Dylan's sleep was a heavy, dreamless void—a well from which his body drew the frantic energy needed to rebuild what he had sacrificed. When he emerged a few hours later, the sharp pain had faded to a dull ache, a bodily memory of Tonar's agony. The deathly pallor had given way to his usual complexion, and his hands no longer trembled.

Elisa sat beside him, motionless, watching over him like a sentinel. She handed him a bowl of warm broth and a slice of hard bread.

"Eat," she ordered simply.

He obeyed without protest. Each bite was an effort, but he felt strength slowly returning. The tent was silent, lulled by the muffled sounds of the camp preparing for the night.

"Zirel came by," Elisa informed him as he finished his meal. "He gathered the equipment. Ropes, grappling hooks, daggers, dark cloaks. Standard healing potions. Nothing that would draw attention. He seems… different."

Dylan nodded, wiping his bowl with the last piece of bread. "He saw something he can't explain. It makes people cautious. Or suspicious."

"And you?" she asked, her gaze piercing. "Are you fit?"

He stood up and stretched. His muscles protested, but they responded. "I will be. I have no choice."

They left the tent. Night had fallen, a moonless night, perfect for shadows. Zirel and Julius were waiting for them near the stables, two figures laden with bags and weapons. Zirel avoided meeting Dylan's eyes, simply handing him a bundle wrapped in dark cloth.

"Clothes. The ones you're wearing reek of death and prison."

Dylan nodded and changed quickly behind a wagon. The new clothes were soft, silent, designed for movement and discretion.

Julius approached as he fastened his belt. The giant seemed as impassive as ever, but his eyes scanned their surroundings with heightened intensity.

"You chose to come back, kid. Now own it. No madness. No personal vengeance. Not until this Maggie is safe."

"I know where the priority lies, Master," replied Dylan, adjusting the dagger at his belt. "But I didn't say I was giving up on my questions. Just that I'll wait for the right moment."

Julius grunted, a sound that could mean approval or exasperation. It was often hard to tell with him.

Zirel joined them, his face hardened with determination. "The route is simple. We skirt the Karthak plain to the east, through the rocky foothills. Fewer patrols, but the terrain is treacherous. Dylan, you take the lead with me. You know the landmarks. Elisa, in the center. Julius, you take the rear."

The plan was set. No inspiring speeches, no promises of glory. Just clear instructions for a suicide mission.

They left the camp through a discreet exit, a passage between the rocks known only to the scouts. The night air was cool, laden with the scent of damp earth and pine. Behind them, the camp's lights resembled dying fireflies.

Dylan walked beside Zirel, his senses alert, listening to every crackle, every rustle in the darkness. The forest surrounding them wasn't the one from the black structure, but it was just as hostile, populated by more conventional dangers.

Each step brought him closer to Pilaf's camp. To Maggie. And to Alka.

He felt a hand brush against his. Elisa. A fleeting touch, a silent reminder that he wasn't alone. He didn't turn around, but briefly squeezed her fingers in return.

The night swallowed them, and with it, uncertainty and danger. The mission had begun. The price of blood—he would have to pay it once again. But this time, it wasn't just his life at stake. It was the lives of those who mattered to him. And perhaps, secretly, the hope of finding an answer to the betrayal that gnawed at him.

The wind rose, carrying the metallic scent of a distant storm. The sky, black and mute, seemed to hang above them like a slumbering beast. The march became long, almost ritualistic, each step echoing in the damp silence of the undergrowth.

Zirel advanced without a word, his eyes piercing the gloom with an almost supernatural acuity. Elisa, behind him, kept pace with apparent ease, but her senses were constantly alert—every crackle, every bird's flight made her stiffen, ready to unleash her psychokinesis at the slightest sign of threat. Julius, at the rear, closed the march with a heavy but discreet step, his sword occasionally tapping against his thigh with a muffled clink.

As for Dylan, he could still feel beneath his skin the echoes of the power he had used. His essence flow circulated slowly, exhausted, like a river after a storm. The slightest effort cost him, and yet he kept his head high. He didn't have the luxury of weakness—not tonight.

