* * *

If you have a lot of quiet and free time, you can spend it not only on spitting at the ceiling but also on something useful. I am far from the concept of workaholism. But I can't do anything around the clock. This warehouse is empty and will be empty for about two years. I inherited it from a misguided purebred halfling merchant, and it's not listed as one of his possessions, thanks to a chain of coincidences.

The merchant doesn't come to Eternal very often, and even then, mostly through representatives because, in his youth, he managed to sleep with his beloved wife, quite a young mother-in-law, and the native sister of the local criminal baron, one of the toughest Night Fathers. And this is not in Tavimark but in Eternal. That man can tell the hell out of other lords, the poorer ones. And the short merchant didn't even possess the talents of seduction, nor did he have the skills. He was just "lucky" to catch the ladies' eyes after taking a whole set of cocktails of varying degrees of strength. Actually, it was only because Father preferred to deal with the situation first that he hadn't killed the fuckin' salesman in the first place. Even he understood that it wasn't the boy's fault. Not that he was all-forgiving, but he preferred not to move a very hurt wound on his heart. If a hobbit came within the capital, he would kill him, but he had no intention of chasing after the tramp himself.

In general, we are not talking about Popydryn Shygdystybsky and not about his dangerous love life, which made him unwelcome in the Eternal, but about a chain of accidents. The chain of coincidences wore the rank of one of the not-very-big officials of the Imperial Chancery, whose uncle owned all sorts of warehouses. He did not know the exact reasons for Popydryn's dislike of the capital, but he felt that this unsociable halfling certainly would not come to Eternal in person, and the distant relative from whom he inherited, he did not know too well, so the warehouse was quietly pocketed. They even paid taxes on it instead of the real owner using the premises.

Small things, against the background of really big machinations, but that official was also far from the real power. He was a frog, only slightly larger than the average tadpole. These are the ones who, if anything happens, become scapegoats in all situations where someone's sins need to be shown off urgently. An official was executed for embezzlement, his brother owed money to creditors and mysteriously disappeared forever, and the warehouse, which belongs to nobody, is lost.

That's the kind of place your humble me decided to use as a backup base in case I had to retreat there. At once, a bucketful of shards of the mirror that died during a family quarrel in one of the rich houses of the shopping quarter, mastery of the use of Dream, and a great deal of free time. Now, in all corners, on the floor, and the ceiling of this warehouse stick out the processed shards, which I turned into redirectors of any attempt to see. And in the center is another mirror, this time in one piece, which served as the main hub and relieved the shards so if anything happened, they would not too quickly turn into black as pitch pieces of glass, as they did when the Shoreless Eye struck.

It was here that I dragged both myself and my burden when I realized that bringing this sort of thing to my rented accommodation was a direct ticket to the Darwin Prize recipient club. I pulled myself out of the Shadow and, with some fiddling, regained my human form. I tossed the unbearably delicious elfess away from me and began to breathe deeply and frequently, gradually turning off my gaze and removing the inhuman pallor from my face. I would have eaten her a little more, even though I was aware of the possible problems and consequences for my already shattered soul.

It's not a bad exercise for willpower.

I fumbled for a crude shard of the mirror with my hand and focused it on one of my companions. The one that got caught first. She is the best at not raising suspicions. I wish I could find Hans, but I'm too tired, and Taria can bring me a set of potions to cure my withdrawal as well. Though if she saw my "trophy," I wouldn't be getting any jokes for a long time.

The trophy was silent, though he had long since put his psyche in relative order... Or maybe it was just the shock. The elvess (or should I say elfa?) has a surprisingly strong will, not unlike that sucker, though, with her levels and classes, it would be strange to see the opposite. I roll my eyes at her, discerning only the cloak, grayed and drank to the ground, now crumbling to gray dust on the floor. The Hero's Gaze, however, is enough to give me the information I need.

Dark Druid and Starseer of level forty-seven. Both classes are epic but much closer to legendary than one might think. And I sense the Druid class is very close to being either changed or upgraded to legendary. More likely a change rather than an upgrade since her level is too low to cover all class ranks. Unless she's been pumping it alone... Or is it the same as a certain Konstantin Yurievich degenerate pumping it on her own.

"Look, I don't want to impose, but what the fuck are you up to?" My throat's dry, but I lost my flask somewhere very deep in The Shadow, and I'm not too keen on diving back for it.

For a moment, I thought she was brazenly ignoring me. And then the bitch... No, she didn't answer. She just removed her defense against clairvoyance. Not because she appreciated my talent in that branch, though just the warehouse protection she could feel, but because she passed out. And a few seconds later, her heart stopped beating.

"Damn..."

I stagger to my feet and assess the damage to her body. Magical exhaustion is bad, and so is some of the damage to the subtle bodies, but it's not fatal. A couple of weeks of bed rest and a bunch of unpalatable potions at most. I diagnosed it as an alchemist if anything, and healers could have done it faster. The alchemy, in fact, was the main trouble.

I remember Taria almost died after the Stone because her insides were threatening to start decomposing. Well, that wasn't going to happen here - it was almost over. The liver is just gone, there's just some bloody mass, and the kidneys and intestines go there, too. There are so many toxins in the blood that there's almost no blood itself. The heart looks like it's been eaten by woodworms - some of the muscles are dumbly absent and all puckered up. If it were not for the nature of her power, which allows her to make a life out of death and to feed herself with it, she would have died in the middle of the battle quite shamefully.

I give out a long line I'd once heard from Cassie, You're My Friend, which is an amazingly accurate portrayal of how I feel about this situation, and I begin to slowly pull her injuries onto myself. I don't forget to turn parts of myself into shadow flesh to regenerate faster.

The first thing I do is start her heart, feeling my own heart stop. That organ, that part of the body that will bear the damage, has to be left intact by the transformation. Otherwise, the theft will fail wildly. So now I only have human skin, so I can't radiate into space, and my heart so it can regenerate normally. I could also transform it. After all, I had already taken the trauma, but then the blow to my brain would be stronger.

The elf began to breathe again, hoarse and wet, and her nose bled. Her lungs began to fail later than her heart, but they did. While she was still coughing up her alveoli, I repaired her liver and one kidney. Then I had to repair one of her lungs, too, because they were almost completely coughing up through her mouth.

Now it's just the two of us coughing. And both of us have black blood. She's from toxins, and I'm from my class nature, dammit. I need a normal healer on my team, not this stuff. Because being treated my way is an ode to masochism, and I'm already losing my marbles without this stuff. I don't need new bugs.

I'm cleansing her blood with the last steals, dragging the toxins onto myself piece by piece, which makes me want to vomit again, but now I don't have anything to vomit with. Taria will be here for at least a couple of hours because I told her not to hurry, and the most important thing is that no one sees her at all. I've instructed my whole crew so many times on the importance of not giving any clues to the Seers that they can remember the basic ways of counteraction even if I woke them up in the middle of the night. Well, except for Ygra, but she observes these rules instinctively even without a declaration.

The patient passed out completely, but now it was more like a tired and nervous sleep in the background of complete mental exhaustion. At least she won't die, though I might kill her myself. Or I could charm her with a Ring, but she's too high for that, even a little - who knows what kind of mental defense perks she's got there?

Instead of foolish reflection, I plunge into a trance and, activating clairvoyance to the fullest extent available to me in my current state, I plunge into the Dream and through it, into the memory of this killer of kings and emperors. Regardless of how much I suffer, she will certainly not be able to lie or defend herself under these conditions. At least, not in a way that I wouldn't notice. She can't - still an epic-grade seer, clearly able to do something, and able to do that "something" well.

* * *

Elves and love, in general, are a very interesting collision. They are natural egoists but, at the same time, equally natural altruists. It's just that their self, which is ego, extends almost entirely to every elf they know and don't know too much. Even the different states of this race rarely fought, and if they did, it was proxy wars by mercenary forces, carefully trying not to spill star blood. But, nevertheless, sincere love is not so much unknown to them but very difficult to achieve.

To find one's own heart in the soul of another is the greatest rarity and the rarest gift, valued only slightly less than the life of a newborn child. Such couples are always protected, even if without much obsession. There is a kind of white envy that someone has managed to find someone he loves just as much as he loves himself and who receives similar feelings in return.

