Qaritas ran.
Not walked.
Not slipped away with dignity.
Ran.
The moment the Markings scattered from Yzer's chamber, the entire castle became movement.
Alarms screamed through Yeitshoja.
Chains rattled in the walls.
Blue flames flared higher in their bowls.
Every carved eye in the stone seemed to blink at once.
Qaritas pushed through the chamber doors beneath the silver cloak, unseen but not unfelt. The cloak blurred his presence, made the universe forget where to look, but as he passed the throne room threshold—
he felt it.
A gaze.
Cold.
Precise.
Dissecting.
Yzer.
Qaritas didn't turn.
Because some instincts existed for a reason.
Predators noticed when prey looked back.
He refused.
But every instinct in his body screamed that the Warden's lavender eyes had shifted toward the empty space where he stood.
Inside him, Eon went still.
Keep moving.
Qaritas swallowed.
"He can feel us?"
Not clearly.
"That is not comforting."
It was not meant to be.
Behind them, Yzer's voice rolled through the fortress.
"Release the Varkhünen."
The command did not sound shouted.
It sounded decided.
And somehow that was worse.
The words struck the air like a war bell.
For half a second, Yeitshoja froze.
Then something beneath the castle answered.
A low hum.
Deep.
Resonant.
Mourning.
It rose from below the floors, through the walls, through Qaritas's bones.
The Varkhünen had awakened.
"Oh," Qaritas breathed. "I hate that sound."
You will hate what makes it more.
The castle erupted.
Doors opened.
Guards shouted.
Chains unhooked somewhere below.
From the lower corridors came the crack of handlers' staffs, the clatter of saddles, the sharp metallic clink of bridles and bone-rings being secured across massive bodies.
Then came the clicks.
Sharp.
Hollow.
Like bones tapping inside a cavern.
Click.
Click-click.
Click.
The sound traveled strangely through the halls, impossible to place. Ahead. Behind. Above. Beneath.
Qaritas ran faster.
"Where do we go?"
The Book.
Qaritas nearly stumbled.
"Now?"
Yes, now.
"We are inside a castle full of evil gods and murder dogs!"
Varkhünen.
"I do not care what they're called!"
Eon's voice sharpened.
Book.
Qaritas cursed under his breath and pulled the stitched horror from beneath his cloak while running. The purple eyes along its cover opened one after another, irritated, as if he had interrupted its nap.
"This better be useful."
The Book snapped open.
Pages tore through the air.
Faster.
Faster.
Then stopped.
The same page.
The Third Universe.
The two sentences from before remained.
Return to Vorakhyrn.
Go to the Castle of Yeitshoja.
But below them, new ink bled upward through the parchment.
Two words.
East Tavern.
Qaritas stared.
"That's it?"
The Book gave no answer.
Of course.
Eon spoke immediately.
She is going east.
"To a tavern?"
Possibly.
"Why would a child escaping Yzer run to a tavern?"
Because someone there is helping her.
That made Qaritas's chest tighten.
A child.
They knew she was a child from the Book's image, but seeing that word in his own thoughts made it worse.
The alarm screamed again.
WARD PROPERTY MISSING.
SEARCH PROTOCOLS ACTIVE.
RELEASED UNITS DEPLOYING.
The floor beneath Qaritas trembled.
Then the Chronolock's voice spoke from behind him.
"Route correction required."
Qaritas nearly jumped out of his skin.
He spun.
The massive grandfather clock had appeared in the hallway behind him, somehow squeezing itself into the corridor without breaking the walls. Its black-metal frame gleamed. Its pendulum swung.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Qaritas stared at it.
"You followed us?"
"Incorrect. I arrived where I was needed."
"That is following."
"Your definition is emotionally driven."
"I am going to dismantle future me."
"Attempt recorded. Failure likely."
Eon cut in.
We need speed.
The Chronolock's doors creaked open.
Inside was not the hallway of stars.
Not fully.
Instead, within the clock was a chamber of turning gears, floating pages, and silver paths folding over one another like staircases made from moonlight.
"Enter," the Chronolock said.
Qaritas did.
The inside was larger than the outside.
Naturally.
Because time apparently had no respect for architecture.
