The new day had promised to be a faithful representation of the arduous start of the week, and it didn't fail. The streets of Entrana were crowded with people, moving transport, and the rusty wheels of commerce slowly beginning to turn. All while high above, the skies were dense with gray clouds that stretched to the horizon.

Tristessa and Auron were on the outskirts of the city, spared from the urban chaos by having departed from the city before the crack of dawn. Beyond the refugee camp, on the banks of the Maturín River, they sat on the fractured remains of a boulder eroded by the passage of time and floods. Around it, they had set up a small camp with the objects Auron had taken from his dimensional pocket: a small grill, a cauldron and brass cups, flasks of water, a pocketknife, and a telescope.

"Ugh, how cold…" Tristessa sighed, crouching down by the fire they had built on the shore of pebbles and black sand, using modest pieces of firewood they had brought with them. Above the fire and the grill, the contents of the cauldron were beginning to bubble and steam, giving off a delicious smell of vegetable soup. "Bad day to be out surveying the plains, huh?"

"It could be raining, lady," Auron replied, arms crossed and leaning against that large, uneven mass of stone partially sunk in the sand. "And for the record, I don't have an umbrella in my dimensional pocket."

"You have your hat. May I borrow…?"

"Nope."

The wind blew with indiscriminate force there, so close to the river, forcing Tristessa to tie up her hair and pour herself a mugful of that steaming soup. The first sip burned her tongue and pharynx; tears sprang from her eyes with furious offense, a necessary sacrifice to counteract that icy southern draft.

"So... Are you sure your new friend won't show up in the middle of the night and slit our throats in two while we sleep?" the gunslinger asked, refusing the cup Tristessa offered him.

Not because he didn't want to warm his body, but to avoid giving Tristessa the chance to see what he was hiding beneath the handkerchief.

"She won't, as long as you three are discreet and don't go around telling people there's a living shadow having nighttime love affairs."

Her face reddened as her words left her own mouth. She had told them about the night she spent with Stormcrow—or, rather, Vektra. They had sat on the couch, cuddling for so many hours that Tristessa could still feel the shape of her hand on her waist and back, and it was hard to forget the stiffness of her mask or how firm and athletic her torso and thighs were.

The anxiety and emptiness in her stomach were so great that she never had the slightest intention of falling asleep in that assassin's arms. That scenario sounded wrong, felt wrong, and imagining it was simply terrifying. It took her insomnia to a whole new level.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't want to squander your achievement by gossiping around. Besides, I doubt anyone would believe me... What you accomplished is so absurd, unprecedented." Tristessa could see the excitement in the gunslinger's eyes. Hope, faith, and a smile obscured by his handkerchief. "You're incredible, lady."

"Come on, you're exaggerating..." she said with a low voice, shaking her head and pursing her lips. "We haven't even made a contract yet. You know, so you three could formalize our business relationship."

"Right, that's pending. For when the situation is a little calmer, right?"

"Yes, that's for the best… Hey, Auron?" At Tristessa's call, the gunslinger waited patiently, inviting her to continue with his fierce, shrewd gaze. "Did you tell Astoria about…? You know…"

"Oh… Yes, of course, I confessed that I was forced to kiss her. She didn't seem to mind, I think… She doesn't remember anything about that." Auron shifted on that spot against the rock, uncomfortable and certainly embarrassed with himself. Unaware that Tristessa possessed some knowledge about that Melinda woman and how committed he was to her. "You know why Astoria was cursed like that, don't you? But you can't say it."

In silent agreement, Tristessa nodded. To avoid feeling the pressure of Auron's gaze, she decided to take in the scenery around her. The low-lying grasslands surround the fields, the houses with farmland further south, followed by the Feydra Forest.

"It's all so beautiful and peaceful. I find it hard to believe that just a few days ago this whole place was… Worse than horrible. Filled with vines made of blood, wandering Fallen everywhere…"

"I've been lucky enough to never find myself in unsafe areas whenever the Dark Lady decides to bless us with her fantasies," he explained. "Always an Evil-Warding Pillar to watch my back, without exception."

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He left the crag to grab his telescope and, along with Tristessa, began to look at the more remote areas of the savannah. Waiting, expecting to be the first ones in greeting the caravan of Madame Luchie if they reached Entrana sooner than the agreed time.

"There are so many who have had the same misfortune as you and found themselves staring at the Evil Dream right in front of them, lady," Auron continued to explain. "That you've survived, even if the threats aren't as brutal in this region of the world, is a great achievement. Not many can boast of it."

