The blanket felt comfortable on my skin. Dust floated in a shaft of light from a window I couldn't see. The air smelled of herbs and something sharper, medicinal. The kind of smell that meant someone had been fighting a losing battle against death.
I tried to sit up, and my body screamed at me for the attempt alone. Every muscle felt like it had been torn loose and stitched back together wrong. But the real pain wasn't physical. It was a cavernous pressure inside my skull. Like staring into a room you know used to be full of furniture, only to find it completely empty.
"Don't push it." A voice echoed in my mind. It sounded familiar, but thin. Weak, like a radio losing its signal. "You've been out for three days. Your brain is trying to access files you permanently deleted."
I knew that voice. I knew it belonged in my head. But the name attached to it was gone.
"What happened?" My voice came out as dry as sand.
"You broke the rules," the voice rasped, sounding almost bitter. "That's what happened."
I opened my eyes.
She was sitting in a wooden chair beside the bed. Tangerine hair pulled back, messy and unwashed. She wore a simple linen shirt instead of her armor, though her sword was leaning against the wall within arm's reach. There were dark, bruised circles under her eyes.
I knew her. I knew the angle of her jaw, the specific shade of her grey eyes, the way her hand instinctively rested near her hip where a weapon should be.
I knew she was important. Crucial.
But when I reached for her name, my fingers grasped empty air.
"You're awake," she said. Her voice was incredibly quiet. Testing the ice before putting her weight on it.
"Apparently." I managed to prop myself against the headboard. The room swam violently before settling. "How long?"
"Three days." She leaned forward, her eyes scanning my face with a terrifying intensity. She was looking for something. "Yozi. What do you remember?"
The panic started then. A cold, quiet creeping sensation in my chest.
"Yozi..."
I closed my eyes. Reached back through the fog. I found the arena. Blood and sand. I found a prince with shadows in his eyes. I found blinding, tearing white light. A girl wrapped in chains.
"I remember the light," I whispered. "I remember... giving things away. I had to give it to her, so she wouldn't be hollow."
I opened my eyes and looked at the woman beside the bed. My chest physically ached. "I know you. I know I trust you. But I..."
I swallowed hard.
"I don't know your name."
She froze. The breath hitched in her throat, a tiny, devastating sound. For a second, the fierce, pragmatic warrior shattered, and I saw a woman who had spent three days watching a stranger sleep in the body of someone she cared about.
She stood up. Walked to the edge of the bed.
She didn't speak. Instead, she reached out and gently took my left hand. She guided my fingers down, pulling the blanket aside, and pressed my palm against my own ribs. Right over the spot where I had cut myself to match her cursed wound.
The scar tissue was raised. Warm.
Then she pressed my hand against the exact same spot on her own side, over her linen shirt.
The physical touch hit me like a spark in the dark. The memory of the apothecary. The smell of copper. The feeling of shaking her hand in the Sump and agreeing to an impossible partnership.
"Nyssara," I breathed.
The tension left her shoulders all at once. She let out a breath that was half a laugh and half a sob, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. She didn't let go of my hand.
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"Don't do that to me," she whispered, her forehead resting against our joined hands. "Don't ever do that to me."
"I'm sorry. I..." I squeezed her hand. "What did I lose?"
"Your past," the voice in my head chimed in. "Your childhood. The names of the people who taught you how to bleed. You poured it all into the vessel. And you starved me in the process."
I looked at my free arm. The skin was pale. Human. The black, inky veins of corruption that had been crawling toward my heart had receded entirely, fading into faint, dormant shadows barely visible beneath the skin.
"Malgrin," I said aloud. The demon's name clicked into place.
"Present and currently malnourished," he grumbled. "You performed an act of absolute, selfless sacrifice. No transaction. No gain. Pure giving. The corruption doesn't know how to metabolize selflessness, Yozi. It put the disease into a coma."
"Is she safe?" I asked Nyssara, ignoring the demon. "Alia?"
Nyssara looked up, hesitated, her grey eyes steadying. "She closed the Portal. She walked into the light and pulled the world shut behind her. Damian was crowned two days ago."
She finally let go of my hand, though I immediately missed the warmth. She reached to the table beside the bed and picked up a blade.
It wasn't a standard weapon. The handle was wrapped in black leather, worn smooth by centuries of grip. The guard was tarnished brass, shaped like descending wings. The blade itself was pitch black, etched with imperial runes I couldn't read.