He stepped onto a narrow platform as the doors closed behind him. The Book floated free from his hands and drifted toward a pedestal in the center. It slammed itself open to the same page.
East Tavern.
Then the words shifted.
A new line appeared.
RUN.
Qaritas stared.
"Finally. Advice I understand."
The Chronolock spoke.
"Trajectory available. Recommended exit: lower animal yards."
Qaritas frowned.
"Animal yards?"
"Varkhünen holding pens."
"No."
"Correction: yes."
A circular hatch opened beneath the platform.
Qaritas looked down.
Darkness.
Wind.
The smell hit him first.
Hot animal musk.
Mud.
Iron.
Rot.
Dung.
He stepped back.
"No."
Eon's presence moved closer.
Jump.
"No."
Jump.
"Why is everyone obsessed with me throwing myself into horrible places?"
Because it keeps working.
"That is not a philosophy!"
The Chronolock added, "Delay increases probability of child recapture."
That ended the argument.
Qaritas clenched his jaw.
Then jumped.
He fell through silver light.
For one breath, he saw impossible things.
A future version of himself bleeding beside Iezel.
Xheavend older, crowned in shadow and gold.
Goro carrying a child wrapped in torn cloth.
Eon standing between a little girl and something with too many hands.
Then—
Qaritas dropped into filth.
Wet.
Warm.
Unforgivable filth.
He landed shoulder-first in a pile of dung, straw, and mud.
For a long second, he did not move.
Then he lifted his head.
"I hate time."
Above him, the Chronolock's voice echoed faintly.
"Feedback recorded."
Then the hatch vanished.
Qaritas spat mud from his mouth and pushed himself up.
Immediately, something hummed.
Low.
Deep.
Right beside him.
He turned.
And found himself face-to-face with a Varkhünen.
It was enormous.
Nearly eight feet at the shoulder, pale gray-white, its skin cracked like old porcelain. Faint silver light glowed from seams running across its body. Its front half had the heavy power of a predator, but the back half was wrong—too many joints, too much flexibility, like the creature had been designed by someone who understood speed but hated comfort.
Its face had no eyes.
Only smooth plates of flesh.
Its mouth split slightly.
Black teeth curved inward.
Qaritas froze.
The Varkhünen hummed again.
The vibration passed through his ribs.
It did not attack.
It only lowered its eyeless face toward him and sniffed.
Qaritas slowly raised both hands.
"Nice impossible death animal."
The Varkhünen clicked.
Sharp.
Close.
Qaritas whispered, "Eon."
Do not panic.
"I am in a pen full of giant saddle nightmares and covered in shit."
Correct.
"That sounds like a panic situation."
Before Eon could respond, shouting erupted beyond the pen.
"Open the eastern gates!"
"Riders out!"
"Find the pet!"
Qaritas looked past the Varkhünen.
The holding yard stretched around him, enclosed by black fences carved with sigils. Dozens of Varkhünen stood in separate pens or clustered in packs, their pale bodies glowing faintly beneath the red sky. Riders climbed onto their backs, fastening themselves into strange saddles made of dark leather and bone.
No.
Not climbed.
They claimed their positions like ritual.
One rider pressed a gloved hand to the beast's neck, then swung up onto the raised ridge between its shoulders.
Claiming the Crest.
The term came to Qaritas without knowing why.
Maybe Eon knew it.
Maybe future Qaritas did.
Maybe the universe was being annoying again.
A horn sounded.
Long.
Low.
The Varkhünen fell silent.
Every hum stopped.
Every click vanished.
The blade brushed the rider's thigh.
The man's scream never came.
His body simply...
stopped being there.
One moment a rider occupied the saddle.
The next moment the saddle was empty.
No blood.
No remains.
No falling corpse.
Even the air looked confused.
The sudden quiet was worse than the noise.
Then came one sharp crack.
Porcelain breaking beneath pressure.
All at once.
The pack launched.
Riders shot from the yard like pale lightning.
East.
Toward Xheavend.
Qaritas's stomach dropped.
"They're going after her."
Yes.
The Varkhünen in front of him shifted.
Its back was already fitted with a saddle.
No rider.
Qaritas stared at it.
"No."
Eon's voice was immediate.
Yes.
"No."
Mount.
The Varkhünen lowered its head.
