Despite everything, there are undeniable advantages to electric motors. For instance, an unusual for me silence permeates the car interior. The engine is soundless, and due to the superior sound insulation of the SUV, even the faint humming of tires on the asphalt is barely discernible.
On one hand, the silence is perfect, allowing you to collect your thoughts. But on the other, am I missing out on a rare opportunity? When else will I have the chance to engage in a candid conversation with the Maker, even if it's not one-on-one, but in the presence of others? The tantalizing allure of questions waged a war against my escalating paranoia, and I don't know which would have emerged victorious. Maya, however, seemed undaunted by such petty fears and worries. The Knight girl endured a couple of minutes of silence before leaning forward and asking,
"Will you find them?"
Honestly, I admire her to a degree. Such candid questions... She's not unintelligent or impulsive to the point of not considering the who, when, and how of questioning. She simply desires answers and endeavours to obtain them, casting aside respect for elders and other societal niceties instilled by upbringing, as well as her innate fear of the powerful, high-ranking sensums. Not to mention the shapeshifter currently behind the wheel, who is clearly no ordinary individual. Yet, she doesn't hesitate.
Zanh Kiem half-turned, looked the girl in the eyes, and responded, "I don't know."
"But..."
He halted her mid-sentence, raising a palm.
"Understand, we aren't a universal cure. And foresight doesn't work on demand. If things were as they're depicted in movies and books, then Eshin would've been annihilated centuries ago. This clan once succeeded in killing a Creator! Granted, that was five centuries ago, and they razed an entire city, claiming over a hundred thousand lives in the process. Yet, they managed to survive afterwards, despite the whole world turning against them." The head of the Third Palm rubbed his temples as if something hindered his speech, sighed, and continued. "If they were merely an ordinary crime clan... But alas... it's not that simple. They have something we're unaware of, something we deem impossible and therefore, overlook in our search. It's something we can't even contemplate because this 'something' doesn't conform to our worldview. Without this 'X factor', Eshin would've been wiped out long ago. But it exists, and whatever it may be, it allows them to slip away time and time again."
"Alchemy?" Maya seems to be in a mood for direct questions today.
"Perhaps." Zanh Kiem rubbed his temples again, as though a migraine was setting in. "But our knowledge on the subject is limited. Very limited."
"Why not ask the inquisitor!" Maya suggested, throwing her hands up. "According to you, he's a dark adept and should know!"
"Ahem... Oh, the impetuosity of youth." The Maker wasn't amused by the girl's emotional outburst this time. "Alchemy is called a Dark Art for good reason. Its practices are based on death, torment, and harnessing energy and reagents through the suffering and pain of others. Yes, the de Diaz branch has served the church for nearly a millennium, but even they strictly forbid such practices." The effects of transitioning to the Break seemed to have taken a toll on the head of the Third Palm; judging by the frequency of his temple massaging, he was enduring a painful headache. "He might find something in his archives. Perhaps... But it's a mere possibility, not a certainty."
"Are you unwell?" Even the shapeshifter noticed the Maker's condition, slowing down the vehicle.
"It feels like a hot nail is being driven through my temples."
"Do you want me to stop and open the windows?"
"Yes, please. I am feeling quite unwell."
The car pulled away from the flow of traffic and parked on the side of the road. The Maker opened the door and stepped out. He walked about ten meters, removed his shoes and socks, and seated himself on the grass. Then he gestured towards us.
"Maya, Maestro, join me. You, Mr. Tunk, stay in the car for now."
Truthfully, I'd rather stay in the SUV too. Although the air conditioner provided relief from the heat, it was not wise to reject such an invitation, considering who it came from.
"Can we do anything to help?" Maya asked, taking a seat opposite Zanh Kiem. "The Break has already subsided, and I can quickly dash to the pharmacy and back. It won't take more than five minutes."
"Thank you." The sensum nodded in gratitude. "But that won't be necessary. Medicine won't help. This will pass. However, you can assist me with your questions." The smile on his face was somewhat strained but genuinely sincere. "Oddly enough, they divert attention from the pain and help mute it."
I took a seat next to the girl while reaching out to the Break. Maya was right indeed. The Border was still trembling, but breaking through was feasible. This news acted as a potent sedative on me. However, the absence of the ability to shift into Projection left me feeling surprisingly impotent.
