Klaus had nothing to change into.
He had stripped off his light upper armor, leaving only blood-stained leather trousers and a torn shirt clinging to his skin. Some of the blood had already dried into stiff, dark patches. The rest was still wet.
Sticky.
Warm.
He smelled like iron and rot.
He didn't look like a prince anymore—
he looked like something that had crawled out of a battlefield and refused to die.
Their horse was gone.
So were their supplies.
Food.
Water.
Everything.
"We need water," Klaus said. "You're not meeting a mother who's never seen you looking like that."
"And we need supplies," he added, glancing at his shredded sleeve. "Food. Water. Anything."
—
The journey stretched.
Far longer than planned.
Because Egor couldn't keep up.
His legs gave out.
Again.
And again.
Blisters split open on his feet, soaked through his boots, rubbed raw until every step burned.
His breathing turned ragged.
Sometimes he couldn't speak at all.
They stopped constantly.
Not because Klaus wanted to—
but because Egor physically couldn't go on.
They circled.
Hunted.
Tracked water like animals.
Drank from streams that tasted like mud.
Ate whatever they could catch.
Burned meat.
Half-raw.
Sometimes both.
—
They ran into soldiers.
The first time—
Klaus didn't hesitate.
A flash of lightning.
Straight through the man's skull.
The smell of burnt flesh hit instantly.
The soldier dropped without a sound.
Didn't even understand he was dying.
Egor stared.
Frozen.
Klaus stepped over the body like it was nothing.
"Move."
They stripped him.
Clothes.
Water.
Anything useful.
Left the corpse where it fell.
Face blackened.
Eyes open.
—
After that—
they avoided everyone.
Neither of them wanted to go back into the forest.
So they stayed exposed.
The road stretched.
Long.
Endless.
Eight full days.
—
They reached the estate at dawn.
Stopped at a distance.
Collapsed into the dirt.
Waited.
—
"Hey," Egor muttered, scraping blackened meat with a knife, "you burned it again."
"Then cook it yourself."
"I would. If we could light a fire."
"We can't risk it," Klaus said flatly. "Eat."
A pause.
"This isn't food. It's survival."
Egor chewed.
Grimaced.
Forced it down.
"I'd kill for my grandmother's stew right now," he muttered. "Pork. Vegetables. Fresh bread…"
Klaus was quiet for a moment.
"I can send you back," he said.
Egor looked up.
"After we see my mother. My uncle has air mages. Portals won't be a problem."
"No."
Klaus frowned slightly.
"I'm staying."
A pause.
"Why are you trying so hard to get rid of me?" Egor asked. "I know I'm useless. I slow you down. I get in the way. But I'm trying. I'll do whatever you need. I'll stay. No matter what."
Klaus exhaled.
Tired.
"It's not about usefulness."
A pause.
"I lose people."
Silence.
"The ones who stay close to me," he continued quietly. "They don't last."
Egor didn't look away.
"I don't care," he said.
Firm.
"I chose this."
A step closer.
"I'm not leaving. Even if you drag me into that portal yourself."
For a moment—
Klaus said nothing.
Then he smiled.
Warm.
Real.
Egor's breath caught.
Heat rose to his face.
Klaus reached out—
and ruffled his hair.
"Thank you," he said softly. "I'm glad you're here."
A pause.
"Rest. We move at night."
—
By evening, they studied Skotsky's map again.
Walked the area.
Counted distances.
Checked every detail.
Nothing.
"No entrance," Egor said. "Maybe he made a mistake?"
Klaus shook his head.
"He used this route too many times."
A pause.
"We're missing something."
He started counting steps.
Slow.
Exact.
Stopped.
"This is it."
Flat ground.
Nothing visible.
No cover.
Nowhere to hide an entrance.
Klaus scanned the area again.
Then saw it.
A rise.
Small.
At its center—
the remains of a massive dead tree.
Roots twisted outward.
Dry.
Exposed.
Like bones breaking through skin.
Klaus crouched.
Egor followed.
Between the roots—
a hole.
Small.
Too small.
"That's not it," Egor said immediately.
Klaus dropped to his knees.
Reached inside.
"You're not serious."
"Do you see another option?"
Egor stared into the opening.
Black.
Endless.
"You expect the professor to crawl through that?"
Klaus glanced at him.
A faint smirk.
"Well, since you're not exactly built like a grown man—more like a skinny girl—you'll fit perfectly."
Egor blinked.
"…What?"
"Go on."
Egor looked at the hole again.
Then at Klaus.
Then back.
"Maybe we should check somewhere else—"
"Egor."
A pause.
"Get in."
Egor swallowed.
Dropped to all fours.
Leaned in.
Darkness swallowed everything.
He hesitated.
"Don't stop."
Hands pressed against his back—
and shoved.
Hard.
"Hey—!"
His forehead slammed into packed dirt.
Pain shot through his skull.
"Damn it…"
"Well?" Klaus's voice came from behind.
"…It's wider inside," Egor muttered. "I think… it's a tunnel."
"Then move."
—
Klaus followed.
They crawled.
Slow.
Blind.
For nearly an hour.
Dirt scraped their skin.
Roots caught in their clothes.
The air was thick.
Stale.
Hard to breathe.
At one point—
Egor stopped.
Chest tight.
"No—keep moving," Klaus said behind him.
"I can't—"
"You can."
A pause.
