Mary woke up only to instantly wish she hadn't. Her head felt as if it was split into halves, filled with lava, and used as tableware at a giant's birthday tea party.

For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was or how had she had gotten there. The only thing she knew was that this time, her whole body was in agreement: it hated her brain down to the last nerve and declared open war. There was no other explanation for how she felt.

Unfortunately, it only took a few seconds for the memories to rush back at her.

The battle. She remembered kneeling in the dirt and ashes, spraying her very life over her friends' remains. The desperation she felt, and how it grew stronger with every passing second. Vague images of the battle raging around her. And finally, an ambulance, circling around fallen bodies, faces of the rescue workers taking Margaret on the stretcher, and gathering what was left of Hans to an urn with a brush, and then…

“You're finally awake, I see,” a strangely familiar voice rang out next to her. It was a voice from another time, one that seemed to take place so long ago, and yet so recently…

“Bromman?” Mary asked, opening her eyes. It took considerable effort, and the view she got as her reward wasn't exactly what she hoped for.

Unfamiliar white walls. Unfamiliar white screens. Unfamiliar white ceiling.

A dark silhouette of her mentor in a familiar tweed jacket.

“Hello, Mary.”

“What-,” the girl tried to sit up, but the effort proved too much for her, and a coughing fit bent her over the bed instead. She felt strong arms holding her up until her lungs got over themselves. Then, she was gently but firmly put back on the pillow. A familiar buzzing told her that Mossie had somehow survived, even if it was currently hiding outside her field of view.

“Don't strain yourself too fast,” Bromman said, and his face twisted in a weird emotion that didn't exactly fit the usually mocking face. Was it compassion?

“How bad is it?” Mary whispered.

“Bad,” He sighed. “But it could have been worse. Though whether much worse...”

He took a sip of coffee that somehow appeared in his hand. Mary kept staring at him, not trusting her traitorous voice. She needed to know.

“Alright,” her mentor sighed again. “I wasn't there, so if I get something wrong, you'll need to correct me.” Another absentminded sip. “You and your friends were hit by a main boss in the first half of the battle, and the two of them got damaged. Badly. You then proceeded to cast a lifeleak spell on both of them and held it up for hours in the centre of an ongoing battle. You were taken with the rescue workers and fell unconscious before reaching the hospital. Have I gotten anything wrong so far?”

Mary tried to shake her head, but even the first motion caused her stomach to rebel, so she gave up the idea and whispered, “Right.”

“I'd ask if Margaret warned you about the consequences of using such a spell, but the lyrics are rather self-explanatory, aren't they?” Bromman sighed again. “I can't decide if I should be proud of you or berate you for your stupidity.”

Mary swallowed hard. “How...?”

“You have a few years left if you were particularly lively. Months, if not.” Her mentor shook his head. “I could probably cast some spells and check, but... getting to know the day of your death is too serious a decision to be taken like this.”

“And my party...?”

“It's hard to tell. I managed to learn that they're still alive, but they needed the academy's hospital help. Lot's of it.”

“And I...?”

“You haven't needed all that much medical attention, and as your mentor, I managed to clear up most of the paperwork. But they... them, I cannot help.” The remaining coffee disappeared down Bromman's throat. He shook his head as if he'd just downed a shot of vodka instead. “The good thing is, they're already up and running faster than you ever could. The bad - due to the bureaucracy they will probably never walk out of this place alive.”

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The last spark of energy left Mary's heart. “But I only wanted-”

She stopped, feeling the man's hand on her shoulder. “I know.”

Mary closed her eyes again. She felt a tear rolling down her cheek, down to the rough bedsheets and stiff mattress beneath it.

“You need to rest, now,” her mentor said. “I'll stay one more day. Try to get some sleep.”

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She was walking a twisted, white path stretching over a sea of stars. They were beneath her, around her, and above her, each of them twinkling in a unique, and beautiful, but equally uncaring way.