Not toward the gate.
Toward him.
The glowing seams along its neck brightened.
A low hum rolled through its chest.
Waiting.
Choosing.
Qaritas pointed at himself.
"You have terrible judgment."
"I do not know how to ride that."
Then learn quickly.
The creature lowered itself slightly.
Not much.
Just enough.
Qaritas stared.
"You're letting me?"
The Varkhünen hummed.
Its seams brightened once.
Eon sounded faintly surprised.
It chose you.
"That is bad judgment."
There is no time.
Qaritas ran forward, grabbed the saddle ridge, and tried to swing himself onto the creature's back.
Tried.
Failed.
His foot slipped.
He slammed sideways across the saddle, stomach-first, one leg dangling off one side, the other hooked awkwardly over the beast's spine.
The Varkhünen stood.
Qaritas grabbed anything he could.
"Wait, wait—"
The creature moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
It lunged forward, smashed through the pen gate, and burst into the street.
Qaritas screamed.
Not heroically.
Not even a little.
The Varkhünen tore through Yeitshoja's outer yard, its claws striking stone in complete silence. Qaritas bounced sideways, clutching the saddle with one hand and the creature's seam-ridge with the other.
"I am not mounted! I am luggage!"
Eon sounded far too calm.
Adjust your weight.
"I am trying not to die!"
Behind them, riders shouted.
"Rogue Varkhünen!"
"Stop it!"
"No rider!"
"There is a rider!"
"I don't see one!"
The silver cloak flickered around Qaritas, hiding him from perception but not from physics. To everyone watching, the Varkhünen looked riderless.
A pale beast gone rogue.
Perfect.
Terrible.
Useful.
The Varkhünen leapt over a chain barrier.
Qaritas lost his grip.
For one horrifying second, he slid under the creature's side.
His body swung beneath its belly, boots scraping sparks across the stone street as it ran.
"Oh, come on!"
He grabbed a strap with both hands.
The Varkhünen kept moving.
The world became blur.
Black stone.
Blue fire.
Red sky.
Gold pillars.
Chains.
Screaming guards.
Qaritas swung beneath the beast like a badly planned ornament.
Eon snapped.
Pull up.
"I am aware!"
Use your left leg.
"My left leg is currently negotiating with death!"
A rider on another Varkhünen came alongside them, spear raised.
The rider could not see Qaritas clearly, but he saw enough distortion beneath the cloak to realize something was wrong.
"There!"
The spear came down.
Qaritas released one hand, twisted, and nearly fell.
Then he remembered the blade.
Rivax's weapon.
The short spear-dagger sat at his side beneath the cloak.
He pulled it free.
Obsidian-black.
Matte.
Unfinished.
The blade edge was not sharp.
It was absent.
The moment Qaritas held it, the air around him hollowed.
The rider thrust.
Qaritas swung upward.
The absent edge touched the spear.
The weapon vanished.
Not broke.
Not split.
Vanished.
The rider stared at his empty hands.
Qaritas stared too.
"What—"
The Varkhünen surged forward.
Qaritas's blade brushed the rider's thigh.
The man vanished from the saddle.
No blood.
No scream.
No body.
Just absence.
His Varkhünen kept running for three strides before slowing, confused, riderless.
Qaritas's stomach dropped.
He had killed before.
He had fought gods.
He had watched horrors die.
But this—
this was different.
There was no mess.
No impact.
No last breath.
Just presence removed from the world.
Eon's voice came low.
Qaritas.
"I didn't—"
You did.
The words hit harder than accusation.
Because Eon wasn't condemning him.
He was telling the truth.
A rider came from the left.
Then another.
Three more joined from a side street.
They were heading east.
All of them.
Toward the escaped child.
Qaritas's grip tightened around the weapon.
His fear became something else.
Focus.
The Varkhünen finally seemed to understand him.
It lunged toward the nearest rider.
Qaritas used the motion, kicked one leg up, twisted his body, and hauled himself onto the saddle properly.
Almost.
He landed backward.
Facing the tail.
"Oh, wonderful."
Turn.
"I know!"
The beast leapt across a broken bridge.
For one wild second, they hung over the city.
Below them, Yeitshoja burned with motion.
Chains glowed.