"I have a question." Sensing the proximity of the Break, I grew more daring, beating the girl to the punch.
"As long as I can answer." Zanh Kiem nodded in acknowledgment.
"I could feel the Darkness and the night radiating from the inquisitor myself. Why not gather additional forces, mobilize all the city's sensums, and conduct a thorough search? We'll find the dark adepts, and through them, we'll track down Eshin."
"The first thing that dark adepts learn is to hide their aura," The Maker says, his voice brimming with genuine regret. "Not to completely conceal it — that would make them too easy to locate — but to alter it so that it becomes indistinguishable from the energy of an ordinary person. If Abel de Diaz had wanted to, even my power wouldn't have been sufficient to detect the emanations of Darkness from him. If circumstances were different, the work of people like me would be ten times simpler."
"But why didn't he hide his aura when he arrived?"
"What for?" The sensum replied with a question to my question, leading me to the realization that he was right: indeed, "what for?"
"Yes, I've now understood that my last question was rash." It pained me to see him in such discomfort; I felt like a sadist. But he asked for it, so I continued my questioning. "You mentioned that de Diaz is a member of the Ordo with the unpronounceable name, and that his branch of the Inquisition doesn't hunt Dark adepts. So, what does the Ordo, headed by the legate, actually do?"
"I'd love to answer that, but I can't. I'm sorry. It's classified information. Even Mr. Tunk isn't privy to such secrets. And the circle of those who are is quite small."
"But aren't we full-fledged players?!" Maya promptly burst out at his refusal.
"Miss..." Zanh Kiem didn't attempt to hide the disapproval in his voice. "The secret of Ordo Campeadorus pertains to an entirely different game, unrelated to Break Knights."
"I'm sorry." Even the usually assertive girl seemed to recognize she had overstepped.
"Do you want to lie down while we remain silent?" I inquired. Zanh Kiem's appearance had deteriorated considerably; he seemed to have aged ten years.
"Thank you for your concern, Master Maestro. But your questions truly help."
Frankly, I didn't see how our questions could be of any assistance. On the contrary, his condition seemed to worsen by the minute. Yet, if he was asking for more questions, remaining silent might make things even worse.
"What was de Diaz warning you about when he spoke of the Path and so on?"
"You really know how to ask challenging questions," the Maker's voice hinted at a barely discernible grin. "As I said earlier, there are very few dark ones left; people like me have diligently weeded them out. However, our workload hasn't diminished by much... Sometimes, a Gifted One's Path becomes their sole focus, overshadowing everything else. For instance, a doctor seeking a cure for a new disease might deliberately infect an ocean-going cruise ship, turning it into a gigantic petri dish. Yes, a cure was then found at the expense of four hundred and thirty-nine victims. Or a person on the Path of Retribution might disregard laws and take justice into their own hands. But once they set foot on this road, anyone trying to stop them becomes an enemy, an obstacle on their Path. Or a scientist on the Path of Enlightenment might create something so horrifying that it would make even the most hardened and unscrupulous Dark One tremble. This list could go on, but I believe you grasp my point."
The Maker's words didn't seem to be a revelation for me. However, they appeared to have shaken Maya significantly. The girl blanched as if her universe had just developed a noticeable crack.
"Thank you for your honesty," I acknowledged, now understanding what the legate had warned the head of the Third Palm about. "May I ask another question?"
"Yes, please." The sensum no longer smiled; instead, he sat with his head in his hands.
"If I'm not mistaken, Mr. Rock is the duke's curator for the BKDW, right?" Zanh Kiem didn't answer, but Maya quickly nodded. "To what extent can we trust him?"
Why shouldn't I ask? Since Maya could pose direct questions, who was to say I couldn't? Plus, it would be beneficial for the girl beside me to hear the answer. I hoped the Maker wouldn't shy away from his usual directness and frankness. Furthermore, the competition for influence on the raigs between the authorities and the clerics was still in play.
"Trust is a very complex subject," The Maker admitted, struggling to find words. "I can't give you a definitive answer. Mr. Rock's Inner Beast is an Irish wolfhound. By choosing to serve the heir directly, he left his clan. Left his pack. I believe you Knights are his herd, like sheep to a shepherd dog. He would protect you, even at the cost of his own life. But he wouldn't defy a direct order from the pack leader. If an order is given, he'll carry it out. Regardless of what it is. Even if it's an order to kill all of you. Yes, he might very likely take his own life after executing such an order. But that would be afterward, and the dead no longer have concerns..."
