I didn’t fall asleep right away.

  First there was warmth. Then the sensation of movement. Someone was carrying me.

  My half-asleep mind lazily noted: carefully. So it’s one of ours. We stayed in the tavern too long. Far too long for a child — even one like me. Voices, laughter, the smell of wood and food — everything blurred and sank somewhere at the edge of memory.

  When they laid me down, someone’s fingers ran through my hair.

  Slowly. Confidently. Without words.

  I don’t like that.

  Or rather… I do.

  But I don’t admit it.

  So I just pretended to be asleep deeper than I actually was.

  And then I really did fall asleep.

  I woke up in the middle of the night.

  Not from noise — from silence.

  I opened my eyes.

  The picture was… familiar.

  Liara.

  Hanging from the ceiling, hooked by her legs over a beam like a bat. Calm. Relaxed. Even beautiful, if you don’t think about how abnormal that is.

  Inea and Dorwood were sleeping on the floor.

  Inea — curled up, barely breathing.

  Dorwood — sprawled out like a fallen tree. Snoring.

  I didn’t move. Just watched.

  And then something inside me started speaking.

  Not a voice.

  Me.

  The second me. The one that’s always there. Everyone has one. Not everyone wants to listen.

  — Why do you need them?

  — Don’t answer. You know.

  I stayed silent.

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

  — Why? You’re playing the fool again.

  — Pretending. Living for pleasure.

  — You live for the feeling of being held.

  — Of being needed.

  I shifted my gaze to the ceiling.

  — You know it yourself: you could go alone.

  — On the campaign. Right now.

  — Destroy the demon army. Not metaphorically. For real.

  I knew.

  — You don’t need allies.

  — You don’t need friends to “watch your back.”

  — That’s weakness.

  — You can do everything yourself. You always could.

  My fingers tightened unconsciously.

  — You could leave right now.

  — Alone.

  — And if they follow you?

  — You’re not protecting them. You’re putting them at risk.

  Liara shifted slightly in her sleep, still hanging upside down.

  — Zenhald, are you stupid?

  — You live for affection?

  — For what? To have friends?

  — The demon army would cease to exist in a few days.

  The silence pressed.

  — You don’t need allies.

  — They don’t strengthen you. They’re ballast.

  — You have enormous power.

  — The kind that can truly change things.

  — And what are you doing with it?

  I closed my eyes.

  — Their presence doesn’t make you stronger.

  — It makes you weaker.

  — You’re not a village boy.

  — You’re not weak.

  — You were the Demon King in a past life.

  The words were calm. No anger.

  That made them heavier.

  — Where are you spending your strength?

  — You spent a whole week walking around with friends.

  — Just wandering. Here. There.

  A week.

  — Wasted time.

  — Meaningless.

  I inhaled.

  — And what’s the point of assembling a team?

  — Why?

  — If they go with you, they’ll die.

  — Because they’re weak.

  — Just so you won’t be feared?

  Pause.

  — You’re not just human.

  — You killed people.

  — Not “accidentally.” Not “forced.”

  — You killed consciously.

  — You decided who was human and who wasn’t. Decided who lives?

  — You’re a monster.

  — Don’t deny it.

  — You know it.

  I stared into the darkness.

  — I. I. I. — what “I”?

  — Who are you?

  — Look into your own eyes.

  — Honestly.

  Liara slightly turned her head in her sleep.

  — You don’t need anyone.

  — And no one needs you.

  Flat. Without malice.

  — Are you dependent?

  — On other people’s attention?

  My fingers clenched.

  — You pretend you don’t care.

  — But every time you look.

  The words fell one after another.

  — At how they look at you.

  — What they think about you.

  — How you appear in their eyes.

  — You play indifference.

  — But you check their reaction. Always.

  I closed my eyes.

  — Enough, Zenhald.

  — Stop playing hero.

  — You’re not a hero.

  — But you pretend to be one.

  Images surfaced on their own:

  dramatic entrances,

  long battles,

  unnecessary words,

  waiting for someone’s gaze.

  — You could end it faster.

  — But you don’t want to.

  Silence.

  — You stretch it out.

  — You enjoy it.

  I knew.

  — What do you want from this life?

  The question was empty. The answer already existed.

  — Why are you fighting on the humans’ side?

  I didn’t answer.

  — Because you divided the world into good and evil?

  Pause.

  — No.

  Colder.

  — You didn’t divide good and evil.

  — You chose the ones you like.

  The words were precise. Like a verdict.

  — You don’t protect the “righteous.”

  — You protect the pleasant ones.

  The ones who feel warmer.

  The ones who stroke your head.

  The ones who aren’t afraid.

  — How clever you are, Zenhald.

  No irony.

  — You’re wasting time.

  That one hit the heaviest.

  — Time.

  A week.

  Laughter.

  Tavern.

  Sleep.

  — You’re losing it again.

  And then I quietly, mentally replied.

  — …Yeah. You’re right. As usual.

  I opened my eyes.

  Liara was still hanging from the ceiling.

  Inea was breathing evenly.

  Dorwood was snoring.

  And suddenly I understood — not an excuse, not an answer, just a fact:

  I know I can do everything alone.

  I just…