Guards ran.
Varkhünen packs streamed through streets like pale comets.
Far ahead, beyond the lower walls, Qaritas saw the eastern district.
And there—
a small figure.
Running.
Barefoot.
Tiny against the nightmare city.
Riders closing behind her.
Qaritas's heart stopped.
"She's there."
Eon's presence became ice.
Go.
The Varkhünen landed hard.
Qaritas used the impact to twist around, finally facing forward.
The saddle snapped beneath his weight, locking him in place with bone-like braces around his thighs.
He did not like that.
But he appreciated not falling.
The beast accelerated.
The city became a corridor of speed and danger.
Blue fire streaked past like lines of light.
Chains whipped overhead.
Bridges flashed beneath them.
It felt like racing through a nightmare built from metal, shadow, and red sky.
A rider cut across Qaritas's path.
Qaritas ducked under a hooked blade.
The Varkhünen beneath him veered sideways so sharply the world tilted.
They ran along a wall.
Actually along it.
The beast's multi-jointed limbs gripped stone as if gravity was optional.
Qaritas gritted his teeth, leaned with it, and slashed.
The absent blade passed through the rider's shoulder.
The rider vanished.
His saddle dropped empty.
He stared at it.
"Oh, I hate how useful that is."
Eon said nothing.
That silence was agreement.
Ahead, the child stumbled.
One of the Varkhünen riders gained on her.
The beast under the rider opened its mouth, black teeth visible, but it did not attack yet.
Waiting for command.
The rider raised a hooked chain.
"Pet!"
The word snapped something inside Qaritas.
His Varkhünen surged forward without being told.
Qaritas leaned low.
The hooked chain flew toward the child.
Qaritas threw himself sideways, blade extended.
The chain vanished link by link as the edge touched it.
The rider jerked back, stunned.
Qaritas's Varkhünen slammed into the other beast.
Both creatures crashed through a market stall.
Wood exploded.
Spices burst into the air.
Red dust.
Gold powder.
Black seeds.
The rider hit the ground.
Qaritas landed hard beside him, rolled, came up with the blade in hand.
The rider reached for a horn.
Qaritas moved first.
One touch.
Gone.
He stood there for half a second, breathing hard.
Then heard the hum.
His Varkhünen stood nearby, watching him without eyes.
Beyond it, the child had vanished into the eastern alleys.
More riders came.
Too many.
Qaritas mounted again.
This time he did it properly.
Mostly.
He swung onto the Varkhünen's back, grabbed the ridge, and snapped into the saddle with a grunt.
"East."
The beast hummed.
Then ran.
The chase tore through the lower city.
They passed slave yards, broken fountains, chained statues, and towers full of watching eyes. People dove aside from what they thought was a riderless Varkhünen. Guards shouted. Horns answered from every direction.
Qaritas counted riders.
Six behind.
Four ahead.
Two cutting right.
Three going toward the eastern gate.
Too many.
He had to stop them before they reached her.
Eon's voice came quiet.
Use what you are.
Qaritas knew what he meant.
Nothingness.
Erasure.
Absence.
His fingers tightened around Rivax's blade.
The weapon was not just a weapon.
It was an answer.
Qaritas leaned forward.
The Varkhünen's seams flared silver.
They dove between two wagons, burst onto a main road, and struck the first rider from behind.
Qaritas did not slash wildly.
He touched.
Wrist.
Gone.
Weapon.
Gone.
Saddle strap.
Gone.
The rider flew off and hit the stone.
Qaritas did not finish him.
No time.
His stomach tightened.
But he kept moving.
Because every second he hesitated was a second closer to Xheavend being dragged back to Yzer.
The eastern district opened ahead.
Less royal.
Less guarded.
More chaotic.
Taverns.
Storage houses.
Back alleys.
Old inns built from cracked black stone and painted wood.
A sign swung in the smoky wind.
PANDEMINIUM.
The letters glowed dull green.
Beneath the sign stood a squat building with bright windows, a slanted roof, and a door painted deep red. Compared to the rest of Yeitshoja, it looked impossible.
Warm.
Defiant.
Alive.
A rider pointed toward it.
"She went inside!"
The pack converged.
Qaritas's Varkhünen leapt over a cart and landed between the riders and the tavern.