His statement, while hard to digest, was right — trust was indeed a "complex subject". Yet, his words did provide me with a sliver of optimism.
After responding to my question, Zanh Kiem laid down on his back, spreading his arms out on the fresh green grass, unbothered by the fact that he was in his expensive suit. Maya started to lean forward to help but was stopped by his raised hand.
"No, it'll pass," the sensum's voice seemed almost extinguished. He laid on the ground, silently staring up at the sky.
This quiet pause didn't last long, no more than twenty seconds. Then his hand rose, and his finger pointed somewhere in the sky behind me.
"What's that?"
Both Maya and I turned simultaneously. About five kilometers away, at an altitude of roughly five hundred meters, a small plane was calmly flying towards the sea. It reminded me of the familiar An-2 — an ancient single-engine biplane.
"That's a farm plane," the girl informed the sensum. "Not far behind those hills, there are farmers' fields, and that plane sprays various pest-control chemicals. They fly here often."
"Where are the fields?" Zanh Kiem asked for clarification.
"There." Maya's hand pointed south, not towards the sea.
"And the location where Tu Chong died?" Another question from the head of the Third Palm.
"Over there." This time, the girl pointed precisely in the direction the plane was flying.
Suddenly, the Maker sprang to his feet and yelled.
"Tunk! Start the engine!"
Shouting this, he dashed towards the SUV.
"It wasn't just pain — it was a Warning!!!"
At the Maker's exclamation, Maya instantly springs up and dashes towards the car.
Warning? Enlightenment? Danger?
Yes!!!
A thousand times, yes!
A car? No matter how skilled a driver Mr. Tunk may be, the plane is undoubtedly faster and already has a significant head start.
I check my prana reserve.
I have enough!
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
As soon as I shift into the Break, I immediately slip into Sliding.
Faster!
Even faster!
I zip past the cars on the highway as if they're standing still. I've never run so fast before. I can already make out the hanging tanks beneath the biplane's lower wings. Perhaps they're pesticide containers? Maybe, but for some reason, I trust the Maker's premonition more than formal logic.
I'm not touching the ground. I'm Sliding as if on anti-gravity skates. I'm certain I could overtake a Formula One car in these moments. I am lightning, I am speed.
But...
Despite it all, I'm too late.
The biplane takes a sharp turn and goes into a steep dive.
Explosion!
The explosion is unlike any I've seen in reality, as if a mad anime artist has splattered vibrant colors across the screen.
Fire. Red, crimson, an intensity that doesn't exist in the material world.
Fire. It soars into the sky, spreading.
The shockwave hits me — it feels as if I've slammed into a pillow.
I break through it.
I'm nearly there.
And yet, I'm too late...
Just by ten seconds, but it's too late!
I see an overturned dark SUV and a familiar minibus lying on its side nearby. Only the police cars remain upright.
What about the people?
Judging by the smoldering auras, everyone is alive. Yes, they've passed out, but they're alive. They were lucky — the explosion occurred behind the hill. The kamikaze pilot wasn't targeting them but the murder site of Hyungang Tu Chong.
I notice movement.
I dash.
And I exit the Break.
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
I kneel before Nein. The guy is attempting to get up and crawl somewhere.
"Lie down! You have a concussion. Everyone is alive, everything is fine," I push down on him, preventing him from moving.
"No..." the investigator from the Third Palm whispers, struggling free. "Rui... There..."
Damn it! It's true — the Seer isn't here.
What if?
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
Path, parking lot, hill. What recently took nearly five minutes to walk, I fly by in moments.
The once beautiful country house is simply gone, reduced to rubble, and hot flames rage where the stone platform used to be.
I leap as high as I can and survey from the highest point.
Where are you?
I can barely make out anything among the ruins and debris, and even if I tried to dig through the rubble with my bare hands, it would take too long.
But is it necessary?
It's absolutely clear to me that no one could have survived here. The explosion was too powerful. No one could live through such a blast at close range. Except perhaps in a bunker, which doesn't exist here.
However, I leap again, scanning the ruins once more.
Yes, a regular person couldn't have survived this.
A regular person.
But Rui is a Seer.
So, what if?
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
What if?!
Again, I see nothing.
I jump anew.
Spark, no matter how faint you are, help!