"Or you die here."
Egor clenched his teeth.
And moved.
—
Eventually—
the tunnel widened.
They could stand.
Barely.
"I'll risk light," Klaus said.
A sphere of white lightning formed in his palm.
The tunnel stretched ahead.
Narrow.
Unstable.
Roots clawing through the ceiling.
It should have collapsed years ago.
No one came here.
No battles.
No movement.
Nothing alive.
Dead land.
Dead soil.
And in the center—
a fortress.
Where his mother had spent over twenty years.
—
They reached a door.
Unlocked.
Beyond it—
cells.
Just as Skotsky said.
Klaus signaled Egor to stay back.
Moved first.
Silent.
Rows of empty cells.
Rotting bars.
No guards.
"Clear."
They moved deeper.
Turned.
Light.
Faint.
These cells were different.
Maintained.
Used.
In the first—
a girl.
Curled on straw.
Covered with a piece of burlap.
Small.
Too small.
Sixteen.
Maybe less.
Filthy.
Hair matted.
Skin gray with dirt.
Alive.
Egor slowed.
Stared.
Then followed Klaus.
—
No guards.
Not on the stairs.
Not in storage.
Not in the main hall.
Nothing.
"Doesn't that bother you?" Klaus murmured. "Guarded outside. Empty inside."
Egor felt it too.
Wrong.
Too easy.
"Third floor," Klaus said. "Bedrooms."
"You're just going to walk into her room?"
"Unless you have a better idea."
—
They climbed.
Almost reached the top—
A door creaked.
Klaus moved instantly.
Pulled Egor back.
Hand over his mouth.
Egor froze.
Heat rushed to his face.
Breath caught.
But Klaus wasn't looking at him.
A maid approached.
Small.
Thin.
Klaus moved.
Fast.
Grabbed her.
Pulled her back against him.
Hand clamped over her mouth.
"Quiet," he whispered.
She trembled violently.
"I won't hurt you," he said. "If you stay quiet."
A frantic nod.
"Good."
His grip loosened slightly.
Not enough to escape.
"Where is your mistress's room?"
Her eyes widened.
"Please…" she whispered.
"I'm not here to hurt her. I need to speak to her."
A pause.
"I swear."
She hesitated.
Shaking.
"She's suffered enough…" the girl whispered.
"I said I'm not here to harm her."
Silence.
Then—
a trembling hand.
Pointing.
"There?"
A nod.
"You came from there?"
Another nod.
Klaus touched the back of her neck.
A spark.
Her body went limp.
He caught her.
Lowered her carefully onto the steps.
"She'll wake up."
—
They moved down the corridor.
Stopped at a door.
Klaus froze.
His hand hovered.
For the first time—
hesitation.
Egor saw it.
Placed a hand on his shoulder.
Squeezed.
Klaus exhaled.
Opened the door.
—
The room was dim.
One candle.
Barely enough light.
Embers in the fireplace.
An open window.
Moonlight spilling in.
A woman stood by it.
A glass of wine in her hand.
She turned slowly.
Silence.
"I thought I made myself clear," she said.
Calm.
Cold.
"That I do not tolerate your kind in my home."
Her gaze moved over them.
Slow.
Measured.
"And yet here you are."
A pause.
"In my bedroom."
She set the glass down.
"You must have a very good reason."
"We're not—" Klaus began.
She cut him off with a flick of her hand.
"You break into my private chambers," she said, voice sharpening, "and you can't even form a proper explanation?"
A step forward.
"You serve the king. That alone is enough to disgust me."
A pause.
"Get out."
Her eyes hardened.
"Now."
The hatred in her voice pressed down like weight.
Cold.
Suffocating.
Klaus stepped forward.
"I am not one of his guards," he said.
Calm.
Controlled.
"My name is Klaus Defender."
A beat.
"First Crown Prince of Isorobia."
Another step.
"Your son."
Silence.
"Klaus Defender," she repeated slowly.
Tasting the name.
Then she turned.
Sat down.
Picked up her wine.
"And what brings you here?" she asked lightly.
A sip.
"No."
A pause.
"How did you find me?"
"Your friend told me."
She smiled.
Sharp.
"A friend?" she said. "I still have those?"
"You do."
A pause.
"And you may have more—if people learn what the king did to his wife."
She tilted her head.
Then laughed.
Short.
Sharp.
"Where is my maid?" she asked suddenly.
"If my son has come to visit," she continued, "I'd like proper light."
A pause.
"And food."
"She's… unavailable," Klaus said.
Minami picked up a small bell.
Rang it.
Twice.
A servant appeared.
Frozen.
"I have guests," she said coldly. "Prepare the table."
A pause.
"We'll be down."
He fled.
Minami glanced back at Klaus.
"You didn't kill her, I hope?" she asked casually. "Blood is such an unpleasant smell."
"I knocked her out."
She smiled faintly.
"What a waste," she said. "It's unbearably dull here."
A pause.
"The servants would have enjoyed it."
Egor felt something cold crawl up his spine.
Up close—
the resemblance was undeniable.
The eyes.
The shape.
But something was wrong.
Where Klaus burned—
she froze.
Where he controlled himself—
she didn't bother.
No warmth.
No restraint.
No humanity.
She was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
Young.
Wrong.
No gray in her hair.
No lines.
No age.
If not for the resemblance—
he would have never believed
she had lived more than fifty years.