Every Varkhünen stopped.
Every rider stared at the rogue beast.
Qaritas slid off its back, still hidden beneath the silver cloak.
He stood between them and the door.
His blade warmed in his hand.
The tavern door opened.
A frog-like humanoid stepped out.
He was shorter than Qaritas, round-bodied, green-skinned, with gold-speckled eyes and a wide mouth that looked like it had been built for smiling and threatening people with equal talent. He wore a deep-purple waistcoat over rolled sleeves, rings on nearly every finger, and a crooked hat with a feather that had clearly survived several disasters out of spite.
Behind him stood a tall woman with smooth blue-gray skin, luminous dark eyes, and hair braided with copper charms. She carried a wooden spoon in one hand.
Somehow, the spoon looked more dangerous than half the weapons in the street.
The frog-man folded his arms.
"Well," he said. "That is a lot of ugly on my doorstep."
One rider snarled.
"Stevão."
The frog-man smiled.
"Ah. You remembered. Sweet. Horrifying, but sweet."
The rider pointed toward the tavern.
"Yzer's pet is inside."
Stevão's smile vanished.
"No."
The rider stiffened.
"No?"
Stevão stepped forward.
"This is Pandeminium. My roof. My rules. My guests."
His gold eyes narrowed.
"And that child is a guest."
The riders shifted.
One raised his blade.
"You would defy Lord Yzer?"
Stevão sighed and looked back.
"Xima, love?"
The woman behind him lifted the spoon.
"Yes?"
"Are we defying Lord Yzer tonight?"
Xima looked at the riders.
Then at the tavern.
Then at Stevão.
"Seems rude not to."
Stevão nodded.
"My thoughts exactly."
The rider kicked his Varkhünen forward.
The moment it crossed the tavern's threshold line, the air snapped.
A golden sigil flared beneath the beast.
Then the rider, saddle and all, was launched backward down the street.
He crashed through a stack of barrels.
Stevão smiled again.
"Enchanted property."
As the rider cursed.
Stevão pointed one ringed finger.
"Anyone with ill will toward my customers gets thrown out. That includes murderers, wardens, debt collectors, and my brother-in-law."
Xima added, "Especially your brother-in-law."
"He knows what he did."
The riders did not laugh.
Qaritas almost did.
Almost.
Stevão's gaze shifted.
For one brief second, his gold eyes landed exactly where Qaritas stood beneath the cloak.
Not seeing him.
Not fully.
But knowing someone was there.
Interesting.
Then he looked away.
"As long as I'm breathing," Stevão said, voice suddenly hard, "none of you are touching my guest."
The riders prepared to charge.
Qaritas moved.
The first rider never saw him.
No one did.
Only the absence of him.
A flash of black blade.
A saddle emptied.
A weapon vanished.
A second rider reached for a horn.
Qaritas erased the horn from his hand.
Then the hand.
The man screamed.
Qaritas kicked him from the saddle.
The Varkhünen beneath the fallen rider backed away, confused, humming low.
One of the riders shouted, "The rogue!"
They still thought it was the beast.
Good.
Qaritas used that.
His Varkhünen lunged into the pack, not attacking the other creatures, but forcing them apart. It moved like water through violence, silent and enormous, seams glowing silver.
Qaritas fought from beside it.
Over it.
Under it once, unfortunately.
He ducked beneath one Varkhünen's belly as a rider swung down at him, rolled through mud, came up behind the saddle, and touched the rider's back with the blade.
Gone.
Another tried to run.
Qaritas threw the blade.
Gone.
The remaining riders broke.
Stevão cupped both hands around his mouth.
"Run along!"
Xima waved the spoon.
"And tell your boss his hospitality is trash!"
The last two riders fled east, their Varkhünen carrying them away at terrifying speed.
Qaritas stood in the street, breathing hard.
The blade in his hand felt warm.
Too warm.
The Varkhünen came beside him and lowered its massive head.
Its hum was softer now.
Almost questioning.
Qaritas stared at the place where the riders had vanished.
"I erased them."
Yes, Eon said.
"They were mortal."
Yes.
Qaritas swallowed.
"I didn't know it would do that."
Now you do.
There was no comfort in Eon's voice.
