I hadn't slept.

Not just a lack of sleep — it was like sleep had deliberately avoided me, like an old friend you've had a falling out with, now crossing to the other side of the hallway when they see you. Too many thoughts, too many images from the night before. Blood in the shower. Marek, eyes burning with hate. I can understand death in battle — at the hands of an enemy. But suicide feels alien to me. I couldn't find the logic in Marek's actions, no matter how I looked at it. And I spent half the night trying.

I shouldn't have had that damned coffee.

In the morning, the marigold tea went down with all the ease of a mouthful of sandpaper. After the second gulp, I wasn't sure who would win — me or the tea. In the end, after a brief internal war, I forced it down. Morning ritual complete.

The food in the mess hall tasted awful. Even the metallic rice — which I'd nearly come to love — had a musty, sour tang today.

Rene barely spoke to me this time. The hall was already crowded with fresh recruits. I missed the mornings when it was just me and two second-periods in the entire hall. Too many people irritated me more than they should have.

The hologram drills were a disaster — the constant flashing red lights grated on my nerves, my projection bursts glitched every other launch, and I drained my entire energy reserve without managing to activate a single shield. Rene didn't say much during the session, but at the end, he gave me a wave and shared his feedback:

"That was awful, my friend," said the man whose favourite word is usually 'good.'

Things went even worse with Adam. He quickly judged my efforts as utterly inadequate and gave me some 'extra motivation' in the form of painful strikes.

"That's even worse than yesterday," he announced around the third minute.

"I didn't sleep."

"Not my problem," he snapped, and hit me in the shoulder. The impact spun me around and sent me tumbling across the sand.

What followed was a barrage of bolts.

Shoulder, thigh, leg. One scraped along my ribs so hard I clenched my teeth and staggered. Adam didn't apologise. On the contrary — he dipped his head slightly, like a samurai acknowledging my pain without lowering his blade.

I tried to respond properly. Not to strike back — just dodge, at least. Until an idea wormed its way into my mind.

"Shit!" I cursed out loud and froze.

Startled, Adam redirected a bolt that had been aimed straight for my gut.

"Excuse me?" he said, his tone clearly demanding an explanation.

"He really got into my head!"

I told Adam what had happened yesterday. He listened, nodded, and told me to take a break.

"Do what you want. Just get some damn sleep. No training, understood? I'll talk to the master and try to get the Mehra plan postponed."

"You know about it?"

"Lina and I are your backup, in case things get out of hand."

He walked off, leaving me alone in the sand. The bag of training balls lay nearby. I picked one up and threw it — it didn't make it three metres. A perfect metaphor for how I was feeling today.

At lunch, I didn't speak. Nur wasn't there. Denis was deep in a technical discussion with Bao. Marlon even cracked a few jokes, clearly making an effort to steer clear of the events from last night. No one bothered me.

I was empty, though the emptiness was slowly shifting into anger — directed at Marek. The bastard was alive and well, probably crying it out in an isolation ward under medical supervision.

Not the best day to pick up the next stage in the war against a demon. But Novak was expecting results, and I couldn't even bring myself to open the data map in my locker. Names, memories, blank spots, phrases that might trigger something. Everything Bullsara had extracted from the demon while torturing Nur — it was all in there.

What did I need? Time off?

There's no such thing as time off in a war, soldier.

After lunch, I had an hour before my shift. I crashed hard — deep, dreamless sleep. And I would've kept sleeping, if not for the interface alarm.

With a head full of cotton and lead, I grabbed the kettle and dragged myself off for water. A cup of Gunpowder tea, triple strength — bitter enough to lock my jaw — finally pulled me upright and gave me just enough strength to sit down with Bullsara's data.

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There were dozens of video clips, more than a full day's worth. I didn't have that kind of time, so I went through the priority list — names and key events. The names were most important. I practised pronouncing Thyzreth and Vrhakzun Drkhaal Kzarneth, carefully and repeatedly.

Bullsara had clearly placed a lot of emphasis on that — in the videos, he repeated them hundreds of times, each time checking with Nur to make sure his pronunciation was right.

It wasn't that bad, honestly. More boring than anything. I actually managed to rest a little.

And after my shift, I felt ready to talk to Nur. Since there was no delay note from Novak, I checked her schedule, and we carved out a quiet moment alone in her room.

When the door opened, she didn't even look up. She sat on the bed, legs crossed, a cup in her hands. It was the first bunk — same as mine — but on the other side of the table, where Denis's bed was in my room.

Steam rose from her drink, but she wasn't sipping it. Just holding it. Like it was a charm to shield her from the world.

Her eyes, once bright and curious, were hollow now. Dark shadows fought for space under her eyes, competing with the red veins webbing across the whites like cracks in glazed ceramic. The dark dragon tattoo on her neck stood out sharply against her pale skin. Her hair was carelessly tied back, strands falling across her face — the look of someone who hadn't glanced at a mirror in days.

Maybe she really hadn't.