Most marital unions are made by elves not out of love but out of friendship, mutual respect, common interests, or even simply out of calculation. This is not condemned, the more so the fidelity of such spouses to each other will do honor to the "loving" hearts of other races. It is just their nature that they do not succeed in love. They're too... Elves.

The situation when one loves and the other does not is much more common, but it is not often an unhappy love. Whoever, but the star children know how to appreciate other person's feelings and respect the dedication and self-sacrifice that sincere love requires. Even if only one loves, the other will most often try to respond, even if only with the same friendship, respect, and loyalty, not love.

Exceptions are not too rare, but not frequent - in such cases, to push away unwanted love, love that will not bring happiness to any of the couples, prefer the most gentle and non-traumatic way. In the most extreme case, the one suffering from unrequited love can turn to someone from the masters of the mind, and his (or her) feelings will quietly and imperceptibly fade away. It is painful and dangerous, especially for elves with their piety for the personality of their fellows, but they dare to do it. Some, on the contrary, agree to awaken artificial feelings in themselves to turn them into real ones with long and hard work - this is the pinnacle of the same mentalism or slavemancing, not the creation of dumb whores.

More often than not, an older partner repulses the courtship of an overly young one. Especially, since it is precisely youth that can give reason to fall in love too early, confusing love and admiration. Youthful maximalism in the Elven way, yes. The situation with my ward was somewhat different - she was the one who fell in love with a much younger, younger Bard, not the other way around. Women love with their ears, the old saying goes. I don't know how much of that applies to elves, but her chosen one's singing was no small part of what attracted her.

Tialrianrelia of the House of the Misty Tree, a branch of the Blossom Blue, a blossom of the Eternal Beat, was not ancient but certainly not young even among the elven people. The 140 yo boy who had managed to capture her heart was an unequal and unnecessary marriage for her. Of course, she hadn't fallen in love in a day or at first sight. There were many, many months and years of distracted conversations and mutual exchanges of courtesies, moonlit walks, and friendly lovemaking, to which elves, oddly enough, are quite calm. People have an impression of them as asexual prudes, but elves themselves are quite a liberated race. Without excesses and all sorts of perversions, their long life allows them to try all sorts of things, including carnal pleasures.

When Tialrianrelia realized one spring morning that she wished to see her chosen one beside her and herself beside him, the first thing she did was to check her mind for extraneous influences of a subtle kind. A classic reaction, but although such dirty tricks are considered among the star born a very bad tone, there were all kinds of cases, and all elves from the moment of growing up are taught with piety and caution to treat their thoughts and feelings.

The love was sincere, and an experienced and mighty warrior, who had quite a serious reputation among her kin as well as among humans, had enough experience and skill to keep a young man whose position and origins were far removed from her own. Yes, all elves are, in a way, considered aristocrats, but there is a difference in position.

In truth, Tialrianrelia was not very romantic and refined, even if only in comparison to the a priori graceful and lofty elves. A fighter, a specialist in military operations and liquidation, she was far better at fighting than she was at seducing. For one boy, however, her skills were more than enough. After just a couple of years, she planned to confess her feelings to him, testing him in different situations and finding exactly how she fell in love with him.

And then her love died.

* * *

The Second Prince of Eternity was a quiet guy, secretive and absolutely ruthless to those who got in his way. Where the first heir was being prepared as, in fact, the Heir, the second was predicted to be head of the secret office since the past head was about to retire. He was really going to retire, voluntarily and without being shoved in the back - man had spent fifty years in that position, and before, he had spent another hundred years as a deputy to another carrier of Eternal Blood. He was really tired of carrying it all around, and he'd reached the pinnacle of his career; that was as far as he could go.

The practice of the Eye is run by a relative of the Emperor of the Ages is fairly standard, but it has never resulted in power rivalries or mutinies. Blood is not water, and, in the case of this dynasty, these words mean more than a clever proverb. The Blood of Ages not only gives access to hereditary titles and classes, but it also prevents, physically prevents, enmity with each other.

And then there was the second son, who had a very useful personality and character that was perfect for the position he was being prepared for. So they prepared him by quietly allowing him access to secrets and easily handing him funds for his projects, many of which were really good, despite the sycophants' flattery. He didn't care about flattery, but the very fact that he was allowed to be involved in operations marked "everybody involved is dead" was pleasing to him.

The Eternal Forest, not to be confused with the Empire of the Ages because the spelling and pronunciation are different, even if the names of states are synonymous to some extent - is not at enmity with the Empire of the Ages. Well, not too much enmity, certainly not at the level of mutual love and respect between the Sorz and the Dawn Forest. But the absence of enmity doesn't mean it didn't exist before, and it won't appear again. Tialrianrelia could tell from personal recollection-she had often worked in the territory of a powerful and troubled neighbor.

It is very common for Bards to search for inspiration, which can really raise their level and give them new titles. This class, let's face it, is quite unusual and difficult to level up, despite being "only" a rare grade. And so the lover of my unwilling rescued went to seek his inspiration in the company of repeatedly tested squad of mercenaries from humans and beastmen. And the commander, by the way, was a dwarven Machine Gunner who had long had some trade connections in the Eternal Forest, both with elves and with his distant kin.

Bards often know intuitively where to go to see something special. Whether that special something is a funny situation, a beautiful landscape, an unusual natural phenomenon, or simply an encounter with a funny person... the options are endless. But there are also situations when together with inspiration comes danger. For such situations, every eared Jaskier carries with him a detachment of Geralts so as not to get stuck to death. That, by the way, is why the Bards of the mortal races somewhat despise them. And, to tell you the truth, it's very rare for elves to become great bards. Between glory and life, any elf always chooses only life.

No one knows what the Second Heir was doing in that remote village, long abandoned because of a raid by some monsters, in the company of a well-coordinated detachment and his personal Chained. Likewise, no one knows why feelings led the long-eared Bard there to his death. It just happens sometimes, despite all the precautions and attempts to avoid such a fate.

The mercenaries and the elf simply disappeared mysteriously, but the Seer could not help but feel the death of part of her own heart. It took her several months to find the place of death and to see what had happened, to know the course of events. She never understood what the prince was doing in the old and deliberately collapsed adit, but she saw the battle and the death of her love, a part of herself, from beginning to end.

She saw the old and gray-haired dwarf choking with blood, covering his employer to the last, and trying to equip the machine-gun disk with his hand crushed by the grindstone. Saw the prince's indifferent gaze, calculating in his undoubtedly intelligent brain the ratios from the problems due to the story of the elf's death surfacing and the other problems associated with the survival of an unwanted witness. She also saw the moment of decision, the calm nod, and the elusive swing of the stone blade that cut off the long-eared head.

With these visions, she came to those whose will guided the Eternal Forest. She came to ask for justice and vengeance like the one who had more than once brought victory and vengeance to them. And they heard her, but they would not listen. They could, could send one of the Chained ones into a suicidal - and there would be no other attempt to kill such a protected target - attack. Catching a sight-protected prince on another "walk" would hardly work, and an assassination attempt in the capital would be an automatic scandal and loss of face. It would be pointless to send larger groups because even if they accomplish their goal without dying in the process, they won't be able to get out.

All elves are equal, but some are more equal.

All of their lives are priceless, but some are still cheaper.

Beyond all doubt, the elven rulers were no less sickened by such a decision than Tialrianrelia herself. To admit that the life of one of the Chained Ones was more valuable than the life of their blood, that it was easier to forget and gloss over the story of an ordinary bard's death than to set up a conflict with the Empire of the Ages... it wounded their souls and minds. However, they would not have led their forest to greatness and would not have lived to see their years if they had not learned to tame their pride and lust for revenge.

It is almost impossible to hide from elven revenge for a loner or someone who has no real power. But those who have power and patronage can be relatively safe for their lives. At the slightest opportunity, he will be avenged, stabbed in the back, but this is only an opportunity. The owners of elven slaves and slave girls glorified assassins who execute eared targets, military men, and soldiers who have fought with them live on. Elves know how to take revenge, and their vindictiveness has long been a proverbial name, but you can't take revenge on the whole world.

