath her, the shadow rippled.

I don't want to die. I really don't want to die.

Please. I don't want to disappear like this.

It was painful. Crushing.

The light and the colors and the warmth were slowly receding. Everything was slipping away from her. Soon she would breathe her last breath.

Soon, she wouldn't even have room for regrets.

Or for dreams of what could have been.

I don't want to disappear like this.

She felt something, behind her. The weight of a body. The grip of strong hands.

She looked to her left, and there was Amy, holding her and lifting her up. Loosening the 'grip' the rope had on her neck.

She looked to her right, and there was Desmond, holding her on that side.

They were both crying.

But there was determination in those faces too.