Her whole appearance screamed exhaustion — not physical, but mental. Bullsara had wrung her dry. And now he wanted me to keep going.

"Hey," she said. Plain. Flat. No tone at all.

I opened my mouth, ready to trade a few jokes — maybe a jab or two. But instead, I just exhaled. Deep and tired.

That caught her attention.

"What's with you?" she asked.

I dropped onto her roommate's bunk, and for a moment it felt like we were back in my room. Everything was so identical it was hard to tell the difference.

"Had a run-in with a suicidal loser yesterday," I said.

A flicker of life — curiosity, maybe — passed through her eyes.

"He survived," I added with a dismissive wave.

"So now both of us are really living our best lives, huh?" she quipped weakly.

"At least I don't have to live someone else's," I said.

And that was true. Jake's past didn't haunt me. Even my own came to me in scraps. I was afraid that soon it would all vanish entirely, swallowed by the veil of worlds and the strange phenomenon that landed me in this body in the first place.

"Lucky you," Nur replied, and finally took a sip of her tea.

"Sorry," I said.

"For what, specifically?" she asked.

"For the migraine."

A flicker of confusion crossed Nur's face — and then I struck the first blow.

"The higher-ups decided Mehra—Thyzreth—has had her fun."

Nur blinked, then grabbed her temple with one hand.

"Ah! The fuck, Jake!"

The cup in her other hand trembled, and a splash of hot tea hit her legs. The burn and the sudden wave of pain made her flinch again — spilling even more of it. She finally shoved the cup away.

The tea splashed in a wide arc across the floor, the ceramic clinked sharply as it hit, bounced, and rolled unbroken towards the door.

Nur staggered to her feet, wobbling like a tree caught in a gale, and tried to brush the hot liquid from her legs. But it had already soaked into her trousers.

"Fuck!" she yelled again, collapsing backwards onto the floor, gripping her head with both hands.

It hurt to watch — but I kept going.

"Bullsara wants to try extracting the demon. Erasing it, if it comes to that…"

"Shut up!" she groaned, swaying with the rhythm of her headache.

"Hey, Vrhakzun," I said, addressing the demon directly. "We're ready to trade her life for the coordinates of your ship. Nur — remember this!" I barked.

Nur forced her head up through the pain and nodded.

"Surmail!" she said. "It's Surmail!"

I couldn't take it anymore — as the next wave of pain doubled her over and she collapsed into the puddle of tea, I rushed to her.

But what could I do?

Nur was shaking like she was in the middle of a seizure — only without the foaming mouth. She groaned and reached for her ear. In a sudden motion, she tore out an earring. I heard the sizzle of burning flesh. The room filled with the sharp, unmistakable smell of scorched skin.

Damn fake jewellery had fused to her hand — she shook it, trying to fling it away, but it clung like molten glue.

I grabbed her wrist and ripped the overheated stone from her palm. My fingers hissed too — but it didn't stick to me. I rolled Nur onto her side and tore off the second earring, the one fused to her neck.

She was still trembling, but no longer convulsing. Her breathing came fast and shallow, like her body hadn't realised the attack was over. I supported her back, waiting for the pain to pass. Her body radiated heat — not like a fever, but like metal pulled fresh from the forge.

"I'm okay…" she whispered. The voice was weak, but there was steel behind it — no doubt that she was back. Her eyes were hers again — dark, deep, no longer glassy or vacant. "I'm fine…"

I didn't believe her immediately.

"Are you sure?" I asked, holding her gaze.

"I'm sure." She tried to sit up — I helped her. "I need to message Bullsara. Right now!" she said.

"You sure?" I asked cautiously.

Nur nodded again, this time with certainty.

"I remember the coordinates. Not very clear… but enough. I know how to find that ship."

She opened her interface and sat up straighter, right there on the wet floor. If she noticed the damp, she didn't show it.

Nur began typing something into the air — fast, confident strokes across an invisible keyboard. Her face had the focus of a gamer lining up the final move in a brutal, high-stakes match. Fingers flew. Then stopped.

She re-read the message and hit send.

Then she stood, looked around the room as if scanning for something.

"Pick up the cup," she said, pointing to it.

I followed her finger — and in that moment, something made me freeze.

Something primal. Familiar.

That same instinct that made the hairs on my neck rise when Adam's bolt was coming straight for me.

Danger.

I spun toward Nur. The same hand she'd just used to point at the cup was now rising to her head. Her index finger glowed with a faint silver light tinged green, and a wicked grin twisted across her face.

I was too slow.

Boom.

Her head snapped back — and my blood ran cold.

The demon had killed her.

But the body didn't fall.

Nur staggered a few steps backward and stopped. Her head lolled back into place, and her face twisted into a strange mix of pain and confusion.

The eye she'd struck was now completely bloodshot, flooded red.

"What a fuck?!" said Nur — or rather, Vrhakzun.

The door swung open. A girl I didn't recognise peeked in.

"Are you two done?" she asked, smirking.

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