But there was no cruelty either.
Only truth.
Stevão cleared his throat.
"You coming inside, invisible stranger, or are you planning to brood dramatically in the road?"
Qaritas turned.
Stevão looked directly at him.
Qaritas slowly lowered the silver hood.
Stevão blinked.
Then grinned.
"Oh. That explains the smell."
Qaritas looked down at himself.
Mud.
Dung.
Blood.
Ash.
He closed his eyes.
"I landed in a pen."
"Clearly."
Xima stepped aside.
"Come in before more idiots arrive."
Qaritas hesitated.
Inside him, Eon spoke.
She is inside.
That was enough.
Qaritas stepped into Pandeminium.
The moment he crossed the threshold, warmth wrapped around him.
A card game continued near the fireplace.
Nobody looked up.
A woman calmly sipped soup while alarms screamed somewhere outside.
An old traveler snored beneath three blankets.
Near the hearth, a massive Varkhünen slept on its side.
One eye-less face rested on crossed paws.
Its hum blended with the crackling fire.
No one seemed concerned.
Outside, Yzer's empire panicked.
Inside, someone asked for more bread.
Not the hungry heat of The Gilded Maw.
This was hearth-warm.
Bread-warm.
Safe-warm.
The tavern smelled of spiced liquor, roasted vegetables, old wood, fresh linen, and some kind of sharp herbal smoke that made Qaritas's head clear almost instantly.
The room was larger than it looked outside.
Of course it was.
Tables filled the main floor, but none were crowded. Candles floated overhead in glass jars. Shelves behind the bar held bottles in impossible colors—green fire, silver fog, red syrup, blue lightning.
A sign behind the counter read:
PANDEMINIUM.
BED. BREAKFAST. LIQUOR STRONG ENOUGH TO MAKE YOUR ANCESTORS APOLOGIZE.
Qaritas stared.
"I like this place."
Stevão shut the door behind him.
"Most sensible people do."
Xima pointed toward the stairs.
"She's upstairs."
Qaritas's chest tightened.
"Is she hurt?"
Stevão's grin faded.
"Yes."
Eon's presence went cold.
Stevão lifted one hand quickly.
"Alive. Safe for the moment. Terrified. She would not give us her name."
Qaritas looked at him.
"Yzer doesn't know it either."
Stevão's expression hardened.
"Good."
Xima led them upstairs.
Each step creaked softly.
The hallway above was narrow, lined with warm lamps and faded rugs. Qaritas noticed sigils carved into the doorframes. Protection wards. Expulsion wards. Sleep wards. Anti-tracking sigils.
Stevão was not just a tavern owner.
He was a wizard.
A serious one.
Xima stopped before the last room.
"She woke once," she said quietly. "Asked if we worked for him. Then threatened to bite Stevão."
Stevão sighed.
"She did bite me."
"She had good reason."
"I agreed with her at the time."
Qaritas tried to smile.
Failed.
Xima opened the door.
The room was small but clean.
A bed sat near the wall, covered in thick blankets. A basin of pink-tinted water rested on a table. Bandages lay folded nearby. A candle burned low, casting amber light across the room.
And on the bed—
was a child.
Qaritas stopped breathing.
She was smaller than the memory.
Smaller than the fear.
Smaller than the rage Eon carried whenever her name surfaced.
Nine years old.
Nine.
Qaritas had met ascendants and Fragments older than creation.
Somehow that number felt worse.
He had known.
The Book had shown him.
Yzer had said child.
Everyone had said child.
But knowing was nothing like seeing.
She was tiny.
Nine, maybe.
Inside him—
Eon vanished.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Qaritas felt grief hit their shared soul so hard it nearly staggered him.
Nine.
She had only been nine.
Too small for the amount of fear in the room.
She sat curled against the headboard, knees drawn to her chest, one hand gripping a blanket like it was a weapon. Her nightclothes were torn and stained with blood, the fabric pale beneath red smears and strange pink eye-like markings scattered across it.
Her hair was tangled.
Her face was too pale.
Her eyes were open and watching everything.
Not with innocence.
With survival.
The moment Qaritas stepped inside, she flinched.
Hard.
Then her gaze locked onto him.
No.
Not onto him.
Through him.