What's that? No, not movement, reflection, or shadow — just a faint sense of direction, and I trust it.
I plummet to the ground.
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
And I start to frantically remove the rubble with my hands.
The odds of finding someone right after a disaster of this magnitude, especially if they're buried, are practically nil; I already know this. But, in defiance of all statistical laws, as I toss aside what used to be a massive tabletop, I find a body.
A living body.
Yet, not for long.
People don't live with such injuries.
It's not that they don't survive long — they simply can't live, period.
Scrapes, burned palms, a bleeding head, and broken legs — these are trivialities compared to the gaping hole in her stomach. Yet, the girl is alive and conscious!
Damn it! She is conscious! I can't even begin to fathom the pain...
"Hold on!" I lift her head and place it on my knees. "Zanh Kiem is on his way."
"He won't make it," she somehow manages to speak.
"He will!" The pain from the "Word" is almost unbearable, and I can sense the rust that has formed right on the hilt.
"Don't lie. You're not allowed to."
What's this? Is she even comforting me? That's some willpower!
"And even he couldn't help," she states without sorrow, without sadness. That's how people talk when they've accepted their fate.
"Can I help? Can I do anything?"
I'm merely trying to distract her, to ease her last moments, so she doesn't pass alone.
Unfortunately, there's nothing more I can do.
"Unless you possess a Great Secret," she tries to laugh but ends up coughing up blood.
Life drains from her like water.
Like a waterfall.
Only a puddle remains, about to dry up.
A Secret? Did she just mention that word?
A Seer. Master of Secrets. Rui.
Just a girl who is dying in my arms.
And if her last words are accurate, I can save her.
But the cost of this salvation...
Am I willing to pay it?
She is a stranger to me.
A nobody.
Just a random, fleeting encounter in life.
Fleeting. Alien. Nobody.
What a pitiful creature I am!
I lean closer to the dying girl.
"I'm a reincarnate," I begin, but nothing happens. "I lived my past life in another world." I pause. Are the wounds on the girl's head healing? Really? "That world is very similar to this one — the same people, cars, planes, and so forth. Only, there are no Breakthroughs, shapeshifters, sensums, or raigs. Almost the same Earth as this one, but it lacks the continent of Lemuria..." I take a deep breath. "Yes, I'm an 'alien' from another world."
The warmth from Purity radiates throughout my body, reaching the "Word" and wiping the rust from the sword's steel.
Rui's eyes open.
"Knowing that our world isn't alone in the Universe — not just feeling or presuming, but truly knowing — that is indeed a Great Secret. Thank you," whispers the Seer.
As soon as she speaks, she immediately falls unconscious, slipping into sleep.
She's sleeping, not dying!
Her wounds, even the gaping hole in her stomach, are gone. Only the burns on her hands persist.
Gently, I lift the girl into my arms.
How exhausted I am! I barely have the strength to carry her. It isn't because I've assumed the body of Izao, but rather the persistent weakness that refuses to leave me. It's weighed me down since the Breakthrough, and even stepping into the Break didn't help shake it off.
One step, another step. And ahead, the incline of the hill looms! I might not make it... But I must press on — the flames are encroaching.
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
Maya? Whew! She decided not to drive and followed me into the Break!
"Is she alive?" The Knight Girl asks, poised and ready for action. There's not a shadow of doubt or anxiety in her now.
"Yes. She seems to be alive."
"Can I help?"
"Yes. Just be careful — her legs seem to be broken."
We couldn't leave Rui at the explosion site; everything was collapsing there, and the flames were already nearly reaching the remnants of the house.
We proceeded slowly, not so much out of caution, but because I could barely go on. Feeling weaker than the girl beside me was far from the most pleasant experience of my life. Yet Maya, bearing most of the burden, showed no signs that she had noticed my near-total exhaustion.
We were already descending the hill when Zanh Kiem and Tunk rushed toward us. The Maker instantly whisked Rui from our grasp and laid her on the ground.
"The fire won't reach here," declared the sensum, cutting off the objections ready to spill from our lips.
Bending over the girl's body, he began to hover his hands over her. The lingering wounds healed under his touch. The skin marred by burns stretched and regained its pink hue. A minute later, the Maker finished the procedure.
"She will live," I could hear the unmistakable surprise in his voice. "She should have died and did die. I felt it! Yet, she is alive." Zanh Kiem locked his gaze on me. "How?"
