Date: February 21, 543 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The dust settled slowly, like ash after a great fire. It swirled in the air, clogging eyes, mouth, lungs, and Datuk, kneeling at the breach, could not understand what he was seeing. The world before him blurred, doubled, and only the black stones, the pile of rubble, and the white dust still churning in the air were real.
Ulvia stood beside him, pressing her hand to her wounded side. Her left arm, still white and frosty, pulsed with cold, and the ice needles on her fingers trembled, ready to fly at any moment. She wasn't looking at the breach — she was looking at the Herald, who stood motionless in the center of their arena, not moving, not pursuing. Only waiting.
"Datuk," she called. "We need to…"
She didn't finish. Datuk wasn't listening.
The dust finally settled, and he saw.
Beyond the breach was another arena. Just as round, with the same black floor and high walls. But it was not empty.
There, in that arena, a battle was also taking place.
Datuk recognized them immediately. Rosh stood against the far wall, his back to the stone, his fingers woven into the pattern, trembling. Vectors, dozens of vectors, hovered around him, but they were weak, ragged, and some went out before they could form. Rosh was covered in blood. His clothes had become rags, and through the tears, deep, terrible wounds were visible. But the worst was his face.
Rosh's lower jaw was gone. Where his chin and mouth should have been, a bloody, ragged wound gaped, from which blood flowed, soaking his chest, dripping onto the black stone. He couldn't speak. Couldn't scream. He only looked with his mismatched eyes — one green, one brown — at the white Herald with two swords who stood opposite.
The same Herald. The one they had fled from half a year ago. The one whose swords cut through space.
And beside Rosh, at the edge of the arena, lay Sobra.
Datuk didn't recognize him at first. The bear, his friend, his brother, with whom he had gone through so many battles, lay on his side, his silver-striped fur soaked in blood. Dark, thick blood flowed from the stumps where his hind legs used to be. The Herald had cut them off. Cleanly, neatly, like a butcher dressing a carcass.
Sobra didn't move. His sides barely rose and fell — he was still breathing. But his eyes were closed, and only the faint, barely perceptible flicker of the silver stripes told that life still lingered in his massive body.
"No," Datuk whispered.
He didn't remember getting up. Didn't remember stepping over the rubble. Didn't remember finding himself in that arena, next to Sobra.
Ulvia called to him, but he didn't hear. The Herald with the spear remained behind, but Datuk didn't care. The Herald with the swords turned his head toward him, but Datuk wasn't looking at him. He was looking only at Sobra.
"Sobra," he said, kneeling beside the bear.
His voice was hoarse, alien. He reached out and touched the blood-soaked fur. Sobra didn't stir.
"Sobra," Datuk repeated, louder.
The bear slowly opened his eyes.
Amber, once so bright, so alive, were now clouded, veiled with pain and ebbing life. But he recognized Datuk. He always recognized him.
Sobra made a sound. Not a growl, not a snort — a quiet, guttural whimper that was like a farewell. His heavy, bloodied head lifted for a moment, touched Datuk's shoulder with his nose, then fell limply back to the stone.
And he closed his eyes.
Datuk looked at him, and the world around him ceased to exist. No more Heralds, no labyrinth, no Ulvia, no Rosh. Only he and Sobra remained. His friend. His brother. The one who had gone with him through Krag-Mhor, through the forests, through the white wastes. The one who never spoke but always understood. The one who was there when no one else was.
"Sobra," Datuk whispered a third time, and his voice held nothing but emptiness.
The bear did not answer.
Datuk knelt there, his hands gripping his axe, trembling. Not from fatigue — from the rage building inside him, slowly, inexorably, like lava before an eruption.
Rosh looked at him from across the arena. His mismatched eyes, full of pain and despair, met Datuk's. He wanted to say something, but couldn't — his lower jaw was gone. Only a wheeze, only blood dripping on stone.
Ulvia stood in the breach, her ice arm trembling. She saw Sobra. Saw Rosh. Saw Datuk staring at his dead friend, and something inside her broke.
"Datuk," she called softly.
He didn't answer.
He rose. Slowly, heavily, like a boulder that no one can move. His axe was clenched in his right hand, and the bloodied blade glinted dully in the light.
He turned to the Herald with the swords.
The white figure stood motionless. Two swords were lowered, and its featureless face seemed to look at Datuk with cold, indifferent interest.
Datuk took a step forward.
And the world stopped.