The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows on their faces. Verd sat nearby in a relaxed pose, staring into the flames. The fire consumed dry branches, turning them into coals that glowed orange and then faded, covered in ash. The warmth was pleasant after the cold day in the wasteland, but he was warmed not so much by the fire as by the fact that someone was sitting beside him.
Arktia sat across from him, tucking one leg under herself, lazily stirring the coals with a long stick. Her face in the firelight seemed softer than during the day. The rigid mask of the mentor was gone. The cold detachment that usually showed in her eyes was gone. Only a woman sitting by the fire remained.
Verd caught himself looking at her more often than necessary. At how the fire gilded her hair, making it warmer. At how shadows played across her face, hiding and revealing features. He looked away, stared back into the fire, then at her again.
-Master, - he said quietly.
-M? - she didn't look up, continuing to stir the coals.
-How much farther to this... dome of yours?
She looked up, and the flames reflected in her eyes.
-About five weeks, if we don't delay. Maybe six.
-That long? - Verd frowned. - We walk fast. We get up in the morning, walk until evening, rest only at night. I thought we were close.
She chuckled, short and without mockery.
-The wasteland is only the beginning, - Arktia stuck the branch into the ground, and it stood there, slightly smoking. - Next is the Whispering Forest. Then the Rift Ridges. Each crossing will take time. Especially if you'll be learning to fight along the way.
-Learn? - he winced. - I learn every day anyway. Just today I took down twenty-three larvae.
-Larvae are unranked monsters, - she raised a finger, and in the firelight it seemed almost transparent. - In the Whispering Forest, there are second-rank creatures. Sometimes even third-rank.
He fell silent, imagining the monsters. Larvae, unranked creatures. Twenty-three of them, and he barely survived. And there were monsters several times stronger. One of them could crush him without even noticing.
-How long will we be there? - he asked.
-A week. Maybe two. Depends on how quickly you develop. And how well you resist illusions.
-Illusions?
-The forest reads your thoughts, - Arktia said calmly. - Your fears. Your memories. It will show you what you're most afraid of. Or what you want to see. It will try with all its might to consume you.
Verd swallowed. Memories. Fears. He didn't want anyone digging through his head. Didn't want the forest dragging to light what he kept hidden deep inside.
-And then? - he asked, pushing the thoughts away. - The Ridges?
-Mountains. Volcanoes. Lava fields, - Arktia spoke casually, as if describing a walk in the park. - There are third and fourth-rank monsters there. But we'll take the safe paths. If we're lucky, we won't meet anyone.
-And if we're not lucky?
-Then we'll run.
She said it so calmly that Verd didn't immediately realize she wasn't joking. He looked at her, at her face lit by the fire, and tried to imagine what she felt. Walking through wastelands, forests, mountains, and talking about it as if it were an ordinary thing.
-Master, - he asked after a long silence. - Do you... are you afraid?
She looked at him. Something flickered in her eyes. Maybe surprise, maybe something else.
-Of what?
-Of all this.
She was silent for a long time, adjusting the coals with her stick. The branch in her hand had burned halfway, and ash fell at her feet, but she didn't pay attention. Then she answered:
-I used to be afraid, - she said quietly. - Every day.
She raised her hand, turning her palm to the light. Verd saw old scars. White lines crossing her fingers, her palm, her wrist. Some were thin as cobwebs, others deep, as if someone had tried to cut off her hand and failed.
-Every scar, - she said, - is a fear I overcame. Or one that overcame me, but I survived.
When she turned away to throw more wood on the fire, Verd noticed that the skin on the left side of her face was too smooth. As if it were made of marble itself.
-About the scars... - he mumbled. - Is there a scar on your face too?
Arktia flinched, and that was enough for her to drop the branch she had just picked up.
-Don't talk nonsense, - she answered more sharply than she intended. - Would I have stayed this beautiful if I had scars on my face?
-Ah, right, - Verd agreed hastily, feeling he had touched something important. - Then can you tell me more about fear?
-When you're afraid, you're alive, - she said, and her voice became even again. - Your body becomes faster. Your senses sharper. You notice what you don't see in calmness. You hear the monster's breath three steps before it leaps. You feel the air shift before the strike.
She spoke slowly, and every word cut into his consciousness, as if carved in stone.
-But there's one 'but,' - she raised a finger. - If fear controls you, you're dead. If you freeze when your knees shake. If you close your eyes when the blade flies. If you wait for someone else to kill your enemy. Then fear is your master. And you're no longer alive. You're just waiting for death.
Verd stared at her without looking away. The fire crackled, the coals hissed, but he heard only her voice.
-And if I stop being afraid? - he asked. - If I become so strong that no monster scares me?
She smirked. Short. Without mockery.
-Don't talk nonsense.
-Why?
She leaned closer.
-Because you can't be that strong, - she said. - When you stop being afraid, you stop tensing up. You stop noticing danger. You start taking hits because you think they won't hurt you. You start taking risks where no risk is needed. - She leaned back, and her face was again hidden in shadow. - I've seen such people. Strong. Proud. Who thought fear was for the weak. They died first. Not because the enemy was stronger. But because they considered themselves above it.
She raised her hand again, and Verd saw how the old scars glistened in the firelight.
-I was afraid every day, - she said. - Afraid when I went into my first battle. Afraid when I killed my first monster. Afraid when I lost those dear to me. I'm afraid now. - She looked him in the eyes. - And that keeps me alive.