"I paid, and death backed off," I should have stayed silent but didn't think about it until it was too late.
"What kind of payment can bring back the dead?" Up until this point, relatively restrained and embodying equanimity itself, the duke's messenger now expressed genuine surprise. He didn't doubt the Maker's words that Rui should have died for even a second.
"The steepest price," I respond, at which it seems even Maya holds her breath. "I paid with the truth."
"What?" The shapeshifter fails to grasp my meaning.
But since my answer was intended not for him but for the head of the Third Palm, I simply reply, "No comment."
I'm indifferent to the disappointment that creeps onto the shapeshifter's face. What's essential is that Zanh Kiem understands me and acknowledges my words with a nod of gratitude. As for Maya, I'll explain to her later if she inquires.
"I owe you," Zanh Kiem communicates silently, his lips barely moving as he addresses me.
"Lao ban?" Astonishingly, Rui is already awake?!
"How are you feeling?"
"Poorly," she winces in pain, "But nothing's beyond repair." The girl looks at me. "Master… Lao ban, could I have a moment alone with Maestro?" With those words, her eyelids droop.
"Maya, Mr. Tunk, you heard her."
Zanh Kiem rises to his feet, and only now do I notice that he's barefoot. Yet why should this surprise me now? He surely didn't have time to retrieve his boots.
Once the trio had moved nearly a hundred meters away, Rui opens her eyes again.
"I owe you answers. It's the least I can do," I expect to hear "for my salvation," but her words take a different path. "For the Secret. Firstly, I can't tell anyone about it. It's not that 'I don't want to' or 'I wish not to', but I can't. It's a prohibition that comes from Above. You don't need to worry about that. Secondly, if you divulge your secret to someone else, I will weaken. A secret known by another loses its 'power'. No, I won't die... most likely. But I'll lapse into a coma for at least a year. We, beings like me, gain strength from others' secrets, but that borrowed power ebbs away when the secret's holder reveals it to someone else. I once had a Great Secret, not as Great as yours, but it was substantial. I could literally feel it when the person who entrusted it to me intended to disclose it to a third party. The pain was so intense that I rushed to the phone, dialed a series of random numbers, and my call managed to reach that very person. That's what happens when Giftedness comes into play. I pleaded and implored, but he did as he wished. I then passed out for three months and was reduced to an almost vegetative state." The Seer closes her eyes again, her breaths becoming labored. "I'm sorry. I have nothing to offer in return."
"It's okay."
"Thank you," Rui whispers before slipping into unconsciousness.
I gesture for Zanh Kiem to return.
"Everything is okay," the Maker announces after examining the Seer. "As okay as it can be given her condition, of course."
"But I'm not okay," I confess, seeing as neither Maya nor Tunk have returned. I decide to disclose my ailment to the sensum. "I'm experiencing a peculiar weakness. I thought it was due to the Breakthrough and the storming of the Break. However, even after transitioning to Projection, the weakness persists. Previously, transitioning to the Break remedied everything. But not this time."
"May I?" the head of the Third Palm asks. When I give him a nod, he touches my helmet. "Nothing out of the ordinary or scary. Merely energy exhaustion. No, it's not related to your prana. Your Spark, its awakening — it incites a certain reconfiguration of the energy lines in your body. That's what you're feeling now. Sound, deep, and lengthy sleep will fix everything. You need to sleep for at least twenty hours in your case; otherwise, the weakness will intensify."
"Just sleep?"
"Yes, just sleep."
To hear such a straightforward explanation was a genuine relief.
"If I were a doctor," the sensum continues, "I would advise you to hit the sack right this instant."
"I'd be happy to," I admit without concealing the regret in my voice. "But Mr. Rock will be waking up soon, and I can't dodge a conversation with him. It's my own doing — I joined the BKDW, so I need to face it. Besides, I don't want to leave Maya — she's still quite upset."
"Ah..." Zanh Kiem closes his eyes. "Maya... indeed... Listen, Maestro, would you mind if I addressed you that way?" I give him a nod. "Alright, Maestro... Most of us, the vast majority, are not living our first lives. More precisely, our souls are, but that's a negligible detail. It's possible that the soul of Maya or any other girl you meet is much older than yours. Yes, you recall your past life and judging by the Projection, you died or were killed as an adult. But that signifies nothing. Absolutely nothing. You are young. You are young NOW. I don't know your body's age, seventeen, eighteen — it's irrelevant. The crucial thing is that you are young, not old. The soul's age is simply the soul's age; it doesn't carry much weight. So — stop it. I see in your aura the way you look at Maya, reproaching yourself for certain thoughts likely flickering through your mind. You're young. You've been given a second life. So live it, and don't blame yourself for what is entirely natural. Accept that you're young once more."
