Date: April 26, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The white valley was behind them, but its ghost still pursued them — in every glint of white sand, in every breath of wind, in every heartbeat that refused to calm. Sobra ran, his heavy, bleeding body moving with the stubbornness of a hunted beast that knew: if he stopped, he would die. Ulviya sat on his back, clinging to his thick fur, and felt her strength leave her with each passing moment. Datuk and Rosh lay beside her — unconscious, but alive. For now, alive.
Time lost meaning. Perhaps ten minutes had passed. Perhaps an hour. Ulviya didn't know. She only stared at the horizon, where white emptiness gave way to gray cliffs, and hoped that there, among those cliffs, they would find shelter.
Sobra slowed. His breathing became hoarse, ragged, and Ulviya felt his muscles tremble beneath her hands. He was at his limit. A little more, and he would collapse.
"Hold on," she whispered, though she knew the bear couldn't hear her. "A little more. We're almost..."
She didn't finish. Ahead, among the gray cliffs, she saw a dark opening. A cave. Small, barely noticeable, but deep enough to hide from the white light and from whatever might be pursuing them.
"There," she said, pointing. "Sobra, there."
The bear, without hesitation, veered toward the cliffs. His paws slipped on the crumbling stone, but he walked on, digging his claws into the rock, covering the final meters. Ulviya felt his strength ebbing, each movement costing him dearly.
They reached the entrance. The cave was shallow but wide — enough for all four of them to fit. Sobra stepped inside, and at that moment, his legs gave way. He collapsed onto the stone floor, and Ulviya, losing her balance, slid off his back, clutching Datuk and Rosh to her.
The bear did not move. His eyes were closed, and only his faint, barely perceptible breathing showed he was alive. His fur, silver-striped, was soaked with blood — old and fresh, his own and others'. Deep cuts on his sides, on his paws, on his muzzle still bled, and each breath came with difficulty.
Ulviya crawled to him, touched his muzzle. The fur was hot, and beneath it, deep within, life pulsed. Faint, almost extinguished, but still flickering.
"Hold on," she whispered. "You're strong. You'll make it."
Sobra did not answer. He was unconscious.
---
Ulviya looked around. The cave was dark, but her eyes adjusted quickly. Walls of gray, rough stone rose upward, meeting in an uneven vault. The floor was covered in small stone chips, and the air smelled of dampness and cold. Here, in this silence, the white world seemed distant, almost unreal. Only the wounds on her body reminded her that it had all been real.
She shifted her gaze to Datuk. The dwarf lay on his back, and his chest, from left thigh to right shoulder, was split by a deep, terrible wound. Blood no longer flowed as heavily as before, but the edges of the wound were ragged, dark, and deep within, if she looked closely, she could see his ribs. His breathing was shallow, ragged, and his face, pale as the white sand, seemed almost dead.
"He won't survive if I do nothing," Ulviya thought, and her trembling, tired hands reached for the bundle on her back.
She took out the vials Bagurai had given her before she left. Small, clay, with tight stoppers, they were labeled in her own handwriting — the names of the herbs she had studied for months. "Healing root." "Hemostatic ointment." "Sleeping herb" — not for healing, for pain relief.
She opened the first vial. It smelled of bitterness and earth. She poured the contents into her palm — a thick, dark ointment — and began rubbing it into the edges of Datuk's wound. The dwarf did not stir. Did not even groan. Only his breathing grew slightly deeper, slightly steadier.
"Hold on," she repeated, though she knew he couldn't hear her. "Hold on, please."
She worked quickly but carefully. First the hemostatic ointment, to stop what was still seeping. Then the healing root, to help the wound begin to close. Then the sleeping herb, to ease the pain. Her fingers, smeared in dark ointment, moved over the torn flesh, and she felt her strength leave her with each movement.
When the wound was treated, she took clean bandages — the very ones Mila had put in her bundle "just in case." She wrapped Datuk's chest tightly, but not too tightly, to avoid cutting off circulation. The bandages quickly soaked through with blood, but it was better than nothing.
When she finished, she leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily. Her hands trembled, and dark spots swam before her eyes. But she could not stop. Rosh lay nearby. And Sobra. They needed help too.
---
Rosh opened his eyes. His mismatched gaze — green and brown — was cloudy, unfocused, but awareness was already returning. He propped himself up on his elbow, and his face, pale, with dried blood on his lips, twisted in pain.
"Where are we?" he asked, his voice hoarse, foreign.
"In a cave," Ulviya replied. "Sobra brought us. We're safe. For now."
Rosh nodded and looked at his wounds. The deep gash on his chest — where the Herald's sword had passed dangerously close to his heart — still bled. On his side, on his arms, on his face — dozens of small cuts left by the sphere of cuts. He was covered in blood, but alive.
"I have some strength left," he said, and there was no bravado in his voice. Only statement of fact. "I'll treat my own wounds. You... you take care of the bear."
He sat up, leaning his back against the wall, and began to pull off his torn shirt. His movements were slow but confident. He knew what he was doing.
Ulviya nodded and turned to Sobra.
---
The bear lay on his side, his thick, silver-striped fur matted with blood. Deep cuts covered his body — on his sides, on his paws, on his muzzle. Some still bled, others had already begun to close — his regeneration, enhanced by the Tree, was working, though slowly.
"He'll manage on his own," Ulviya thought. "His body is stronger than ours. He'll survive."
But she still took the vial of healing root and began rubbing the ointment into the deepest wounds. Not because she was afraid he would die. Because she couldn't do otherwise. Because he had saved them. Because he was part of their small, strange group.
Sobra did not move. Only his breathing grew slightly deeper, slightly steadier as the ointment touched his wounds. Ulviya worked in silence, her tired, trembling fingers moving through his fur, working the medicine into the torn flesh.
When she finished, she leaned back against the wall, feeling the world around her begin to blur. Her hands were covered in blood — her own and others'. Her clothes were in tatters. Her strength was gone.
"That's all," she whispered. "I did all I could."
Rosh sat opposite, bandaging his chest. His movements were precise, economical, and Ulviya thought that he had probably done this many times. Alone. Without help. Without support.
"You did well," he said, not looking up. "For a Warrior... you held up well."
Ulviya didn't answer. She looked at Datuk, lying motionless, at Sobra, barely breathing, at Rosh, stitching his wounds, and thought that they were still alive. All four. Wounded, exhausted, nearly defeated, but alive.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to rest. Just for a minute. Just for a second.
The cave was quiet. Only the breathing of the wounded, only the drip of water somewhere in the depths, only the Tree's pulse, still echoing in their chests.