The two remaining members of the troupe reunited in the evening when all witnesses and victims had been questioned. They hugged after but didn't exchange more than a sentence.

For the next week, they lived in different places provided by followers of the Mother of Mercy. Olaf stayed in a merchant's house in the city, and Ledas in a servant's building on a nobleman's summer estate outside of town.

Olaf rested for a couple of days, after which he got a job at the builder's guild. Ledas was approached near the gates on the second day. An older woman recognized him and returned the backpack he had dropped when the monster attacked. Everything was there.

His hands were bandaged and keeping his body warm without flames was difficult, so he locked himself in the room most of the time and read through the stolen textbook next to a fireplace.

The book wasn't as detailed as his father's explanations, but good enough to refresh his memories and, most importantly, keep his mind busy from playing out scenarios of the evening of the attack.

It wasn’t working as well as he would have liked though. His mind wasn’t as easy to trick for too long though. Questions were flooding his mind. What if the magic he felt in the woods was something connected to the beast’s attack? If it was, maybe if he went there instead of running away things would have been different.

Maybe if he just scouted the palace and saw the beast he could use a magical flare to alert the city of something incoming. The monster was big and intimidating, but maybe his trump card would have been enough.

All his thoughts about using his only one-time use trump card he had were met by his father's words appearing in his mind again and again “Under no circumstances you should use it. It will solve nothing and you will get yourself killed as a result. Don’t even think about it. This power is not yours to decide what to do with it anyway.”

He felt that power when he was getting cold under the blanket. Power that he once saw covering a pond with ice during a hot summer day and turning it into a winter. His skin and hair were turning completely white, and his eyelashes got covered in ice during the coldest nights, but he felt no discomfort.

He wasn’t leaving the room often, and he would heat himself only before going outside. Being in that state was soothing, while in it he didn’t feel guilty for not coming up with a spell to save Arty.

He had already come up with at least six different ways he could have taken out Arty from under the heavy wooden beam closer to the end of the week. None included using the cold running in his veins, as it would have most likely killed not only Arty but Olaf who was in the vicinity and him most likely too.

He thought a lot about the reasons he short-circuited, it was a mistake that almost cost him and Olaf their lives. If not for a priestess passing by they both would have ended up dead, so he removed the bandages a few days earlier than the priests suggested before heading to the alehouse when he and Olaf decided to meet in the evening.

His fingers were now in place, and his hands had only a few light scars left after magical healing. He activated runes one by one to see which of the nodes had issues, he returned and replayed each bit and piece he could driving himself close to a panic attack each time, but cold was keeping him in check. He needed to know what happened and the conclusion wasn’t generous.

Most likely when he bit his hand in panic he shifted his skin enough for it to connect to another line. Some runes were functional after healing, but needed repair, so he spent the whole day grinding one of the coins, purified it the way his father told him, and used a needle to slowly re-apply damaged parts of his tattoos.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

They met as agreed upon at the end of the week in an alehouse: a small outdoor establishment with very few patrons sitting outside.

"Holdin' up?" Olaf gulped his ale. He had finished his second beer when Ledas entered.

"No, you?" Ledas took out the bottles of whiskey and put them on the table. Olaf poured himself some.

"No, I see they took the cast off."

"I see your wounds are no longer present, as well," Ledas sighed as he poured himself some whiskey to match.

"Where did you get this from?" Olaf enjoyed the whiskey quite a lot.

"Stole it from the mages' guild," Ledas shrugged as he spoke calmly and quietly, dropping a pouch on the table.

"Well, I thought only Flynn could try to do something that stupid. What's that?" Olaf's voice wavered when he mentioned the twin.

"Coins, what else... We'll need that for the burial," Ledas' voice was cold and unemotional.

"The Church will do the ceremony tomorrow; they're taking the expenses on themselves." Olaf's voice was similarly detached.

"Well, what should we do?" Ledas looked at Olaf.

"I ain’t gonna be able to perform. Don't think you will either."

"No, should we skip town after the ceremony?"

"I’m headin' to the town guard recruitment tomorrow. You should try to get in with that magical association they’re openin’ up. Or find a teachin' job. You taught me and the boys to read, after all."

"Maybe, I guess. Don’t know. Won't be allowed to the mages exam anyway, and too young to be seriously considered as a tutor"

"Or go back home if you got one." Olaf's words felt cold. It had been three years, but they knew very little about each other's past.

"I never had one aside from the troupe." Ledas drank his whiskey warm. It tasted terrible, but it was strong.

"Keep the money." Olaf pushed the purse back to him.

"You might need it," Ledas retorted.

"I have work now; you don't. I know what you did that day, people told me.” Olaf looked at his friend in front of him whose thoughts were somewhere else “Are you still in the burning stables?" Olaf knew Ledas too well.

"..." Ledas didn't respond.

"I know you're blaming yourself, but please, for my sake and your sake, stop."

"If I only..." Ledas' voice broke as he was about to break into crying. Olaf's hand reached forward, grabbing the magician by his mouth, and shutting it tight.

"There ain't no 'ifs' and 'buts'. I heard what you did durin' the attack. You did all you could and saved quite a few people, includin' me. Take pride in that." Olaf's hand, now covered in Ledas' tears, slowly released his mouth.

"But, if only..." Ledas was interrupted by a big slap, turning the attention of the few patrons sitting not too far away.

"No 'ifs' and 'buts'," Olaf's voice was slightly raspy. Ledas snapped back to reality. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but all the sentences started with "if" or "but", so he sat there opening his mouth silently like a fish. Olaf raised his voice as he looked at his dazzled and shaking friend in the eyes.

"You wanna believe that if you did things otherwise, things coulda turned out different." His voice softened, "No. There were many times when we coulda done better. That day wasn't one. You did more than anyone could have asked from you." Olaf hugged his crying friend, who mumbled loudly from pain in his soul until he went quiet.

But Olaf didn’t know what Ledas did. The mage never told his friend about the encounter in the woods, nor about ways he came up with that could have saved Arty. The argument that Olaf presented that Ledas couldn’t have done anything wasn’t true. Ledas couldn’t tell, he felt ashamed. He pretended that the words of his friend reached him as he shed tears. He wanted something, he needed power