"You're not telling me I'm the stuff of an Abysswalker, are you, Auron?" she asked, laughing, remembering the explanation for that profession as risky as it was promising.

"I don't know. The truth is, you never cease to amaze me, my dear Stranger. Don't forget old Auron if an [abyss gem] makes its way to your bag…" Suddenly, the gunslinger was speechless. His gaze widened, pointing in the direction of the forest. More specifically, the Meridion Highway. "Lady."

"What is it?"

"I see a rider mounted on a black aracross, traveling along the highway. He's unconscious on top of the beast, and… He's wearing armor and a cloak. I can't make out the symbol, but he must be a mercenary."

"What?!"

Tristessa snatched the telescope from his hands and looked for herself: indeed, the man riding the aracross who was trotting had fainted; head down, his right hand barely gripping the reins of the leather straps wrapped around the beast's legs, back, and head. She couldn't see the symbol on the cloak, but the armor was very similar to that of certain mercenaries... Enough to make whatever calm Tristessa had accumulated in those quiet morning hours go to hell.

"COME ON, AURON!"

Tristessa didn't even wait for Auron to put out the fire with the sand from the shore. She ran almost as fast as she had when she saw the Mercer-Archeos house burning to ashes in that nonexistent past. Different contexts, but terrifyingly similar in essence. About what the presence of that badly wounded mercenary could mean, if it was someone from the Fireclaw Company.

"Shit, shit, shit!" she screamed in broken gasps, her lungs burning like her legs, as she crossed the low grasslands of the plain. She reached the Meridion Highway and went straight towars that black dot in the distance, heading to intercept it. "Please don't be…!"

But as the distances shortened, Tristessa became more and more convinced that her worst fears were destined to come true. The aracross could easily be a brother of Vergil; the metal plates on the mercenary's arms and legs were shattered or melted from interacting with extreme heat. His blond hair was tangled, and no weapon was in sight. And the black cloak bore that red symbol she knew, leaving no doubt about its meaning.

"IT'S BRAN!" With that piercing scream, Tristessa stopped and reached out with both hands to stop the aracross. The beast roared, saliva dripping from its dozens of sharp teeth and red eyes glowing with fury. Ready to defend his rider from that girl and the man who arrived behind her. "WAIT! DON'T YOU RECOGNIZE ME?! YOU CAN SMELL VERGIL ON MY HANDS, ON MY CLOTHES!"

"That's not a good idea, lady…!" Auron warned her, with drawn revolvers and looking in all directions, as if waiting for a trap about to fall upon them.

Tristessa ignored the gunslinger and took several steps forward, slowly, but her patience hanging by a thread; dividing her attention between those dangerous teeth her hands were approaching, and the blond man who miraculously hadn't fallen off the side yet.

The aracross brought his snout closer and sniffed several times. From the snort and the way his paws relaxed, Tristessa assumed he had recognized the familiarity in her, either from her presence at the Derelict Outpost days before or from smelling the scent of another aracross with whom the beast had shared the same transport group.

The reason didn't matter in the end: only permission for her to go to the mercenary's side and check his condition.

"Oh, please, fuck!"

Now that she could see Bran from the side, she realized that the entire back of his head, limbs, and back were severely burned. Charred skin and damaged tissue, exposed in various shades, with areas blackened and gangrenous. He barely retained some of hair and scalp, emanating a smell so nauseating it competed with the stench of necrosis coming from his back.

"Blessed Nahalith... This is terrible," Auron commented, out of breath, as he went to the other side and saw the exact same critical condition as Tristessa, who had covered her mouth to avoid puking, her eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. "This man is at death's door! We must escort him to the city, right now!"

"Can't you do something?! First aid?!"

"If only I knew thaumaturgy, but I'm just a failed gunslinger! I don't know how to treat burns this severe!"

Entrana was a little far away, with no carriage or wagon in sight to ask for help, and time waited for no one. They had no other choice: Auron patted the aracross horse several times on the side of its back and, together with Tristessa, they led the way along the highway.

"Quickly! Don't fall behind!"

"Only if you don't, Auron!"

As she trotted alongside her companion, Tristessa was looking at the mercenary's chest inflating with air and exhaling it with severe tremors from down to up. Strong reactions but faint gasps, from someone fighting not to die. Fighting not to take to the grave the reasons for those burns and the fate that befell his companions, Madame Luchie and the Mercer-Archeos.

They didn't have to waste another second if they wanted to save Bran's life.

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