A mere bard, and one belonging to the supporters of a rather reviled political-social program, was not worth the life of a prepared and trained Chained, nor a war with the Empire of Ages that would avenge its blood. Funny, but the dead eared one was the kind of guy who was against using Summoned too often and resolving conflicts with their lives. Not out of kindness or liberality but because he believed that by relying on the power of Summoned, Star folk risked losing the ability to solve problems themselves. An unpopular opinion, but not without its supporters and the scientific basis to prove this theory right. The scientific basis proving it wrong, by the way, was also there.

All in all, this minstrel was not worth the price, even if they once again had to make a hard and unpleasant choice. And the venerable liquidator, accustomed to accepting and understanding such choices, should have understood even now. But they were unaware of her true feelings, considering her patronage of the young bard as mere patronage. And she, strangely enough, had bitten back, unwilling to forget. Alas, she was a schemer only compared to the average man, not to the ancient long-eared one, who'd catch every misunderstanding on the fly and gut it. They understood the background of her request almost immediately and realized their mistake.

But the words were spoken - she was denied the opportunity to even mourn her love.

And then a second mistake was made. The Seer, looking for her heart, dived really deep into the class, developing it incredibly in an impossibly short time for an elf. Nothing outstanding, but enough to be stronger than she is considered, even if only a little. And she had no desire to report titles taken or to go to work where her amplification would be noticed by others.

She shut herself away in her manor to grieve for the empty tomb in which nothing but the lute she had once given had been put, mourning for the eternity that had become her eternity. An eternity that would now always be half as long, and she did not care if that eternity was infinite. She mourned silently and coldly, as she was used to doing everything in her life. She mourned and found peace, forgetting her grief under the flow of a measured life.

All wounds heal, especially if you help them.

Her increased talent was enough to catch the thinnest edge, to grasp at the very edge the effect perfectly matched to her. Nothing harmful, just an opportunity to forget the pain, to let it go where those who are not with us go - into oblivion. The fact that her beloved's life had been placed below that of one of the summoned literally pounded her, but she could understand it, even if she refused to accept it with all her essence.

The fact that even what was left of her heart had been trying to be taken from her made her go into the cold rage with which elves go into battle, with which they kill and die. Somewhere on the edge of her mind flashed a panicked thought-understanding that this hatred was now directed at her brothers and sisters.

The elf who gave the order to put such a subtle and sneaky spell on his employee, with whom he had worked many times and more than once congratulated her on the successful completion of her tasks, was without any embellishment or exaggeration bad. How easily elves betrayed outsiders, how hard it was for them to betray a colleague, even from another country. And if they had to betray one of their own companions... It really hurt him.

The moment the gate to his estate sprouted moss and then was knocked out by a flood of woody decay, the moment she entered the meditation garden in a circle of dead leaves, stepping over the unconscious but living bodies of his family members in her path, he was neither surprised nor tried to talk her out of it.

He saw the way she came at him, saw and understood. The fight began without more words, in complete silence-she always attacked silently, without thinking or talking. It was doubly painful and frightening to know who she saw him as to attack him like that. He could have been considered stronger since he'd only lost to her once out of five in sparring. A consequence of inconvenient classes for her, not his own skill, but still.

Except he was only ready to protect his life, and she came to kill. And he died, died in terror of nothingness, like any other elf, for whom there is nothing more terrible than death, the cessation of existence. Died, too, the Keeper of Memory, who had performed his effects on her through a sample of the blood taken in the archives. Died his disciples, helping their master.

She died, too.

She died with the first man she killed, for by this murder, she betrayed all that she had lived for. Killing a kinsman, a comrade-in-arms, killing him with her own hands and looking him in the eye, there is no worse crime in elven society. For her, now there was no place in the picture of the world of former friends and allies, for them she became something like a rabid beast, a creature that took someone else's body and memory. And there is no pity or understanding for creatures, even though her demise would have been preferably organized by someone else's hands. Not out of remembrance of her former sister but simply unwilling to risk a fight with a dangerous opponent.

She felt like a creature herself, in the Alurean sense of the word, and so she wished she could just lie down and stop being. She had nothing left to keep her in this world, and a piece of her heart, sent into oblivion, tugged frantically at her where there was no pain or unbearable loneliness. Only her instinctive fear of death held her back, her aversion to death, and the same hatred that was unquenchable and inseparable from herself.

From the vault, to which she had very high access, which is not surprising given her rank and regalia, she took many expensive and useful items. Including the mythical artifact Wing of the Void, a dagger that could kill even a god if you wounded it through the heart. Not just kill him, but send him to the same place her love went - into Nothingness itself. This dagger literally erased and took away any image and even memory, not allowing anyone to keep or pass this memory to someone else. In all the world only she could remember the real name of her lover's killer. Maybe someone will hold the appearance in her mind without letting that image be ripped out, maybe someone will retain memories of other traits of the dagger-killer, but his name will be remembered only by her. And she was not destined to live long, anyway.

She had been preparing for nearly a year, slowly transforming the soil in the park to suit her needs, even taking a job as a gardener so as not to arouse suspicion. Especially since she really was a good gardener, like almost any elf. It was a skill that came easily and without difficulty to her tribe. She worked by concealing, with a set of artifacts, visions of her activities. It was possible, even likely, that her former kin would alert the prince to her. If only to ward off the consequences of her failed assassination attempt, and one would hardly believe in her success. Even she forced herself to believe.

Partly because she managed to replace the taken artifacts with rather skillful forgeries, which is not sure that they will notice - such things are not taken in hands very often. And to assume that she did not immediately go to kill those who gave the order for the mental adjustment, but waited with the thought for almost six months, would not come to their minds immediately. It would have come instantly had it not been for a star-born woman like them, who was one of them even yesterday.

On a fateful day, she drank a knowingly lethal dose of potions, donned all the available artifacts, and, waiting for the target to enter the trap zone, activated the stolen treasures. Canopy of the Pedestrian, a mythical artifact, though not too strong, could turn quite a significant piece of territory into one where it would be possible to move only on foot and on horseback for a day. Any spatial techniques were highly likely to kill the user. Particularly powerful strikes can still temporarily squeeze the Canopy, but she will have some time. She can't help but have it.

Even that was not enough, though she was impossibly close to breaking the heart of the vile man, the short-eared creature who had no place under the eyes of the Stars. But the blood of the Ages is strong, too strong, and she, as the loser, had a fate awaiting her, whatever her captors choose. It was even a good thing that the potions would kill her sooner before her soul was given to one of the other planes if not given to the fiends.

The resentment and even greater self-disdain came from that smirk on the target's lips. When she tried to force herself to let not only magic but her own flesh, mind, and soul into the Life Cycle, only to strike one last blow. It offended her more to know that if she had had her way, it would have been a fatal blow even if it hadn't been delivered by a Wing of the Void. But it was as if he laughed at her and her cowardice, and she could not bring herself to cross the last line.

She did not ask herself how she had managed to free herself, did not ask about what was behind her back, killing her enemies. She put her whole self into one last dash, one single attack. In passing, as she killed the Chained One, she struck her blow, driving the dagger that was happily chuckling in her mind into the heart of her next victim.

The nature of this weapon is such that, once used, it will disappear from the hands of an assassin, appearing anywhere in the world. Maybe right in the hand of a dying warrior, eager to plunge the blade into his enemy, or maybe on top of an impregnable mountain peak, where the blade lies for centuries to come. She didn't care anymore. She had completed her mission - the last target no longer existed. And now she, too, had no reason to exist.

The cold and abomination of the deadly enchantments from the School of Shadow was clearly premeditated, for a mere mage could not do that on sight, not even a whole circle, let alone use it in combat. Her unwilling helper spoke to her, even though his voice testified to the effects of the ritual that had been performed on him so that he could use those enchantments.

The instincts demanded a lie, a promise of reward from the Eternal Forest for her salvation, because maybe he had a way to get her out, or at least let her live a little longer... Or at least just to die rather than fall into the jaws of the spawn of the Land of Eternal Twilight. But she simply told the truth - even her survival instinct, the legendary lust for being that made the star born what they were, could not overcome that feeling.

And when, from beneath the body of the ritually distorted humanoid, devoid of even a hint of humanity, she saw the true essence of the creature that was hiding inside, when the creature grabbed her, grasping her very soul and pulling her down into the darkness with it... Her resistance was more of a reflex, and she could no longer resist. And she didn't want to, couldn't want to.

The bitter end of her eternity seemed surprisingly fair to her.