To Eon.
Her expression changed.
Confusion.
Fear.
Recognition without understanding.
"You," she whispered.
Qaritas froze.
Eon went silent.
The child's fingers tightened around the blanket.
"There are two of you."
Stevão and Xima exchanged a look.
Qaritas slowly lowered himself, not stepping closer.
He crouched so he would not tower over her.
His voice came out softer than he expected.
"Yes."
The child's chin trembled once.
Only once.
Then she forced it still.
"Are you going to take me back to him?"
The room went quiet.
So quiet Qaritas could hear the tavern breathing below.
The child's eyes hardened.
"If you are, I would rather die."
Qaritas felt something inside him crack.
She said it the way someone might say they were cold.
No fear.
No hesitation.
Just certainty.
She had already decided.
Not the shackles.
Something worse.
Something human.
Eon's rage filled their shared body, but it did not explode.
It settled around the child like a wall.
Qaritas shook his head.
"No."
The word came out rough.
He swallowed and tried again.
"No. We are not taking you back."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You lie."
"I do," Qaritas said.
That startled her.
He gave the smallest, saddest smile.
"Sometimes. Often, actually. Usually when time machines are involved. But not about this."
She stared.
Still afraid.
Still ready to run.
Qaritas placed Rivax's blade carefully on the floor beside him, far out of reach.
Then he held up both empty hands.
"My name is Qaritas."
A pause.
"And the one inside me is Eon."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"Q and E," she whispered.
Qaritas went still.
Eon did too.
The girl seemed confused by her own words, as if she had heard them somewhere that had not happened yet.
Qaritas breathed carefully.
"You can call us that."
She looked between him and empty air.
"I don't have a name."
Stevão looked away.
Xima closed her eyes.
Neither of them looked surprised.
The words should have sounded strange.
Instead they sounded practiced.
Rehearsed.
Like she had been told often enough that eventually she had started believing it.
Eon's voice moved through Qaritas's mind.
Yes, you do.
But he did not say it aloud.
Qaritas understood why.
Not yet.
Not when Yzer had reduced her to "pet."
Not when names were dangerous here.
So Qaritas said only:
"Then you don't have to give one."
Her suspicion flickered.
Just a little.
Xima moved quietly to the bedside.
"He fought the riders outside," she told the child. "Stopped them from reaching you."
The girl looked at Qaritas again.
"You killed them."
Qaritas did not lie.
"Yes."
"Why?"
The answer came from Eon.
Because they were going to hurt you.
Qaritas repeated it aloud.
"Because they were going to hurt you."
She stared at him for a long time.
Then asked:
"Are you his enemy?"
Qaritas looked at Eon inside himself.
Felt the old grief.
The future rage.
The love he was only beginning to understand.
Then he looked back at the child.
"Yes."
Her voice dropped.
"Yzer?"
Qaritas nodded.
"Yes."
The girl's eyes filled with something sharp and fragile.
Hope.
She tried to hide it immediately.
But Qaritas saw it.
So did Eon.
The child looked toward the window.
Outside, the alarms still screamed.
The city still hunted.
The Markings still searched.
Yzer still breathed.
But inside Pandeminium, for one impossible moment, the room held.
Warm.
Small.
Defiant.
The girl looked back at him.
"If you're lying," she whispered, "I'll kill you."
Qaritas nodded solemnly.
"That's fair."
Stevão leaned against the doorframe.
"I like her."
Xima elbowed him.
Qaritas almost laughed.
Almost.
Then the Book beneath his cloak stirred.
One purple eye opened.
The pages rustled.
Eon's presence sharpened.
Qaritas looked toward the window.
Far above the eastern district, one of the Markings passed through the sky.
Searching.
The tavern wards hummed.
Stevão's smile vanished.
"They're coming back."
The child went white.
Qaritas stood slowly.
The Varkhünen outside began to hum.
Low.
Protective.
Haunting.
Eon spoke inside him.
We found her.
Qaritas looked at the frightened girl on the bed.
Nine years old.
Covered in blood.
Too brave.
Too broken.
Too alive to let Yzer have her.
His grip tightened around the absent blade.
"Now," Qaritas said softly, "we get her to Goro."
And outside Pandeminium, the first horn sounded.