"Thank you." Honestly, his words took me completely by surprise!
"Now, retreat into the Break and go home to sleep."
"No," I counter, shaking my head.
"Yes," Zanh Kiem insists. "This weakness is deceptive. It's even affecting your thinking, isn't it?"
"Perhaps." I think he might be right, but I can't say for sure.
"I am right. And the longer you play the hero, the more your thinking will degrade. I apologize for being blunt. You'll start making rash decisions, behaving recklessly, and worst of all, making errors. Are you confident that being here now outweighs the potential for mistakes? Are you sure that once Mr. Rock senses your condition, he won't pry answers out of you that you'd rather keep to yourself? He's quite skilled at that. Can you really support Maya when you're the one who needs help at the moment? Are you certain?"
Why does he keep repeating "are you sure, are you sure," as if he's addressing a small child?! Hold on...
If he's correct and this exhaustion is hampering my cognitive function, then his conversational style makes sense. Although, I believe he might be exaggerating. Yes, my thoughts are barely trudging along, but that's about it. But would it be wise to ignore the Maker's advice? He clearly has his own agenda, and it probably doesn't serve his interest to let me, in my current state, engage with a rival in the form of the House on the Hill's curator. Perhaps, but what if he is indeed correct?
"I'm not certain," I admit honestly. "But..."
"I'll handle Mr. Rock. See you tomorrow when you've recovered. I'll look after Maya. It's the least I can do for you after you saved Rui."
"Fine," I concede. "Goodbye."
"It was a pleasure meeting you," Zanh Kiem responds, nodding. He then dismisses me and refocuses his attention on the unconscious Seer.
Before I plunge into the Break, I catch Maya's attention.
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
The girl-Knight understands my intent.
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
Approaching Maya, I explain, "Following the Maker's advice, I must leave this place and you."
"You're correct. Such counsel should not be dismissed. I hope you're okay?"
"Not exactly, but it's nothing serious. I'll be fine by tomorrow."
"That's reassuring." Her concern for my wellbeing is palpable.
"I have a request. Today at six in the evening on the roof of BKDW, there's a gathering of raigs. I planned to attend, but it seems I won't be able to. Please inform the others. If two newcomers, Dobrynya and Baenre, show up, try to calm them if necessary: they might be overly worried about me."
"Baenre, Dobrynya, I understand," she acknowledges without any further queries.
"A lot is resting on your shoulders. The direction that the raigs of the city, even potentially the world, will take could hinge on your word."
"I understand," she replies. Her voice contains no joy, only the weight of a huge responsibility. "I'll manage."
Oddly enough, I believe her. I trust the words of this seventeen-year-old girl.
She'll manage.
Just like she held her own, withstanding Darth Sidious's laughter when even the Maker faltered.
Enduring until the stone beneath her cracked.
She'll endure now as well. Because she, unlike me, is a true Knight, no matter what that term means to different people.
"Then, hopefully, I'll see you tomorrow."
Before I take off, Maya's hand finds my arm.
"Thank you... Thank you for everything today," she says, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.
"Until tomorrow," I respond automatically, before breaking into Sliding.
Unable to find the right words, I flee.
The journey home is a hazy memory, as though viewed through a fog. The weakness was growing by the second. Struggling, I shed my motorcycle suit and clothing. Then, on autopilot, I loaded my clothes into the washing machine and started it. I trudged towards my bed, but before I could collapse onto it, I noticed my computer still on since early morning.
My vision was swimming, but before turning off the computer, I slumped into the chair and typed into a search engine.
"Sid Campeador."
I don't know what I'm looking for. Everything that's publicly available and beyond - I've reviewed it all. Still, I open the first link that appears and skim through the text. Nothing new, as expected.
But before I can close the browser, one name catches my eye.
The name of Sid Campeador's wife.
Dona Ximena de Diaz...
De Diaz...
With unsteady legs, I rise from the chair and tumble into bed.
De, damn it, Diaz...