The moments of agony stretched for an unknown length of time, after which came pain and oblivion. Perhaps it was a hallucination born of a digested essence, but it seemed to her that she was no longer in the Shadow but in the real world and that a lonely ray of light was shining in her face. Somewhere in the distance, someone's voice sounded, but she heard only the sound of a lute and the quiet tune of a song she had just composed. A song that called her to where her heart was.

And her own no longer has any reason to beat.

* * *

Despite the fact that the elf's psyche was in such disarray that she could not adequately defend herself against my digging into her memory, the very stay in her mind was more exhausting than working in the uranium mines. Still, forty-seventh level and very old, experienced consciousness, which, even being almost extinct, continues reflexively to keep itself in the chains of self-control. It didn't push me out, because she wasn't capable of such a conscious effort now, but the very attempts to read her memory were quite demanding on the reserve.

I had a full reserve. I only landed one serious blow in combat, and after that, I was in shadow form, which restores my reserve of magic almost faster than it goes away. And when you think about it, there was no fight at all. Kostik came in, killed the illustrious Hero, and then put up a damper and quietly took off on the sly, covering himself with an artifact that was still working. Canopy of Pedestrian!

My psyche was far more damaged, and it was because of the elf, though she didn't even try to attack. But I wasn't joking about my desire to eat her - so ancient, powerful, and pure (not in terms of morality or kindness, but in the level of distillation) was not even candy for (un)my instincts, but a dose of cocaine to a junkie. Forcing myself to refuse dinner was excruciatingly painful as if I were pulling my own veins out of myself.

Nevertheless, after I came to my senses and checked her memories, I felt relatively fine. I mean, I wouldn't want to go into battle with any Hero, but I didn't need any special treatment, either. A couple of relaxing tonics to reduce mental fatigue and take away headaches, and a regular long nap. After a day or two, I'll be back to normal, though I wouldn't repeat such swims for another week, just to be sure. To be honest, I could wait and crawl home on my own without Taria's help.

In turn, the victim of love and her superiors felt disproportionately worse. She was physically healthy, and the damage to her subtle body was far from fatal, but her moral pain, alas, was not on the list of things that could be cured by stealing a shadow. And I won't try to take away her torment through a Dream. No, I can, even without considering the patient's weakened state, and relatively quickly, in a day or two, even with active resistance. But, after what I've seen, I'm afraid to even think in that direction-she didn't fucking spare her friends for this mistake.

To fully comprehend the depths of the asshole, you have to understand the elven mentality, but once you do, you have to wonder. She didn't just overstep her bounds. She flew the fuck up in a jet pack! In general, everyone has their own bugs, and let her deal with them on her own, and I'm done with the fact that I saved her life.

To be honest, I wanted to kill the prince rather than save him because of his Companion. The crumbs of information I received during the brief disclosure were enough to make me realize how much he considered her to be his. And then I had a very unanticipated stall when I imagined myself in the place of the fallen geomancer for a second and almost boiled over with anger. I'd already seen slavery, sacrifice, and a whole lot of the abominations that humans and nonhumans do at all hours of the day and night. But to see it applied to someone so similar to me was beyond me.

If it were up to me, even if this druid hadn't been able to complete her revenge, I would have completed it for her and with as much imagination as she had. At the very least, I would have fed some of the Shadows. Maybe even the ones I'd already made contracts with because I'd still be beating them up and scaring them. The carrot and the stick, but the carrot should be used to beat those things, too.

"You saved my life." My thoughts are interrupted by a statement of fact.

The elf's voice is so calm and indifferent that you might mistake her for a machine or an undead creature. Even its natural softness and melodiousness only further emphasize the inhuman nature of this lady. Such a voice could be spoken by a river, or the wind, or the mountains, or anything, but not by a human being. It is not the usual readiness to fight, not the meditative calm, but the complete control over one's mind and will, which has been achieved over the centuries, but if one achieves it... I suppose a good deal of the mental influences she's in this state won't just repel but won't notice them at all.

"What, really?" Sarcasm always helps make an acquaintance. I can tell you that. "And I didn't even notice!"

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

She sits down slowly but very smoothly, not breaking the movement into many small steps but merging them all into one cycle as if it were a battle chord. It looks somewhat unnatural and creepy, though I don't feel much danger from it. Her light attempts to sense the surroundings and me with clairvoyance stop the moment she doesn't find me. I have habitually wrapped myself in un-existence. I looked for her like a complete void or, rather, an empty place. Her eyes can see, but that's all.

"Are you having fun, human?" The question is dry, cold, and indifferent enough that it doesn't even require an answer. "Believe me, your grimaces are hardly enough to throw me off-balance. Unless, of course, you need them yourself."

Not in the forehead, but in the eye, Kostya. I'm really not trying to feel her out, I don't need to yet, but I'm calming my nerves. The more I look at her, the less I understand those who order elven concubines. I can't deny that she's beautiful, even though I couldn't see her face behind her camouflage suit, but I can't deny the way she carries herself. Even the girl Kickass saved seemed dangerous, but this lady is instinctively repulsive - she's too different. Not as a creature or a monster but as someone whose values and personality are on a completely different plane.

Like the other elves in her, it feels impossibly dense, all-encompassing Life, but there are enough differences, too. Her classes make the perception of this lady too painful, not like a bloodsucker or even a Hestia, but still, I was uncomfortable interacting with her. So was she, I'm sure, even if she couldn't sense my energy and imprint. Except that she has disproportionately more experience with people you don't want to see than the image-board hiki like me.

* * *

That was the moment Taria chose to fly gracefully into the warehouse through a window somewhere under the roof of the building. The illusion of invisibility was draining from her, and she was sinking to the ground, barely touching the wall with her fingertips. Mass control is a great thing. I can tell you that. Instead of a greeting, the cheeky dancer took the bull by the horns:

"You know, after the grandmother of all the explosions I'd heard before, and then there was a wild commotion and everyone running around like they were going to be hung by the balls, I was worried. And when you contacted me, I had no doubts about my conclusions. Tell me the truth, did you, as always, accidentally kill the Emperor?"

I was choking and coughing, and the girl's face was getting more elongated by the second as if she had mastered metamorphosis and was trying to turn into a horse and run the project Palace 2 show right now. Apparently, she really does know me better than I expected.

"Just some prince!" I muttered, trying to catch my breath. "And I didn't kill him!"

Taria's gaze shifted to the elf woman, still sitting motionless. It was impossible to see her face beneath her clothes and mask, but she looked impressive enough. She looked at the only witness to our conversation, nodded to her thoughts, and summed up with a chuckle, barely able to contain it:

"Still, you really are attracted to all sorts of... stuff, anyway." She handed me a small pouch of just-in-case potions and a bottle of clean water, either for washing or for drinking.

I'd just had time to rinse my face and pour some of the gentlest tonics into myself before the elfess was in motion again. The complete stillness was replaced by a smooth stride so fast and natural that I couldn't help but frown again. It wasn't her skill, which such a gait would indicate, but her unnaturalness.

When she stopped next to us, the star creature slowly and deliberately openly removed her hooded mask, revealing her face to the world. If I'm not mistaken, elves always look young. Except that big-eared one from Sorz looked twenty at the most, and this one looked thirty-three at the most. Part of it was fatigue, bruises under her eyes, and dried bloody tracks near her nostrils and eyes, but still, her age played a big part. Very old and dangerous indeed.

Dark green eyes, in which all emotions and feelings simply sink without showing themselves, marble-white skin without a single flaw, delicate facial features and slightly bright against this background, lips full and sensual, but seemingly incapable of smiling. The hair was dark, and with the pale face, it seemed to absorb the light altogether. And the same absolute serenity of a dead man. She shut herself off from the clairvoyance, too, and I, though I could squeeze her in, was in no hurry to do so, allowing her to talk first.

"Rare is the beauty in your face." She makes an unexpected compliment to Taria that throws both me and her out of whack, a phrase I never expected from someone like that.

"Thanks... I guess." The dancer replies. "You're fine, too."

"Very rare." It's like she's not even paying attention. "Unnaturally rare. From nature one is given very rarely, and it obviously requires regular maintenance, care, and nurturing. Your clothes and gait suggest you are far from massage parlors and beauty-creating chambers. But appearance... such looks are easier to create than to maintain on your own."

