Several days had passed since the battle with Mirin became just a story, a mere point in the eternity of the Lords. Dan had almost fully recovered from using his ultimate technique.

  Standing by the window, he silently watched the bustling streets.

  He recalled Mirin's words about the "Rebirth" and involuntarily blamed himself for falling into their trap and setting in motion the irreversible process of releasing magical energy.

  He could feel the mana condensing in the atmosphere, slowly, inexorably. Its waves had already rolled across the planet—Dan sensed it in every cell.

  The Rifts would appear again. It was only a matter of time.

  He watched as people walked the streets in serene ignorance, not yet realizing the World had changed. Now it was saturated with magical energy, and the only question was—when?

  But many other questions swirled in the Lord's mind: How would people use this new power? How many of the newly-made mages would perish? What would become of her?

  "Huh?" Catching himself narrowing the World down to a single person, Dan shook his head.

  He stepped away from the window and surveyed the room. Semidarkness, silence, and only the soft rustle of wind outside. He slipped a hand into his trouser pocket, trying to feel for what he had taken from Lihgar even before he appeared before Bark and Alishem. He had hoped it wouldn't be necessary.

  A sharp pain in his arm made Dan jerk his hand back. A stabbing current raced from his elbow to his fingertips, as if thousands of needles were simultaneously trying to burst from under his skin. Even the Lord of Darkness couldn't ignore this.

  "Well... rage, vengeance for Bark, and the desire to inflict as much pain as possible clouded my mind in that moment, and now I'm reaping the fruits of my recklessness," Dan thought, holding the forearm of his injured hand with his palm, as if trying to keep the tearing needles inside.

  "Pff," the Lord snorted with annoyance. "He didn't even feel himself die... Ironic. My most powerful attack caused him no pain at all..."

  He sat in an armchair and rubbed his temples with one hand.

  "I need to give this to her..." Dan thought, continuing the circular motion of his fingers at his temples.

  He finally felt the rounded object in his pocket and took it out.

  "Too bulky..." Dan whispered, examining the relic. "The essence is in this little stone... I hope Lihgar won't be offended if I..."

  With these words, the Lord of Darkness clenched the relic in his fist. It cracked with a characteristic sound, and pieces of metal spilled from his closed palm. Dan opened his hand and carefully extracted a blue stone from the fragments of the ancient artifact.

  Dan touched the stone with his finger. It glowed with a bright blue light, as if reacting to the magical energy of the Lord of Darkness.

  "Well... seems to work..." the Lord mumbled, raising an eyebrow. "Need to find something to hang it on, so she can wear it as jewelry..."

  "A gift? People give each other jewelry... there's nothing strange about it if I hand it to her, right?" Dan thought, looking at the blue stone in his hand. "I hope she likes it..."

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Dan shook his head, as if dispelling his own thoughts.

  "What? 'Likes it'? This Relic is older than this World... its purpose isn't to be 'liked'."

  Seline closed the apartment door behind her and stood for several seconds without turning on the light.

  Her backpack pulled her shoulder down, her legs hummed as if filled with lead. Every movement echoed with a dull ache—in her forearms, her back, her palms. She slowly pulled off her sneakers, placed them neatly against the wall, and only then exhaled.

  The fatigue was heavy—but there was no emptiness in it.

  Her body hurt, yet inside it was surprisingly quiet.

  She walked into her room without turning on the light and hung her backpack on a hook. The fabric rustled softly as she unzipped it and took out the folded keikogi. Her fingers still trembled, but not from doubt—from exertion. Seline sank onto the edge of the bed and for a few seconds just looked at her palms: reddened, with light marks from the bokken's grip and small calluses.

  "Well, these are definitely not a lady's hands..." she drawled with a smile.

  She lay on her back, arms spread, and stared at the ceiling. Her breathing gradually evened out. Fragments of the training surfaced in her mind: the stance, the sensei's voice, the rhythm of the strikes, the count. And a strange sensation—as if with each swing, something superfluous that had accumulated over the past weeks was leaving her. Yet, something remained motionless within her. A trace, an impression, an image that seemed forever imprinted on her heart.

  She closed her eyes.

  "If you could see me... I'm not the weak mess I was back then. Maybe now you wouldn't run away..." she thought to herself, peering through closed eyelids into a darkness that felt warm.

  But her phone vibrating on the nightstand distracted her. She opened her eyes and turned her head toward it. She tried to get up, but her body refused to obey.

  "Oh well. What could be so important..." Abandoning the idea of checking the phone, she turned onto her back again and stared at the ceiling.

  Outside, it had grown dark. The city, noisy and buzzing just hours before, gradually quieted. Its pulse slowly lowered its rhythm, and it seemed complete silence was imminent. From the open window came only distant sounds of the city falling asleep: downstairs, an entrance door slammed; a displeased bark echoed from a neighboring yard; parents' voices called children home; someone cut a car engine—all heralding the impending stillness.

  Seline continued to lie powerless on the bed, her thoughts now devoted to her first training.

  "Forty-six suburi today. Next time I'll definitely do a hundred!" She smiled, imagining herself swinging the bokken the day after tomorrow.

  She recalled the feeling of the strike: inhale, exhale, movement. Smooth. Precise. Without fuss.

  Her reverie was interrupted by a sudden knock at the door.

  Seline didn't even notice how she jumped from the bed. Everything else forgotten, only one thought was in her head: "It's him!"

  She opened the front door so fast she wasn't sure if she'd turned the lock.

  It was him.

  A smiling delivery guy with a takeout bag from a cafe stood on the doorstep.

  "Good evening!" the young man chirped brightly, handing the food bag to the girl. "Sorry it took so long, the dispatcher mixed up the address."

  Seline's eyes dimmed. Slowly, she reached out and took the bag from the courier.

  "It's fine. Everything's okay. Thank you," she said quietly.

  She went back inside and closed the door.

  "Idiot... why would it be him?" Seline muttered, walking down the hallway toward the kitchen. She felt the full weight of the past weeks return, as if everything she had decided for herself and started working on had evaporated in an instant. What she had buried deep inside began to seep out again, and now moral decline added to her physical exhaustion. Unfulfilled dreams mixed with false hope broke her spirit.

  Knock knock.

  Another knock at the door, like a cold shower, brought Seline back to her senses. But this time, she tried to think soberly: "I took the order so quickly. Maybe there's something else... and I forgot to tip..."

  On the way, she grabbed a couple of bills from the nightstand and headed for the entrance door.

  "Sorry, I forgot to give you a tip," Seline said, holding out the money without looking at the person knocking.

  "Am I... at a bad time?" Dan asked, glancing with slight bewilderment at the crumpled bills in her hand.