Verd was silent. The words cut into him like spear thrusts.
-So... - he began and stopped, then gathered his strength. - So it's normal to be afraid?
-Normal, - Arktia nodded. - It's normal to be afraid. It's normal to run to survive. It's stupid not to admit your fear to yourself. But to be afraid... - she smiled slightly. - To be afraid is to be alive.
She took a new branch, stuck it in the fire, waited for it to catch. Then she pulled it out and looked at the flame.
-Remember this, Verd, - she said. - When you stop being afraid, you start dying. Fear is not an enemy. It's your first guardian. Your knees are shaking - that means you're alive. Your heart is pounding - that means you're alive. You grip your weapon until your fingers turn white - that means you're alive. And as long as you're alive, you can fight.
She tossed the branch across the fire into his hands.
-I'll remember.
-Remember, - she repeated. - And when the time comes, remember.
Arktia stretched contentedly and lay down on the cold ground.
-Sleep, - she said. - Early start tomorrow.
-And you?
-I don't sleep. I'll watch the fire and the sky.
Verd lay down, putting his arm under his head. The ground was hard, but he was used to it. He looked at her through the fire. She lay motionless, staring at the dark sky. Her words still echoed in his head.
'When you stop being afraid, you start dying.'
He closed his eyes and felt his heart beating steadily. Calmly. He wasn't afraid. No, right now - he wasn't afraid. But he knew that tomorrow, when the sun rose, fear would return. It would return with every new monster. With every new step. With every new strike.
***
The sun was just beginning to rise when Arktia woke him with a light kick. The sky in the east was brightening, shifting from dark blue to pale pink. The air was cold, but not biting. That special cold of the wasteland that seeps to the bones but doesn't harm. Somewhere in the distance a bird cried out, and that sound seemed unreal after days spent in silence.
-Get up. There's something to do.
Verd sat up, rubbing his eyes. His legs were numb from the night, his back ached from the hard ground. He stretched, cracking his neck, and looked at her.
She stood over him, and in her hands was the ring. The same magical one from which she took things. Her finger touched the smooth metal, and the air in front of her trembled. With a soft chime, like a drop falling into water, the first spear appeared from the ring.
It was short, barely longer than an elbow. A wide blade, resembling an axe head, mounted on a thick shaft wrapped in rough leather. The metal was dull, gray, without shine. Arktia turned it in her hand, checking the balance, and handed it to Verd.
-Here.
He took it. The shaft was rough but sat comfortably in his palm. The weight was unusual after the sword, but not too heavy. He made a few thrusts, and the spear obeyed his hand. The blade cut the air with a soft whistle.
-Halberd-spear, - Arktia said. - First rank. Steel tempered with spiritual energy. Good for chopping strikes, the wide blade forgives mistakes. But thrusting strikes are weaker. The blade is thick, enters flesh with difficulty.
Verd looked at the blade. Indeed, wide, massive. Good for swinging, but to thrust you needed to put in force.
She touched the ring again. The second spear appeared from the air as silently as the first. It was longer, with a narrow, needle-like blade polished to a mirror shine. The shaft was thinner, lighter, with barely noticeable engraving winding along its entire length. Arktia handed him the second one.
Verd put down the first spear and took the second. The weight was almost weightless compared to the first. He made a thrust, and the blade shot forward faster than he expected. The spear almost flew out of his hand.
-Careful, - Arktia said. - Second rank. Steel with added essence, tempered in monster blood. Light, sharp, ideal for thrusting attacks. But you can't make a chopping strike with it. The blade is too narrow and the shaft is thin. It'll break easily. And the balance takes getting used to.
Verd tried again. Slower. The blade obeyed, but his arm quickly tired from the unusual weight shifted forward.
-Third, - Arktia said and touched the ring for the third time.
It didn't appear with a soft chime like the previous ones. The air trembled heavily, as if the ring didn't want to give up what it held. The spear was almost black, with a blade resembling a claw, and thin engravings that wound along the shaft like veins.
-Looks better than the previous ones, - Verd couldn't hide his surprise.
Arktia took it with noticeable caution. Her fingers rested on the shaft gently, almost lovingly. The spear trembled in her hand. Or so it seemed to him?
-This is not for you, - she said without looking at him. - Third rank. Devourer bone, tempered in lava. Such a weapon feels its owner. It remembers my scent, my blood. It will kill anyone who tries to take it without my permission.
She extended her hand, and the spear trembled again. Verd reached for it - and pulled his hand back. The blade glinted, and it seemed to him that it was looking at him. Assessing. Cold, alien, alive.
-Devourer bone, - she said. - Third rank. Tempered in lava, saturated with monster blood. Such a weapon feels its owner. It remembers my skin, my grip. It will kill anyone who tries to take it without my permission.
She gripped the shaft, and the spear froze as if listening.
-What if I try? - Verd asked.Arktia looked at him with slight surprise.
-It might reject you.
-Or it might accept me, - he answered instantly. - Of course, if you order it to.
She was silent for a long time. Then she extended her hand, unclenching her fingers. The spear hung in the air for a second, as if it didn't want to leave her palm. Then slowly, reluctantly, it lowered.
-Take it, - she said. - But if you feel it's not yours, just let go. Don't try to overpower it. Understood?
Verd nodded, reaching out his hand. His fingers touched the shaft, and at the moment of contact, the world collapsed.