"You know, bich, I don't like where you're going." Taria doesn't understand much right now, but she's alert in advance, and I just keep quiet, preparing to strike if necessary.

The elfess, meanwhile, opens her clairvoyance to the full, trying to see something of interest to her. The defense on me is insurmountable for her, and on Taria, it's just too complicated, but she's not a novice. She stares at Taria for a few minutes. The girl's ready to go into battle herself, regretting only the absence of Valerium.

"Good defense." In the end, she voices, not even reacting to the threat to her eternal life that literally permeated the air and turned to me already. "But not perfect. Her looks and also, perhaps, her loyalty. I cannot see your destinies, they are hidden from me and from those who are stronger, but you are both bound, bound tightly and inextricably. As if she were chained to you by invisible chains, Summoned without Chains."

I just wondered, really wondered, without any double meaning. Did she lose her mind at all, saying that to my face? Or does she think that since I saved her, I won't just kill her? If she does, that's a huge minus to her intelligence because now she's inexpressibly close to death.

"Just out of politeness. How did you know?" And I did manage to say it almost kindly and without the slightest threat, which caused her to react in a way that disappeared too quickly for me to read without turning her mind inside out.

"I didn't." A calm reply and an equally unreadable look. "It was a blow to the void whose purpose was your reaction. But, if you're interested, I can recognize the workings of a high-class slavemancer and transformer. Your shroud hid this thing behind someone else's destiny, but I have met those who have swapped destinies with other people's shadows. Hiding the connections of two separate people is more difficult and foolish since you must have introduced yourself as associates, no?"

"That's right, that's exactly what we introduced ourselves as," I answer, not intending to lose the stare.

"Few people know about it, for this knowledge died long ago, disappeared for lack of use." Without changing her posture or facial expression, she continues. "But such connections between people are very individual. Even if they occur between a slave and an enslaver. You can read them the way I did if you sit them side by side and look very carefully if you know what you are looking for and where you are looking. The Connection of the Hero and his Companions... This technique, a description of the very special echo of such a bond, was no longer taught three centuries before I was born. Carrying Chains cannot choose Companions, and cannot link destinies into one. I was not sure, for I had never had even a shadow of a chance to see such a thing with my own eyes. There were at least three dozen versions besides the true one, but I relied on my premonitions."

Well...

At the very least, the whole idea of rescuing this vigilante had already paid off since such vulnerability had been exposed. And yet I was already accustomed to considering myself practically unreachable. The elfess is inferior to me, if not by her class rank and its narrow imprimatur, then by the grade of that class and the practice of the skill. However, she was able to cut me open almost instantly and even shared her hunch. It's already good because knowing where she was looking, I can block that path, too.

Taria is silent.

I am silent.

And she continues.

"The decisive argument I took was that I hadn't even heard of people to whom the power of two such contradictory planes as the Mirror and the Twilight Realm had been conquered at once." For the first time since the conversation began, she points to the shards of mirror protection sticking out of the walls of the warehouse. "I would even suggest that your Companion's submissiveness is due to stolen Dreams and warped Reflection, but I cannot say with certainty. That I find no trace of it is not at all surprising: few things can be better concealed than the effects of a Dream on another's mind and will."

Sincerity for sincerity?

Well, as long as we're playing these games, why not.

"Alas, it was the effect of an artifact. A mythical trinket, at times also very useful." Still smiling kindly, I explain. "You know how our fellows are doing with them, don't you?"

"Absolutely." A short, almost elusive nod and another unreadable reaction. "The Hall of the Chosen gives you a lot. And the choice of a Slavemancing artifact, in the days when the likes of you walked the earth without the Chains, was on the list of the most frequent gifts of the All-Seeing."

All-seeing? Is that what she said about the System and its Administrators? But it all pales in comparison to the way she gracefully called me a sperm toxicosis woodpecker, dreaming only of a harem of titty girls. Not that she was that wrong, especially at the time of my fallout on Alurei, but I was somewhat offended. Still, I'm not an idiot enough to grab my ring instead of some cool pick or staff.

Perhaps she, if she can use her knowledge wisely and get it to the right place, can even save her life because they will forgive her a lot for reporting such a cool and awesome me. Not her kin, of course, and not the Empire of Ages, but in the same Thousand Arms she will, if she is very lucky, successfully immigrate. She is also mentally very tired and unable to fight or repel mental submission, which is why I don't even need to kill her because I need such an asset myself.

"Look, I feel like a fool right now, but I'll ask anyway." My retort interrupts Taria, who has almost rushed into action, so intimidated is she by this lady. "You're almost directly provoking me into trying out this enslaving artifact on you right now. Do you have some sort of crazy title for deflecting any attempt at subjugation back into a subjugator? I've never even heard of it, but knowing the System, I wouldn't be surprised."

If that's true, I respect her immensely, taking such risks and playing so well that if I were some typical harem-gatherer, she'd have every chance of succeeding. I can imagine my face if my mythical submission hit me! Honestly, I'm not even that mad. That's how cool that plan is. She'd make a great troll, the kind of troll that lets the victims browbeat themselves into realizing their own idiocy. Although, given her age, it would be good for me to learn how to troll from her.

We look at each other for a few moments, and then she, instead of answering, reveals her defense. Though it was more likely that the lack of strength to maintain it played a role here. And no, there was no plan, no trick, no matter how I looked for it. I've seen it all before, all her pain and grief, so it's not immediately clear what exactly this means until she starts talking. Her words make me cringe so fully, so comprehensively, that if she had decided to stab me at that moment, Kostya would have died in an instant, not even able to defend himself.

"I am too afraid of death, Summoned." For the first time, I hear any feelings in her words, or, to be more specific, mortal fatigue and doom. "I no longer have the strength to live. I will not despise myself for my weakness, but I will not be able to cut my life short myself, and how my enemies will cut it short scare me too much. Whatever I become, after... processing, it won't be me anymore. Artifacts of this focus almost always work instantly, with rare exceptions. This death is almost always pleasant, especially if you don't resist. As I said before, I know very well the method of work of the masters of slavery."

Honestly, I had never experienced such a stupor in my life. To see such doom, to hear such speeches even from an ordinary person is quite shocking, and from such an ancient and dangerous person even more so...

"You... you want to escape the pain... by killing your identity in slavery?" The pauses between words are very long, as I sincerely try to speak without swearing.

"I agree!" Taria, no less shocked but recovered from the shock before I did, intervenes. "Just let me play with her for a little while. I've heard so much about long-eared whores, and I've never tried it."

She ignored my companion's words, did not take her eyes off me, and then managed to answer, putting everything that had accumulated inside her since the death of her lover into a single phrase.

"I just want to stop being in pain."

The fact that the request you asked of the universe falls literally into your hands would make anyone cringe, not just Kostik. A powerful elf sorceress with vast experience and a cool shape, herself, voluntarily offered herself to sexual and not only slavery. If it's not a piano in the bushes, it's only because it's a goddamn organ in those very bushes and a church organ the size of an entire multi-story building.

Piano in the bushes is an idiom for a plot device when everything just happens to work out the way the hero needs.

Anyway, I think everyone will understand that such offers are not to be turned down, especially considering how dangerous she is while she's free. Even if she had any titles to protect her mind, they don't work now - she has no will to resist at all. Using a temporary level upgrade to even out the slight difference in that very level, then acquiring a new one. Voluntary, and therefore not immoral, as surprising as that sounds in relation to the enslaving artifact.

It's not my fault that I lost my composure from such news and opportunities.

The Shadow Form actually requires no preparation time. Like the Aegis, this technique goes into full boost instantly, requiring no time to accelerate. The problem is that the brain strain from Aegis increases with the damage you receive. The more you get fucked up, the more you turn into a living portal to the depths of Shadow. Shape, on the other hand, crushes depending on the speed and depth of the transformation. No one prevents you from completely transforming into a chupacabra scary in one microsecond, but you can't turn back, no matter how you spin it. Even now, a full transformation takes me no less than three or four seconds because faster is dangerous. It's only later when you're fully transformed you can manipulate the shadow flesh as fast as you like, but first, you have to transform.

Whatever.

I've just proven in practice that it's all bullshit, and you can turn your whole body into the purest Shadow in no time at all. Here I was, still smiling the disbelieving smile of a virgin who'd gotten a lifetime subscription to a premium brothel, and here I was, already a Shadow. The shape came out not too big, completely replicating the size of me-human, but as dense as possible. In this state, even without the Aegis, I could tank high-class magic.

