In the silence of the night at the barracks, Elector was alone. He stared at some papers on the table, absorbed. It was the current personnel list: an empty list.
Everyone had left.
The barracks only had piles of weapons on the kitchen tables because there was nowhere else to put them. Tears almost fell from his eyes. He let his arms drop heavily onto the wood; his scalp found relief, for without realizing it he had been pulling his hair with both hands.
A cold draft made the only lit candle flicker. His mind wandered to times past. He remembered when he graduated from the military academy, how hard he had worked, how much of his youth he had sacrificed. He remembered the gallant day when he and his comrades rode down the main avenue toward the palace to receive the blessing of the bishop and the king. The celebration was grand. He felt powerful.
Now he only felt the constant throbbing of the veins in his temples.
*Where did everyone go?* he asked himself, running his stiff knuckles along the edge of the table. *Was it all an illusion? Should I abandon this and leave with the rebel nobles at the palace? Go home like everyone else, hoping the new council won't be tyrants?*
The king had fled and left no orders behind.
He exhaled the air held in his chest. Unable to decide, Elector took his coat from the back of the chair, settled it over his shoulders, and went out to walk the dark streets. From the windows, faint lights from the few candles that dared to stay lit could be seen.
The crunch of boots on gravel broke the calm as he turned a corner. A guard patrolled the sidewalk, holding a halberd high. He bore the tower's seal on his chest.
"Hey, you!" the man shouted, pointing his weapon into the gloom. He took two steps forward, but upon recognizing the insignia beneath the coat, his posture changed abruptly. "Lord Elector... what are you doing here? The curfew started hours ago."
Elector stopped short. He looked at him with great discouragement before speaking.
"Did you switch sides that quickly?"
The guard lowered the tip of his weapon until it rested on the ground. Somewhat ashamed, he looked away.
"It's not that I wanted to, but it's necessary. The king already had us against the ropes with his failed plans. He's no longer here."
The soldier swallowed, seeking support in his own words.
"The army surrendered to the dwarves and will be coming home. Finally! I'll finally see my brother. Doesn't that make you happy, sir?"
Those words struck him hard. Elector stood motionless for a second.
*Was all of this really a good thing?* he thought. *Was I being selfish?*
He advanced half a step toward the guard.
"Is this right?"
The man blinked, visibly surprised. He hadn't expected a doubt from someone who used to give the orders.
"I always thought you would know everything, sir... but yes, I believe this is right."
Elector's eyes went dead. He looked straight ahead, dodged the soldier, and walked away in silence. The guard, though confused, merely leaned on his spear, understanding that perhaps for someone of his position it would be difficult to accept the new order.
Elector continued toward his home with his hands in his pockets, hoping to quiet his tormented mind.
*Was it all in vain? What happened to the Edyth demon? Will they pretend she never existed just for their promotions? It's ridiculous. Irresponsible. The bishops fled with the king—they're guilty too!*
Upon reaching the central square, he stopped in front of the stone facade of the temple. He looked at it with contained fury.
In an instant, a chill ran down his spine and his face turned pale. The sensation from the painting in the Ashworth house returned abruptly. Again that suffocating weight in the air.
He raised his gaze to the heights.
On the temple's bell tower, a long white mane waved against the wind. A battered dress hung from the stone edge, and a brilliant, red gaze stood out in the darkness.
Elector stepped back half a pace, disconcerted.
The barracks report said something else: they spoke of a young woman with lavender hair and eyes. This figure did not resemble that description. However, no human would be perched on the ledge of a bell tower at midnight, motionless, watching the deserted city. The air around her felt identical to that of Notrot. Pushed more by his own desperation than by logic, he convinced himself that it had to be her. There was no one else.
*Is it her? Like this? So calm?*
By instinct, his hand sought the hilt of his sword. He was about to turn and call out to the tower guard, but he held the air in his throat. He clenched his teeth.
*What for? Why help them? I'm the only one who cares. Even the inquisitors vanished.*
He squeezed the hilt until the leather creaked under his fingers. Then he loosened his hand. He no longer wanted to fight. He only wanted peace. He wanted answers. He wanted to know if at least she was real.