Habondia's eyes snapped open; her breath ragged as if she had just surfaced from a deep, tumultuous sea. The tendrils of a fading dream still clung to her mind, slipping away like mist in the morning sun. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead; tiny gems forged in the crucible of her restless slumber.

With a conscious effort, she willed her racing heart to settle, each thump echoing in the chamber that cocooned her. The room itself seemed to hold its breath; the stillness broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the ornate clock on the bedside table—a metronome of time's unyielding march.

“That dream again,” she said trying to contain her tears. That memory had become a trauma she cried about every time she remembered it.

Her fingers, trembling slightly, sought the cool touch of the bed's silk sheets, a tactile anchor to present. She focused on the gentle rustle of fabric as her grip tightened, grounding herself in the tactile reality of her surroundings. The refreshing sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting elusive patterns on the floor, like the remnants of forgotten memories.

The tendrils of her dream remained just beyond the threshold of her conscious mind, taunting her. But Habondia knew that grappling with the ethereal tendrils of the past was an exercise in futility—a dance with her inner demons that she could never win.

With a deliberate exhalation, she pushed herself into a sitting position, her messy hair tickling over her shoulders. The room seemed to expand around her as her senses reawakened. Her gaze swept across the chamber, absorbing every detail—the intricate patterns woven into the tapestries, the play of shadows on the walls, and the mellow glow of a dim light in the entrance next to the door. The hotel room was spacious and cozy. It had khaki-colored walls and ceiling, two beds, and some oak furniture.

She felt hungry, it was past noon. However, she wanted to stay in bed and keep on sleeping, but she couldn’t anymore. Although she felt exhausted, her head banged with migraines.

She slipped out of bed, her bare feet meeting the cool embrace of the polished wooden floor. As she crossed the room, the old floorboards creaked softly. The mirror on the vanity beckoned to her, an enigmatic portal into her own reflection.

Meeting her own gaze, Habondia saw a reflection that seemed both familiar and elusive. The shadows beneath her eyes bore silent witness to the restless dreams that had visited her night after night, an echo of a subconscious world that defied easy interpretation. Her fingers traced the curve of her reflection as if seeking answers in the glass itself.

Two weeks had passed since her release. Still, she kept thinking about how to start her life again. She didn’t know if it was worth it.

With a sigh that carried the weight of countless nights in sorrow, Habondia turned away from the mirror. The day awaited as a blank and unmarked canvas; however, she wasn’t sure what to paint on it.

As she stepped towards the window, the gentle sunlight kissed her cheeks, casting a delicate rosy hue upon her skin. She rested in a hotel room a friend of hers booked. This friend was running some errands, so Habondia had to wait. They shared the room, but this time she was alone.

She enjoyed being lonely. Twelve years of solitary confinement had intensified her affinity with such isolated behavior. Nonetheless, after years of not being able to see a welcoming smile, she felt uncomfortable. She wanted to be with her friend by her side.

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It was cold, the thermometer next to the entrance door marked 45°F. That temperature felt comfortable for her, at least it was warmer than in prison.

She got up after about ten minutes and went to the bathroom to take a shower. Her friend had given her new clothes she dressed in. They were a pair of brown slacks and a white blouse, though she stayed barefoot.

Her friend arrived minutes later. She was a beautiful chocolate-milk-like complexion woman in her forties and particolored irises. The left eye was pink and the right, in a discordant tone, was a deep purple tone that bordered black. Her hair was short with bluish and greenish highlights that reached up the shoulders.

“Are you hungry?” the woman asked and Habondia nodded.

The newcomer gave Habondia some Italian food she had bought for lunch. She started eating on the table alongside her bed and the newcomer sat in front of her in a chair.

“How do you feel?”

“I’ve been better,” Habondia responded, chowing down on some pasta. “I need new glasses; my sight is blurry.”

“You never wore glasses in prison, did you?”

“No, I didn’t, twelve years not using glasses. Maybe my eyes cured themselves a bit. I can see a bit clearer than before, but I still need glasses, and those provided by the court were made with my old formula.”

“OK, after eating let’s get you some new ones.”

“I don’t have money to buy new ones.”

“I’ll pay for them. I insist!” the woman declaimed, raising her voice.

Habondia bit her tongue and nodded, accepting her offering.

“What will you do from now on?”

“I don’t know, Naamaah... I don’t even know why I’m alive after what happened,” Habondia sighed, lamenting.

Naamaah slapped her on the right cheek. Habondia stared at her thoughtfully. “What are you doing?” She yelled.

“I’m trying to bring back the friend I’m supposed to know,” Naamaah remarked, raising her voice in anger.

“What do you want me to do? I have nothing left. No family, no money, no power… no one cares about me anymore!” Habondia whimpered.

Naamaah slapped her on the other cheek much stronger than before.

“I care... The friend I know would keep going and would overcome any obstacle to achieve her desires. Are you still the Habondia Xana I know? What about stopping the Sørensens? What about releasing the Seven Fallen? What about your companions? Your dreams?”

Habondia stared at her friend with wet eyes. Naamaah slapped her again, however gently. She covered her face as tears flowed.

Naamaah remained silent. She approached Habondia and hugged her.

“I know you are right… You are right!” Habondia sniffed. “But those years in prison were terrible. Every day I wondered if I could survive until sunset.”

She sniffled.

“All that hatred, all that humiliation, the torturous polar temperatures,” Habondia paused. “They even forced me to spend nights naked, trying to kill me by hypothermia in extremely cold temperatures while immobilized by chains. They fed me meals drugged with Zielony to prevent me from using Thaumaturgy while restrained with Niebieski chains. And they forced me to throw up the food I ate only to prevent me from turning into a drug addict. I don’t want that to happen again to me, nor any of my companions… not even my worst enemies deserve that.”

“It won’t happen again! You did many things, and now you know what to do and what not to do. You have experience... experience none of us have.” Naamaah wiped Habondia’s tears with her fingers. “In addition, you are powerful; the most powerful Jana I’ve known in my life. You need to rely on your friends, to trust us more! I know you can. The Habondia Xana I know can.”

Habondia finished wiping her tears using a napkin and nodded. “Yes... You are right. I have to keep going!”

“Eat up! Let’s get you a new pair of glasses after this. We have to hurry!” Naamaah stated, eating.

“Thanks.”

“By the way, there have been problems in the city.”

“Problems?” Habondia cleared her throat. “You are changing the subject too fast to keep up!”

Naamaah giggled. “Someone installed a bomb in the Courts. We are in The Residential District, far from there, but the people on the streets have started to freak out.”

“A bomb?” Habondia asked, eyes wide open.“You told me that Joanne Belloc is in the city, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“I need to talk to her. This city is going to fall. If so, I have a plan… a plan to seize it.”