Mary couldn't remember how long she was walking, but as she glanced behind, the path stretched further than she could see. Then, she noticed the music - gentle tones of a piano dancing up and down, then up and down again all over her ears. It was coming from somewhere down the way - and so, she walked forward.

Soon, the path ended in a wider pool of light. The girl stepped on it cautiously, but it seemed just as solid as anything had any right to be in a place like this.

There was a piano standing on the other side of the island. It was wide, high, and darker than the darkest void of the eternal night between the stars. Before it sat a pale, black-haired man dressed in a white shirt, black jacket, white trousers with a black belt, white gloves and black shoes.

Mary tried to approach him, but before she made the third step, he raised a finger to indicate that a good part was coming up, and it was not a good moment for any interruptions.

Somehow, he managed to do it without missing a single note. Well, at least based on Mary's judgement - it wasn't like she knew how this particular melody was supposed to sound. He might have been causing the original composer to roll in his grave so fast that they could power a major city - still, the final effect was rather impressive.

Finally, a final accord rang through the endless space, and the man let out a heavy sigh. No, not a man, Mary realised - it was merely a boy, probably barely older than her. He rose from his chair and focused his eyes on her - where hers showed oceanic blue, his had only blank whiteness.

“Tell me,” he said without any introduction, “are you doing this on purpose?”

His voice was smooth, yet betrayed signs of annoyance. It was like coming to a luxurious hotel and waking a receptionist from a nap to receive your key. Sure, you are perfectly welcome - but you could have come fifteen minutes later, couldn't you?

Mary shook her head, trying to clear it up. “What?”

“I asked,” the boy repeated with a polite irritation, “whether you are doing this on purpose?”

“Doing what?”

“You've almost managed to get yourself killed. Or rather, to kill yourself, even. How long did it take you, five days? Four?”

She was positively taken aback. “And what is that to you? Who even are you?” Fortunately, her voice didn't seem hoarse at all now. She frowned. Why would she expect it to be hoarse, actually? Why…

“Oh, I am your villain, of course. Haven't they told you even that?” The boy smirked. “Pity. You know how immensely rude it is to perish before even meeting your villain?”

“Listen here, whoever you think you are, wherever we are right now, you-”

“I what, pray tell?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You...,” Mary stumbled in a search for words. That was as far as her plan for this sentence went. “You'd better bring me back, or-”

“Or what, exactly?” The figure asked curiously. “Surely you've realised by now that you are not the one in control here?”

He snapped his fingers, and Mary inadvertently blinked. When her eyelids went back up, the scenery changed.

They were on a battlefield. The battlefield.

“Your party is on the verge of death, all three of you. You could have truly saved them, you know? If only you had remembered your lessons just a moment earlier...,” he shook his head and snapped his fingers again.

“Your mentor won't risk his precious life to save whatever you have left.” They were standing on a staircase leading to a low, wide building with a mixture of large, glass windows and heavy, stone columns. “And why would he - he hadn't wanted you in the first place, did he?”

Another snap and they were back on the lonely island drifting between the stars. Mary stumbled, took a step backwards, and yelped as her other foot felt nothing beneath it. She was on the very edge and had to spin her arms wildly just to stay on the platform.

“But since you've asked so nicely, I will tell you my name. Aren't I generous?” The boy flashed his perfectly white teeth as he breached the distance between them, and his gloved hands grabbed the heroine’s flailing arms by the wrists, keeping her steady on the white island.

Mary was too busy catching her breath to reply.

“My name,” the boy continued without releasing her, “is Veritas.”

White flames rose in his eyes, and she could tell they would burn her to the bone with the slightest touch. “Would you like to make another inquiry? About your nearest future, perhaps?”

Mary started to open her mouth, but something yanked her backwards, wrenching her arms out of the boy's grip. She saw his mildly surprised face looking down on her from the island as she plummeted into the infinite nothingness below.