The funeral of Daniel Daniarólis was at dawn.
The pyre had been burning since the night before, fed by logs of blue pine and scraps of the dismantled barricades. The smoke rose straight, windless, and vanished into the pale August sky. The students were arranged in a semicircle. The black tunics, hastily sewn, sat poorly on many shoulders. Some had red eyes. Others, dry eyes. Most stared at the ground.
Zirinos stood in the last row. Mira held his hand, her eyes wide, her curly hair damp with morning humidity. She asked nothing. Perhaps she had already understood that the dead do not return.
Irina spoke of courage, honour, memory. The words were beautiful but empty. Those who wept did not weep for the words. They wept for the faces they would no longer see.
"Daniel was a difficult student," Irina said. "But he was a loyal student. He died defending the academy."
"He died corrupted," someone behind Zirinos murmured.
Zirinos did not turn. He squeezed Mira's hand tighter.
"Did it hurt?" she asked softly.
"What?"
"Dying."
"He didn't die. He was killed."
"You killed him."
Zirinos looked at her. The girl's eyes were moist, but not crying.
"I did," he replied. "It was me."
Mira said nothing more. She just squeezed his hand back.
---
After the funeral, Zirinos walked through the empty corridors. The academy was silent – the students in their rooms, the teachers in a meeting, the servants cleaning the blood from the walls. The echo of his boots on the stone was the only sound.
In the room, Mira fell asleep sitting on the bed, the drawing paper still in her hand. Zirinos slowly took the paper from her. It was a portrait of Daniel – the face poorly drawn, the eyes crossed, the sword raised. Underneath, a caption: "The friend who died."
He folded the paper. Put it in his pocket.
He sat on the chair by the window. The moon was high, round, pale. The sea, far away, shone.
He thought of Mára Ferão. Of the dagger. Of the blood.
'She was going to die anyway', he thought. 'I sped up the process.'
The lie did not stick. He knew it was not true. He could have left her there. He could have called for help. But he did not.
Why?
'Because I wanted to. If I went back in time, I would do the same!'
He looked at Mira. She slept with her mouth open, her breathing calm, her hair spread on the pillow.
'If she knew', he thought. 'If she knew what I did to her mother…'
The thought did not finish. It did not need to.
This monster did not care about it, or that's just another lie...
---
The letter to Ander Féris was written by hand, on cheap parchment bought at the village stationer's. Zirinos chose his words carefully:
"My lord, I am leaving for the three sea villages with Mira. The academy needs time to be rebuilt. The month of Macano is long. I will use it to train and to learn spells that may help in the war against Trussum. Do not worry. I will return before winter. – Zirinos."
He did not lie. He did not tell the whole truth. It was enough.
He folded the letter, sealed it with red wax, and handed it to a messenger who was leaving for Decatry at noon.
---
He found Ethan in the back courtyard.
He was sitting on a stone bench, alone, looking at the rare flowers that only bloomed in August. The purple‑haired boy did not turn when Zirinos sat beside him.
"You're leaving," Ethan said. It was not a question.
"I am."
"Where to?"
"The three sea villages. I need to train. And the academy is under repairs."
"You're taking Mira?"
"I am."
Ethan fell silent. His hands, resting on his knees, clenched and unclenched.
"I'm afraid of you," he said finally.
"I know."
"It's not the war. It's you."
"I know that too."
"Then why don't you run? Why don't you disappear?"
"Where to?" Zirinos looked at the sky. "I have nowhere to go."
"You have your world."
"My world no longer exists. At least not for me."
Ethan did not reply. He just kept looking at the flowers.
Zirinos stood up.
"Take care of yourself, Ethan. And don't trust anyone."
"Not even you?"
"Especially not me."
He walked away. He did not look back.
In the room, already night, Mira slept. Zirinos packed his bag: a change of clothes, hard bread, cheese, a water flask, the black Decetuarius stone, and three scrolls with the spells Alice had taught him. Most of the dungeon gold would stay at the academy. It was his ticket back, if something went wrong.
He adjusted his sword on his belt. The dark steel one, the one that had already killed.
He looked at Mira.
'I will take her. I will protect her. And I will kill anyone who tries to hurt her.'
'Afterwards… afterwards I will see the rest.'
He blew out the candle.
The room went dark.
Outside, the moon shone.