"How long until we reach the watch line?" he asked in a low voice.

Zirel replied without turning. "Three hours, if the terrain doesn't betray us. After that, we'll have to crawl. Pilaf's sentinels have eyes in the rocks."

Dylan nodded. Three hours was nothing. Three hours to endure, to silence this heaviness in his legs, this dull burn behind his eyes.

A distant cry cut through the night—brief, guttural, followed by a strange echo. Elisa froze immediately, raising her hand to stop the group. Zirel crouched, his gaze scanning the treeline to the left.

"That's not human," Julius murmured.

The cry repeated, closer this time. A shiver ran through Dylan. He recognized that hoarse timbre, that vibration in the air—a beast awakened, likely hungry from the scents of flesh and fear.

"A night hunt? At this hour?" Elisa whispered, her hand already raised, ready to manipulate the invisible forces around her.

Zirel signaled for them to retreat slowly. "They never hunt alone. If you hear one, there are three. Maybe four."

Dylan clenched his fists. In a normal state, he would have faced such a creature without hesitation. But now? His essence reserve was a dying ember, and he already felt fatigue gnawing at him with every heartbeat.

Silence suddenly fell. Too suddenly.

"They're encircling us," Julius breathed.

At that moment, the shadows began to move. Silhouettes emerged slowly from the thickets—massive, hunched, with yellow eyes glowing like embers. Their claws gleamed faintly in the diffuse cloud-light. Beasts of the second rank, perhaps a third-tier leader.

Zirel drew his short blade. "No noise."

Elisa took a deep breath, her eyes lighting up with a bluish glow. The air around her vibrated. A stone at her feet lifted a centimeter, trembling under the invisible tension.

Dylan, for a moment, remained still. His stigmata, still weak, tingled along his left arm. He knew he didn't have enough energy for a prolonged fight, but if he didn't act, they would all be torn apart.

He slowly drew his dagger and, without even thinking, drove the blade into his own palm. Blood flowed, thick and black under the wan light. Energy ignited immediately, his stigmata reacting to the pain like a summons.

"Dylan!" Elisa whispered, but he wasn't listening anymore.

The flow returned in a rush. A burning, brutal wave, but invigorating. He straightened up, breath short. The beasts, sensing this essence, growled, hesitating between fear and hunger.

"Stay behind me," he said simply.

And when the first creature leaped, he moved.

A white flash shot through the night—his left arm tracing a luminous line that smoothly slit the beast's throat. Blood spurted in a dark arc, splattering the stones. The next two rushed him, but Elisa reacted instantly: the air around them twisted, an invisible wave hurling them against a tree trunk with a dry crack.

Julius surged from behind, his sword falling with surgical precision. A head rolled on the ground.

Then everything fell silent again. The woods, momentarily enraged, returned to their muteness.

Dylan remained still for a moment, panting, his gaze fixed on the body of the beast he had just slain. His stigmata still pulsed faintly. The energy was already leaving him.

Zirel broke the silence. "Clean execution. But you can't handle two fights like that, not in your state."

Dylan offered a pale smile. "Then we'll make sure there's only one."

Elisa approached, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her gaze this time was neither worried nor mocking. Just grave.

"If you keep burning your essence like this, there'll be nothing left. You'll burn out."

He turned his head toward her, a glint of weary amusement in his eyes.

"And you, are you going to stop me?"

She hesitated, then breathed:

"No. Just accompany you to the end."

A silence. Then Julius, in a rough voice:

"Then hurry up and walk, lovebirds. The dead won't wait for us."

They resumed their journey, taking the anima gems and leaving behind only the steaming corpses.

The Karthak plain awaited them—and beyond, the walls of Pilaf's camp, from which no one returned.

And in Dylan's heart, a fire was rekindling. Not the fire of vengeance, nor even of faith.

An older, more dangerous fire.

The fire of instinct.

The wind had stilled. The smell of blood, heavy and metallic, clung to their clothes, to their skin. The silence that followed was almost too pure, as if the forest itself were holding its breath after the burst of violence.

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