"It pains, you say?" My voice rustled against my will.

I'm used to giving The Shadow power over my words, soaking them in shadow power, and speaking through, my words become terrifying. The rustling, the laughter, hungry cries, the furious screeching, the hateful hissing, and the promise of all the torments of the world are what the people around me hear in my words. This voice has been shown to frighten even incapable of fear, warped creatures. I even have a suitable title!

Yeah, yeah.

But now my words weren't angry, hateful, or even promising torment, no. The hissing rustle was gentle, almost affectionate. In another situation, such a sound would have caused me cognitive dissonance, but now I somehow didn't pay attention to such a thing. For the first time since the fight with Roche, I was in the highest, highest possible form of rage, which made even me feel a little scared, let alone those around me.

The step was performed so quickly that even I failed to catch the moment when I was beside the elfess, whose face turned pale with horror and whose reflexes threw her body into a hopeless fight. She could not conjure in her current state, and what she could, was not considered serious magic even by the standards of ordinary people.

I knocked the dagger out with my hand, the one that looked like a root, at the cost of a small scratch on my forearm. I ignored the poison that could incinerate a man in seconds. It was devoured by The Shadow before I realized I'd been poisoned. One more step, the usual one, and the star maiden's thin, graceful body was pinned firmly against the wall of the warehouse, and my hand, my fingers turned into straight, thin daggers, dug into her flesh, piercing the shoulder joint and inflicting unimaginable pain.

The simultaneous activation of the Grip stops at the very edge of starting to chew the elfess. She holds back a cry of pain and despair, not even so much because of her endurance as her throat has been seized by a cramp. Her lips let out only a quiet sigh, and I had already lifted her on those daggers, cutting even deeper into her muscles, bringing even more pain. Her lips were bleeding from her damaged lungs, and I, in that same wrong Shadow voice, continued:

"I don't need another toy, unlike such a dainty soul." I smiled with a toothy maw open on my completely black face, which seemed even blacker, even against the absolute blackness.

"No." Not a denial but a request. It's just she doesn't have the strength to ask. It's all taken away by the sheer terror of the very doom that had earlier forced her to retreat even from her revenge.

"So give me one reason why I would spare your eternity?" Another tug lifts her higher so her feet no longer touch the ground, and droplets of fresh blood fall to the floor of the abandoned warehouse. "You have one minute."

"I can p... pay for my life." Her habit of fighting and wriggling her way out of a hopeless situation, though she has to swallow the blood filling her mouth just to speak. "Arti... facts and gold."

"Lies." I press even harder, causing agony on her face that she can't even hold still anymore. "Everything of value is already on you, and I'll take it from the corpse."

"For me... ...will be avenged..." Horror and hopelessness make her stoop to a very primitive lie, which we both know is a lie.

"Liar." I interrupt her, twisting my claws in the wound again, causing a full-blown shriek and a stream of blood so sweet it coughs up into my face that it immediately soaks into the shadow flesh.

"Please..." Tears begin to flow down her face, either from pain or despair.

"No." Only the same tenderness in my words, but no compassion to be found there. "Time is running out."

"I beg... mer... cy..." There was no trace of the proud, though broken woman, only the dying Eternity, trying to postpone the end.

"No." The answer doesn't change, and another twist of the claws causes a sob full of pain.

"I don't... want... die... so..." There was only pleading in my eyes, and my face was probably already indistinguishable from the tears and the approaching oblivion.

"I don't care." I back away from the wall, holding her completely on my weight, turning the claws in her lungs into spiked hooks, causing another burst of agony to keep her from falling into oblivion. "More reasons?"

The flash of pain that interrupted the unconsciousness gave her the strength to try desperately to do something. She couldn't attack, for any attempt I'd prevented, and all she had was another rush of blood in my face, which cleared the airways and allowed her to shout her last words in my face:

"I want to live!"

She fell to the ground, healthy as she was, and I nearly screamed from the unbearable pain in my chest - my blows were more painful than ordinary wounds. Much more painful. I stood still for a few seconds, worried that I might kill myself, which would be the stupidest way to end my life. But the pain passed, and the wounds healed, allowing me to return to my human form and look at the curled-up elf.

Her whole body is not even shaking, but a painful cramp, almost a seizure. Her breath is constricted by her sobs, and her clairvoyance, for the first time ever, does not feel even an attempt at self-control on her part. This is no longer a broken personality, but a complete collapse and destruction. But with each passing second, all her will, all that makes her - her, Tialrianrelia of the House of the Misty Tree, a branch of Blossom Blue, a blossom of the Eternal Beat, is gradually restored back. Because now, having been where no one comes back from, having seen the gullet of nothingness and turned from it, she wanted to live again.

I bent down and lifted her by the collar of the strange armor. It's a kind of full body, somewhat tight, but it hides the figure and has metal inserts of something enchanted, which probably provides good protection. The elf-woman hanging on her outstretched arm gradually regained consciousness, beginning to breathe normally and even attempting to apply some kind of calming technique.

"Why?" There's the same tiredness in her voice, but now there's no deathly longing or willingness to die.

Her bitterness had not gone away, her pain had not faded, and her hatred had not diminished, just as the emptiness in the place where her heart had once been would never recede. A heart, the best and most precious half of which had been murdered for some unnecessary mystery, and the rest of which she had ripped out and desecrated herself, left all alone in the face of inevitability.

"Because you can't do that." There is no less weariness in my words, but at the same time, an infinite stubbornness that makes me me. "You can't give up. You can't die before death comes. We breathe while we are alive, fight while we can, and gnaw at the throat of the world and death itself. Because nothing is ever finished as long as you are still alive. Live. Look for a reason to live and die, but don't you dare, never, you hear me, you big-eared bitch, don't you dare accept death before your time."

I let her go, and she barely manages to keep her balance and not fall gracefully on her ass so she doesn't fall to the ground like a sack of flour. I nod at the bag Taria dragged over and start picking pockets of mirror shards that haven't yet been used in the main perimeter. Without even looking back at her, I explain:

"There's food and supplies in the bag and potions in the sachet." I couldn't stand it, so I kneaded the shoulder that had taken her wounds, for it had been a very unpleasant experience. "They're not signed, but you're a seer. You'll figure it out. The protection in the warehouse is pretty strong, but I'm not sure how long it'll last if they're really serious about searching. You definitely have a couple of days. Lie down and go wherever you want. If you sell information about me, be prepared for me to ask for it. I don't ask for gratitude and neither are you capable of it. Goodbye."

With these words, I clutched Taria to me and walked with her out of the warehouse. It's dangerous to use the shadow because techniques based on it can also track, so we'll go on foot, using the standard stealth abilities and my friend's favorite illusions.

It's time to get some rest.

* * *

The streets of Eternal were agitated, though that was a bit of an understatement on my part. The number of guards was such that I assumed they'd put on the streets everyone, even the retired ones. Suspicious personalities and searching charms of all sorts were sniffing around. Several times I had to change the pieces of mirror clutched in my hands, covering myself from the very imprecise but very powerful search impulses. They weren't even directed at me, but they could catch a glimpse of me. My image would be imprinted with other junk knowledge, but it would still be imprinted there, creating an extra inconvenience and an unnecessary hitch for the future.

"Listen." Taria huddled against me in the dark alley as the pissed-off patrol whizzed by, was thoughtful not to call me by my name. "Won't that bitch sell us out?"

"There's a high probability she'll try," I answer, glancing at the obese captain of the guard, who, according to the suspicious stains and the slight fleur of shit, had been picked right out of the latrine without even wiping. "But from the moment I got into this mess at all, even if just by being around, our disguise was a failure. I was the only surviving bystander there, so even if I hadn't tried to kill that bastard in person, they'd still be looking for me. And I would have tried. I know myself."

It was impossible to walk on the rooftops, because the rooftops were occupied by Eyes patrols, and the ones that weren't were perfectly visible from the many points that were already occupied. But the alleys, along with the Silence in the Hall and Taria's very specific illusions, allowed them to evade all sights quite successfully. Still, she was right to choose the second class, very right. The clairvoyance and sphere served as navigators, allowing them to avoid those whom our disguises would not deceive or even simply to avoid the need for disguises.