It hummed. A low, vibrating frequency that I felt in my teeth.
She laid it across my lap. As soon as the dark metal touched my legs, the humming shifted into a purr. Recognition.
"Damian left that for you," Nyssara said quietly. "It's a title, as much as a weapon. The Bloody Left Hand. The Emperor's instrument in the shadows. The one who does what needs to be done when the throne must keep its hands clean."
I stared at the black steel. "I don't remember agreeing to that."
"You did." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Though you negotiated the right to alter the terms of your contract every six months. Because of course you did. There will be a ceremony tomorrow in the palace where you will be given that 'officially' - but it's yours already."
I rested my hand on the pommel. It felt right. It felt like violence.
"There's more," Nyssara said, the smile fading. "Silas."
Another name that sparked a sudden, sharp memory. Quick hands. The best thief in Zetun. A father.
"Is he dead?" I asked.
"No. But the divine light caught him during the breach. Burned his eyes out. He's blind, Yozi." She hesitated, her jaw tightening. "And his son, Marcus... he's started showing symptoms of the brass plague."
The air in the room felt suddenly too heavy to breathe. Silas had risked everything for us. For me.
"We'll find a cure," I said. It wasn't a calculation on my part. It was a promise.
"Someone might already have one." Nyssara pulled a folded, crisp piece of paper from her pocket. "Someone slipped this under the door of the safehouse last night."
I unfolded it with stiff fingers.
Mr. Yozi, I was a student of Dr. Vekros before his unfortunate descent into madness. I know things about his research that might be of interest to you, particularly regarding the plague he created, and the dormant condition currently residing in your own blood. Find me when you're ready to learn. I believe we can help each other. The Bent Spoon. Same evening, one week from now. Come alone. Dr. Dylana Senna
"Do you know her?" I asked.
"No. I checked the Inquisition registries. No one has ever heard of a Dr. Senna." Nyssara crossed her arms. "It's a trap."
"Probably."
"You're going anyway." Nyssara seems to know me well.
"Silas needs a cure. And I need to know what to do when this demon wakes up properly." I folded the letter. "One week."
Nyssara nodded slowly. She stood up, stretching muscles that had spent three days sitting in a hard wooden chair.
"The healer said you need to sleep," she said, moving toward the door. "Your brain went through a blender. The memories might come back over time. Or they might be gone forever."
"I'll manage," I said. "I still have the important ones."
She paused in the doorway. She didn't look back at me, but I saw the slight drop of her shoulders. Relief.
"I'll be back with food in an hour," she said. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."
"I can't remember how to do stupid."
She snorted softly and closed the door behind her.
I was alone with the dust motes, the humming black blade on my lap, and the cavernous empty spaces in my head. I closed my eyes, leaning back against the pillows.
A face came to me then. Just for a second. Young. Tired. A smile that meant something for the first time in three hundred years. Thank you.
I had given away the boy I used to be so she could have a future. Maybe that was the price of survival. You never get to keep all of yourself.
I slept, and for the first time since the arena, my dreams were entirely my own.
Performance Rating: [DATA CORRUPTED, FORGOT HOW STARS ARE DRAWN] Malgrin's Note: "I feel sick. I am so thirsty. Torture. After all I did for you? What did you do? Where is the transaction? Where is the leverage? You just gave it to her. No contract. No collateral. This is disgusting, Yozi. I am disgusted, you heard me right. I am going to sleep, and when I wake up, you had better find someone to murder, or I'm eating your frontal lobe."
SYSTEM STATUS:
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[Raubtier Speed]: OFFLINE (Insufficient Malice).
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[Shinobi Variant]: OFFLINE (Insufficient Calculation).
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[Memory Banks]: 64% DELETED.
CORRUPTION LEVEL: 13% (Status: DORMANT). Warning: Selfless acts are toxic to Gluttony/Pride entities. Corruption spread has been halted. Do not expect this to last.
INVENTORY ACQUIRED:
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[The Bloody Left Hand]: An Imperial executioner's blade. Soul-forged. It likes you.
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[A Letter from a a Doctor]: Plot Hook initiated.
RELATIONSHIP UPDATE:
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Nyssara: Status [Partner] solidified. You forgot her name, and it broke her heart for exactly four seconds. Don't do it again.