I was about to leave when I heard footsteps behind me.

  “Hey, beautiful…”

  I turned around.

  Three of them.

  Laughing.

  Drunk.

  “Don’t you want to get acquainted?” one of them grinned far too wide.

  “Get lost,” I said.

  “Why so rude?” He spread his hands theatrically. “I just wanted to talk… maybe buy you a drink.”

  I placed my hand on the hilt of my sword.

  Looked him straight in the eyes.

  “Leave.”

  He raised his hands quickly.

  “Alright, alright…”

  I didn’t wait for them to change their minds.

  I walked away.

  I headed back to the hospital.

  The same three were still there.

  A human.

  An elf.

  A dwarf.

  I approached them quickly.

  “Where are Liara and Zenhald right now?”

  They exchanged glances.

  “Uh…” the human began. “We don’t disclose that kind of information.”

  “We owe them.”

  Anger boiled up inside me.

  “If you show up for work tomorrow,” the dwarf said, “we’ll tell you.”

  As if I had a choice.

  I clenched my teeth.

  I’m wasting time. Pointlessly, I thought.

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  But then the memory of the cave flashed through my mind.

  Cold.

  Silence.

  Years.

  I exhaled…

  and forced myself to calm down.

  “Where can I stay for the night?” I asked.

  “There are huts for workers and miners,” the dwarf replied. “Three bronze coins a day. Very cheap—until we finish building proper houses.”

  I nodded.

  Turned around…

  and walked a little farther away from the city.

  Where the noise faded.

  I shaped stones with magic.

  Carefully.

  Evenly.

  The hut turned out simple—but sturdy.

  I sat inside and smirked.

  “Money…” I whispered. “Since when do I think about money?”

  I looked at my palms.

  Once, I counted centuries.

  Now—bronze coins.

  I lay down on the cold stone.

  And still…

  Chapter: “Seven Days”

  I woke early.

  The sun had only just touched the horizon. The city was half asleep—only rare footsteps and the dull clang of metal from the watch posts broke the quiet.

  I went straight to the golem.

  Today I wasn’t rushing.

  Wasn’t angry.

  I simply worked.

  I poured mana into it—steady, calm, unhurried.

  Set the objective.

  Gave direction.

  The golem obeyed.

  Layer by layer, the earth yielded beneath its hands.

  Roots tore.

  Stone crumbled.

  Soil collapsed into the pit.

  Hours passed slowly.

  But I didn’t feel tired.

  After seven hours, I stopped.

  The pit was ready.

  Even.

  Deep.

  A precise square—ten by ten.

  I straightened.

  Once, I destroyed cities, I thought.

  Now I build them.

  The same dwarf approached me.

  He stared down into the pit for a long time.

  “Very good,” he finally said. “And… fast.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin.

  “One silver. Here.”

  I took it.

  “We’d be glad if you stayed…” he hesitated. “As for the information…”

  “If I’m not mistaken…”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “What do you mean ‘if I’m not mistaken’?”

  The dwarf scratched his head.

  “Uh… if I’m not mistaken… Liara left for Dorwood.”

  “Dorwood?”

  “Yes.” He pointed north. “Sort of the northern capital.”

  I nodded.

  “They say,” he added carefully, “not long ago there was a demon attack there.”

  I turned sharply.

  “Demons attacked?”

  He looked at me closely, as if testing something.

  “Ah… yes. Everyone knows. The attack was fast. Terrible. First the capital, then the borders. They were taking territory too quickly.”

  “And then?”

  “Then some great mage arrived.”

  I stiffened.

  “They say he was so powerful,” the dwarf continued, “he wiped out the entire demon army.”

  He swallowed.

  “But in his fury… he destroyed humans too.”

  I said nothing.

  “Some say it was a boy… about eleven years old.”

  He shrugged.

  “I didn’t see it myself. But the power… comparable. If it was Zenhald—I’ve never seen him enraged.”

  “Alone?” I asked quietly. “An entire army?”

  The dwarf raised his hands.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s not all true. But there’s no smoke without fire. There’s truth in it somewhere.”

  I exhaled.

  “Where is Dorwood?”

  “There.” He pointed north again. “Seven days by horse.”

  “Seven days…” I repeated.

  “Yes. Seven.”

  “How much is a horse?”

  “Well…” he hesitated. “An ordinary one—ten silver. A good one—twenty.”

  I squeezed the silver coin in my palm.

  “Money… money… everything ties back to money.”

  I didn’t have time.

  If I lost their trail now—I might never catch up.

  But another name surfaced in my mind.

  Merlin.

  Old.

  Very old.

  I closed my eyes.

  “Damn…”

  What choice?

  Merlin—answers, origins, the past.

  Or that boy—a power that shouldn’t exist.

  The Archangels are forgotten.

  The Demon King is dead.

  And an eleven-year-old human bends rivers and destroys armies.

  I opened my eyes and looked north.

  “Seven days…”

  And for the first time in a long while, I understood:

  Whatever I choose—

  the world has already changed.