"But she knows that you... well, you know." The dancer's objection is well-founded.

"Who's she going to tell?" I sourly parry her argument, realizing that she's actually right. "She needs to get away and lay low first. I'm more afraid of getting caught and interrogated. By the time she finds someone to sell information about me, I'll probably be dead anyway. And anyway, given the elves' love of long-range plans, we'll have a few years at least. If not dozens of years."

"That doesn't sound very convincing," Taria answers honestly, hiding us from a couple of passersby hurrying home.

"I know," I confess. "And that's why I'll be sure to follow her. I have her image. So she can hide, but not for long. And, if she does decide she's the smartest, she'll die."

At some moment, my gut screamed about the problems especially strongly, so I, despite my silent clairvoyance, grabbed a whole handful of shards at once, reinforcing my defenses. It helped because the divine celestials manifested their powers, showing me the difference between our levels and experiences. It was an absolute, divinely expressed desire to know.

Such a search was not necessary to look for circumstantial clues or to know some basic information about me, no. All that was enough was the sheer amount of divine power, the skill in using it, and, in fact, the intention. If I had held a single shard, assault teams would have teleported to us by now. The Canopy effect was already gone, so the quick delivery system within Eternal was functioning again. Three of the shards went black at once, and my nose bled again, but I still diverted the stranger's eyes away from me.

"What was that?" Even Taria, despite her low sensitivity to subtle energies, felt all this madness. "An unpleasant shiver. It was like..."

"Like the sounds of a church service in the distance." Finishing in her place, swapping shards for new ones. "A divine miracle. If not of the highest order, then somewhere around that. Even ordinary people could distinguish it easily."

It was getting harder and harder to go on as the streets were becoming more and more turbulent. There were crowds of curious people who were slightly euphoric after touching the divine energies, guards, bandits, and lurkers of all kinds. I had stirred up a hornet's nest! Now I'd better not get caught by the angry wasps, if not the hornets.

"And she's a seer, isn't she?" Once again, Tarya begins as we pause in the small, empty barn, left empty and locked up so that one amorous couple can have some privacy here. "She might try to hide."

"She might." I adjust my stolen clothes. "And I can try not to let her do that."

I had to destroy the carefully alchemized set and throw it into The Shadow (very carefully, making a very tiny rift) because I was seen wearing it. Of course, I could cover myself and my clothes with unexistence even in my sleep, but with such efficiency of searching impulses of cognition, it was better not to risk it.

"So she killed the victim, huh?" His friend moved on to more interesting topics, albeit avoiding direct names and terms. "And you were just standing nearby."

"No, there's also a mage who got his neck snapped and hit with mass magic, and a dozen of them got hit, too." I thought for a moment and added. "And a Hero, not one of the summoned, half a hundred level one."

The girl stumbled at that last statement, and I had to catch her to keep her from making a fuss. And why is she surprised? I've already killed a Hero! Even the title was not given, only added to the level. No, something there flashed in the tray of the System, but not for hero-destruction, but for the creative use of un-existence. I'll have to check after I rest.

"Was it a hard battle?" She asked with incomprehensible admiration.

"There was no battle." Immediately I give a detailed explanation. "He was just entering the portal, and I hid from his premonitions and destroyed the portal while he was in it. Mincemeat, in short."

Taria stops and bites down on her sleeve, holding back the laughter that's bursting out and barely audible whimpering. I cough into my fist, too, and sit down next to her because this is really funny. The pompous battles today went to the elfess, and Kostik just gave some slaps and ran away.

"If I wasn't already, I'd fall in love with you right now." Breathed the bandit. "Hee hee hee! Holy tits Armatnia just tore the Hero apart with a portal, that's all. Whew! Come on. Let's go, or I won't make it home and collapse right here."

By the time we got under the roof of the rented house, half of my shards were used up, and we'd been struck twice more by a divine Miracle of the same type and rank. I entered the place already wet with sweat and tired, like a longshoreman on the morning of the first of January. The hangover was successfully replaced by a pounding headache.

I was woken by hunger deep into the evening. In that time, I'd slept, sipped a few potions for intuition overload, slept again, and met the messenger from the adventurers' guild, who checked to see if we were there and issued vague orders not to go anywhere "for now". My head was no longer in danger of bursting, but it ached, so I had to put a bottle of wine to it. I was sorry I couldn't get physically intoxicated, but I wanted to get drunk.

The protection on the house stopped redirecting other people's desire to see and waking me up with the ringing of mirror shards only a couple of hours ago, although the intensity has dropped only in comparison to what it was before. The wonders and all sorts of legendary and above artifacts alone revealed so many that I lost count, and that's an indicator. There were about a dozen really dangerous ones, like the ones that caught us on the way to the shelter, and the rest didn't bother me too much - yes, still a Miracle, but too weak and covering only certain quarters or tuned to certain individuals.

The only time I was ready to sound the alarm was when a full-fledged Avatar was summoned, or rather embodied. Not a couple of Heralds, whose appearance to the people I had also caught, but the real God himself. After his shout, reminiscent of thousands of tinkling bells falling to the ground, shining in the sky, and rustling in the waves of the sea, I had to raise not the alarm but my ass and go and change a quarter of the blackened pieces of mirror from the entire perimeter. Over fifty pieces in one fell swoop! And if it weren't for the full-fledged mirrors as center nodes, it would have ruined almost everything.

I went to bed and realized I didn't want to sleep anymore. The comrades, tired and having had time to discuss everything three hundred times, went to their rooms, and the servants did not come to us very often. We were playing the part of the unsociable persons who did not like to be disturbed. Now, by the way, that might be one reason to suspect us.

Hestia sits next to me. She doesn't need much sleep. She silently handed me the headache potion, diluted in the sweet compote, accepting a grateful nod in return. There is a knock on the door again, either by guards or by representatives of the guild - at least if not with another search. It's not too difficult to conceal anything suspicious with a light veil of Dream, but it keeps me awake.

"I'll get it." Hestia bails out a sick man, though my conscience tries to wiggle something about straining a woman in my place.

The door opens, and I hear the visitor's easily discernible voice. A very, you know, familiar voice, one that would give even the Spawn of the Mist a head start in terms of indifference and serenity.

"Greetings." A slight pause. "I have a visit with one of the residents of this house. He and I are acquainted."

"Fuck that!" A cry from my soul, filled with righteous indignation, bursts out. "What the hell else do you want from me?"

"Now I understand why you were so hated and feared." Not the best way to start a conversation, especially after ten minutes of intense silence and staring games. "Until this day, I had, at times, considered rumors of the danger of the Summoned to be exaggerated, for I knew their strengths and weaknesses well. But now, I am forced to admit that the old manuscripts were not only spared from exaggeration and hyperbole but also left a fair share of understatement of the true state of affairs."

We're sitting at a table in the living room, her on one side and me on the other, and my team is spread out, but they're all ready to attack at any moment. Our guest is not trustworthy, not at all, even though she disguised her elven features with some kind of makeup, without a drop of magic in it. She probably doesn't trust us, either.

"Thank you." I'm not even trying to sound good-natured. "I'm flattered. You make it sound like a compliment, but what's next?

"That wasn't a compliment." She shakes her head and then shoots me a cold and angry look. "I should hate you, but I can't do that. You are an abomination that has no place in this world. Doubly an abomination, for you were born of the Unshackled Summoned. You are already more creature than endowed, much more... But you are still human."

"We're still us until we admit otherwise." I nod affirmatively, taking a serious look, and not just a look.

"You told me to live." She continues, with great difficulty holding back her rage. "Extremely convincingly. So I had to agree. I was ready to stop being. You wouldn't let me. I was ready to become your plaything, to let you entangle my mind and do with me whatever your imagination could conjure up. You refused. You took even that opportunity away from me, leaving me forever alone with the pain. Alone with loneliness, bereft of heart and home. I should kill you. I should at least try."

All her defenses are removed. She literally reveals her soul to me, and not even someone much stronger than her would be able to lie in such a state. Not to me, at least, to lie. I can't help but feel this desperate desire, angry and doomed.

