I woke with the stone ceiling spinning slowly.
The room smelled of burnt wood and dried herbs. A candle on the windowsill provided the only light – weak, unsteady, but enough to see the dark stone walls and the wool blanket covering my chest. My shoulder ached. My chest burned. My head was a fog.
"Zirinos?" Luna's voice, low, cautious.
"I'm here," I replied, my voice hoarse.
"I thought you were going to die."
"I thought the same."
She sat on the edge of the bed. Her silver hair fell over her shoulders, dishevelled. Her light eyes were red from crying.
"You killed him," she said. "Trussum. The great liar. He is dead."
"I know."
"They told my father. The duke. Everyone."
"And Mira?" The question came out before I could think. "Is Mira alive?"
Luna nodded.
"Baron Ander is taking care of her. She is in Decatry. The messenger told my mother."
I closed my eyes. The relief was a warm wave, running from my bones to my skin.
*Alive*, I thought. *Still alive.*
"I need to go back," I said, trying to sit up. My body hurt, but it obeyed. "Today."
"You can't. My mother ordered you to rest."
"Your mother does not command me."
"She does. You are the hero of Endomyar. Heroes obey those who feed them."
I almost smiled.
"Thank you, Luna."
"For what?"
"For telling me the truth. When Trussum said Mira was dead… I believed him."
"Liars convince." She lowered her voice. "That's what they know how to do."
"You did not lie."
"I did. To my mother. About my father." Her eyes shone. "The guilt weighs."
"It will always weigh."
"How do you bear it?"
"I pretend it doesn't hurt."
She did not answer. She just stood up and went to fetch water.
---
Linda Lunos appeared at noon.
She wore simple clothes, without the adornments of the march. Her silver‑white hair was tied in a ponytail. Her face was tired, but her eyes were attentive.
"The hero woke up," she said, in a tone I could not tell was irony or respect.
"The apprentice," I corrected. "Still."
"Apprentices do not kill demon lords."
"This one learned fast."
She sat in the chair by the window. The candle, already spent, crackled.
"King Dizius is dying," she said without preamble. "The doctors say he will not survive the winter."
"And the succession?"
"Lirius. Elisa. Neither has the majority. The nobles remember what Lirius did to the maids. They remember what Elisa did not do to stop him."
"And you?" I asked. "Whose side are you on?"
"The side that will guarantee peace."
"You did not answer."
"No." She scratched her chin – she had no beard, but the gesture was the same. "Because I do not know yet."
Silence settled. The fireplace crackled.
"I need to return to Decatry," I said.
"You are still weak."
"Still. But Mira is waiting for me."
Linda looked at me. Her clear, tired eyes assessed me.
"You are dangerous, Zirinos."
"I know."
"My daughter likes you."
"I know."
"Do not hurt her."
"I do not intend to."
She stood up.
"The boat to Decatry leaves tomorrow. I will accompany you. I need to speak with the duke."
"The war?"
"The war waits." Linda tightened her hand on the doorknob. "The living do not."
---
The return journey was shorter than the way there.
The wind blew in our favour, the snow had stopped, and the horses, rested, seemed to know they were going home. Helena rode ahead, her golden armour shining in the weak sun. Luna, beside me, did not speak. She just looked at the landscape opening to the south – the mountains, the valleys, the sea in the distance.
"What will you do now?" she asked after a long time.
"Rest. Train. Prepare for the next war."
"Do you think there will be another?"
"There is always another war, Luna. Monsters do not end. Neither do men."
"Sad."
"True."
She did not answer.
---
Decatry appeared on the horizon like an island of dark stone in the middle of the grey sea. The port, rebuilt after Krakeriar's attack, was full of ships – warships, merchant ships, passenger ships. The banners of the noble houses fluttered in the wind.
"We have arrived," said Helena.
"We have arrived."
The boat docked at the end of the afternoon.
---
Mira was on the pier.
Her curly hair, her dark blue coat, the small sword at her waist. Ander Féris, beside her, held her hand. The baron looked older – deep shadows under his eyes, grey beard, a tired gaze. But his hand was steady.
"Zirinos!" Mira shouted, let go of Ander's hand, and ran.
I knelt to receive her. My body ached, but I did not care.
"You are alive!" She threw her small arms around my neck. "I thought you had died!"
"Heroes do not die."
"Liar."
"Sometimes."
"You lie a lot."
"I know."
She laughed. Her laugh was light, like running water.
"I like you, Zirinos."
"I know."
Ander approached. His dark eyes fixed on mine.
"Zirinos," he said, his voice neutral. "Mira has been well. Do not worry."
"I do not worry."
"I know."
The handshake was dry, but firm.
---
In the castle, Andy waited for us in the great hall.
Linda greeted him with a nod. Irina, beside him, kept her face neutral, but her eyes – her eyes did not lie. They fixed on me with a hardness that was not tiredness.
"Zirinos," said Andy. "You killed Trussum."
"I did."
"The king is dying. The demon lords are coming. The blue‑mind‑destroyer is spreading." The duke scratched his beard. "Can they wait? Or do we need a hero now?"
"We need everyone." I looked at him. "Heroes and non‑heroes alike."
Andy almost smiled.
"Rest. Tomorrow, we talk."
---
In the room, already dark, I lay on the bed.
Mira slept beside me, her hand closed on my tunic. I did not let go. She did not let go either.
I thought of Trussum. Of the ash. Of the sweet voice with which he thanked me before he died.
'Thank you*, he said. *Thank you.'
'What does a demon have to be thankful for?'
The question had no answer. Sleep came.
---
— EPILOGUE —
In the capital, King Dizius coughed on his bed of black ivory.
The curtains were drawn. Light entered in thin rays, pale, sickly. The doctors bent over him, murmuring words no one understood. Lirius stood by the door, arms crossed, his face impassive. Elisa, sitting in a chair beside the bed, held her father's hand.
"Trussum…" Dizius tried to speak, but the cough stopped him. "Trussum is dead."
"He is, Father," Elisa replied. "The hero Zirinos killed him."
"Hero…" Dizius smiled. The smile was yellow, sickly. "Heroes die young."
"Or late," said Lirius from the door. "It depends on the enemies they make."
Dizius looked at his son. His small dark eyes gleamed.
"Are you my enemy, Lirius?"
"I am your son, Your Majesty."
"Sons are worse."
The king coughed again. This time, the handkerchief came away stained with blood.
Elisa squeezed his hand.
"Rest, Father. The kingdom waits."
"The kingdom waits for no one," Dizius whispered. "Not for kings. Not for heroes."
He closed his eyes.
His breathing became lighter, slower.
Then, it stopped.
Elisa sat still. Her cold hand was heavy.
"The king is dead," Lirius announced, with a calm that concealed nothing.
"The king is dead," Elisa repeated.
They looked at each other.