"Before you is one of the best liquidators of the Eternal Forest." The sudden change in the topic of conversation is somewhat disconcerting. "My level may not inspire in comparison to some others, but I have retreated only eight times in all the centuries of my existence, unable to cut off another's eternity. I know the mysteries of the blackest side of life, despite the dangers of working with such energies. My blood has given me the ability to look directly to the Stars, asking them and receiving an answer. And all this I am ready to put into your hands."

Somewhere behind, there is a whistle of admiring disbelief from Hans, and I just incline my head slightly to the side, not understanding the meaning of this performance: even though she cannot lie, I do not understand where her thought leads.

"You already suggested it," I note. "You didn't like the answer."

"I offered you a toy." Without even changing her face, she parries. "As your Companion said, a long-eared whore to spend a pleasant evening with and brag about in front of other exotic lovers, one of whom I mistook you for. Now I offer you myself, with all my strength, experience, will, and hatred. But only on one condition."

"Believe me, your skills, your strength, and your will wouldn't have gone anywhere once you were subdued." I allow myself a restrained sneer. "But I'm so interested. I'll listen to your price."

The silence stretches on, and I understand she is afraid as if she is taking a step into nowhere, a leap into the abyss, but along with the fear in her soul shines steel determination.

"You're going to die." Because of her words, Taria almost squeezes the trigger of the Valerium, and Hans almost throws daggers. So much confidence in those words. "I know about your purpose. I know what you want to do. You wouldn't have survived if you hadn't known about the Chains. You would not have come here, to the lair of your enemies, if you had not tried to fight a battle where there was no possibility of victory in the first place. But... you're not Chained. And I have already witnessed where and in what position you have seen the Theory of Low Odds."

A heavy and hoarse sigh, as if those words would take something of impossibly great value from her as if it were the highest bid she'd ever had to pay. A price she'd already taken.

"If." Her tongue licks her parched lips. "If you can. I don't know. I have no idea how. But if you can. You won't just free the summoned from their Chains. Summoned, one of whom took half my heart. Summoned, to save the life of one of whom the memory of that heart was ripped from me! You will not just set them free. You will send into oblivion the very possibility of calling them into my home! That the spirit, the word, and the echo of these creatures in the faces of strangers may not be under the eternal Stars! Hall of Recognition, Hall of Choice... Promise me that you will destroy it, that you will burn it to the ground, that no one will ever appear there again. I don't need oaths on altars or contractual agreements. Just a word. Promise me... and I will follow you to the end."

After saying this, as if she had opened a pustule with an old boil, she was silent, looking into my eyes expectantly. Still not covering her existence, which makes her worse than naked in the eyes of a clairvoyant. It's a look I can hardly stand.

"Why?" It's a stupid question, but I can't not ask it.

"Because this world is cruel enough as it is." In her eyes, completely dry, glisten the remnants of tears forever wept. "We are all cruel. Starborn, endowed, deities and monsters - all of us. I just want to believe that we can handle our evil. The Chained one took love away from me. For the sake of not sacrificing our own Chained, the hierarchs took away my right to be one of my people. For the sake of revenge on the Chained and her Controller, I took away my brothers and sisters eternity. For the sake of this vengeance, I took away the eternities of my own. And even the right to oblivion was taken from me by another Summoned one. My verse, my melody... He believed the world could be changed. He believed that all it took for virtue to triumph was for those accustomed to stay out of the way. Youthful maximalism, misunderstanding of the nature of the world, but I want to believe he was right..."

She remains silent for almost a minute, and I already thought she wouldn't say another word, but yet she continues, completely calmer and even more collected than when we met.

"Alurei is all too accustomed to solving its problems by summoning those who will solve them instead of us. I wish to believe that we can manage on our own." She is tearing those words out of her mouth, tearing it out of her very last strength, and I am only now noticing how tired she is. "Your word?"

"You're right that I'll probably die trying..." I smile at this thought with unexpected warmth. "But if I get one chance to break this whole flawed system to the fucking mother, I'll gladly do it. Word."

"So now my Eternity belongs to you." Tialrianrelia, of the House of the Misty Tree, branch of the Blossom Blue, blossom of the Eternal Beat, said in a casual and unpretentious way as she rose from the table. "I would like to get some sleep. Trying to get to your hideout without leading your pursuers has exhausted me to the bottom."

Silently, I get up from the table and catch the unconscious elf in my arms. Total exhaustion. I mean absolutely exhausted. You can't fake that. She was hanging on by sheer stubbornness and willpower. I dragged her back to her room and threw her on the bed. I had to sleep on the living room floor again, next to the fireplace. Falling on the mattress had woken her briefly, and she opened her eyes.

"How did you even find me?" I'm asking because it's really interesting and might help in the future.

"You had my blood on your hands, my wounds, and this is a guiding thread, which is hard to think of better." Her answer is honest, calm, and without a single note of gloating or superiority.

Yeah.

I should have thought of that option! But too much moral fatigue and too eager to get back to my own walls. And I had never left alive after such "contact" battles before that day. It's a good thing I wasn't caught in something else. And I wasn't caught because if I had been, I would have been killed by the evil Imperials.

"Look," I just remembered a moment. "Now that we're a team, knowing your elven vindictiveness, which is legendary, how should I ever address you? Hey, are you laughing?"

She did laugh, a dry, melodious, but joyless laugh that would have been more appropriate for a major villain than for a tired, long-eared beauty.

"I gave you my Eternity, human," The elfess expresses sadly. "You can do with me now whatever you wish, as you wish.

"Well, well." I nod with an all-knowing look. "What if tomorrow I sent you to a brothel to earn money to finance my activities while also pleasuring me? Or if I order you to open your own throat? Or do I urgently need to kill you in a dark ritual?"

I expected all kinds of responses. I expected even more indignation, anger, and disgust. I had, after all, poked around in her memory enough to know the character of my new companion far better than she could imagine.

"I would suggest a few dozen less conspicuous and dangerous ways of making money. A personal slave of my kind arouses much suspicion and envy. I can share a bed with you at any moment, though now I think you would prefer a peaceful sleep. I can't promise you sincere passion, but my skills are enough to hide any negative emotions from your sight, so that the pleasure will be as comprehensive as my skills, appearance, and the flexibility of my body will suffice. Speaking of suicide, Instead of slitting my throat I prefer to stab a dagger through my heart or straight into my brain. I am also willing to ascend the altar voluntarily, but that voluntariness will be limited by natural impulses and the characteristic instincts of my people. You can hardly rip out and transplant my class, but I am willing to serve as a voluntary sacrifice to the Supreme Spawn of Twilight, though I would prefer to ask you to refrain from selling my essence to Hells, for such an Eternity for me would be more terrible than nothingness. Did I answer your question?"

Attention! Attention! The Kostik-Brain line is lost, call back in a few hours, but in the meantime, we'll turn on the Teletubbies for you. Have a nice day, and fuck off! She is absolutely sincere in her words and intentions, though I'm almost blowing smoke in my attempts to recognize the lie. And, as a result of all this effort, I have to admit that she told the absolute truth.

"Are you seriously willing to take such orders?" The question sounded more like an indignant squeak from a hamster berserker. "What about your lauded pride?"

"Pride is something we are taught to sacrifice for a purpose, to save a life, for our people. I no longer have a home, no kin, not even a life. I'm almost ashamed of my words now, and this is after all these years on the image boards. "All that's left is purpose. And for that purpose... I've got nothing left, Summoned One."

"Tin." I introduce myself since it's the first time I've had to. "Grzegorz in public. We came here under other people's names. No longer a nameless Summoned One."

"Nice to meet you, Tin." Something resembling emotion flashed in her voice.

"Still, I don't understand how you agreed to something like this." I shook my head in disbelief. "I might as well cheat you, take advantage of you, and kill you."

"Would you do that?" Now I see a smile, as stingy as a Jewish banker, but a smile. "Would you cheat, take advantage of my knowledge and body, and then get rid of me? I saw you, too, while I was opening myself to your knowledge. At the very edge, just a shadow of a shadow, but I saw you. I want to believe that the creature who refuses to stop being human against all the rules of creation... that the one who didn't let me perish, even at the risk of everything he himself had... I just want to believe that you do not deceive. Believe as my song knew how to believe, as I believed in him."

I am silent.

She is silent.

I got the slight and deliberately mistaken feeling that I had just been counted and teased.

Nah, that's crazy.

"Welcome on board."

* * *