The morning following Morbis’s death, The Heart of Logic felt emptier than usual. The customary hum of the systems was absent, replaced by a silence so sterile it felt as if the room itself was holding its breath alongside the castle’s inhabitants.
Dayat stood by the large south-facing window. The cup of coffee in his hand had long since grown cold. He didn’t know how many hours he had spent standing there, staring out, not truly seeing anything. The steam had vanished. The liquid was murky. Yet he held onto it, because gripping sothing felt better than standing with empty hands.
The fog outside remained black. It wasn’t as thick as yesterday, but it persisted—shifting, flowing, and feeling unnervingly alive.
Morbis’s final words continued to ring in his head.
"You have just unleashed the Harbinger of the Plague."
The sentence wouldn’t stop looping. Not as a sound, but as a sensation—a weight settled in his chest, an obstruction that refused to leave.
Dayat didn’t know when Wabil would arrive. He didn’t know from which direction. He didn’t know what form it would take, the extent of its power, or what would happen once it arrived. There were no certain signs. No readable patterns. And that was exactly what disturbed him most.
It wasn’t that there was sothing out there.
It was that there was nothing yet.
He drew a slow breath. The air was cold—far too cold for a morning. His grip tightened on the cup. Not out of anger. Not out of fear. But because of an instinct whispering that sothing was moving in the shadows.
Dayat gathered everyone in the main hall.
Kancil arrived first, his hair a ss as if he’d just woken up—which he probably had. Behind him, Loy and Riri followed with slow steps, their eyes slightly swollen from a restless night. Lunethra joined them a mont later. Her gait was steady, though she still had a slight limp in her left leg—the wounds from the battle beneath the castle hadn’t fully healed. Dalgor was already at his post by the panel, his fingers tapping the screen silently.
No one spoke. Everyone waited.
Dayat stood before them. He didn’t sit. His posture was rigid, but his voice was controlled.
"Morbis said we just released sothing."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.
"I don’t know when it’s coming. I don’t know what it looks like."
His gaze swept across Kancil, then Loy and Riri, then Lunethra, stopping briefly on Dalgor.
"But I don’t want us to be caught off guard."
He began delegating tasks. His voice was flat, but each word carried an indisputable conviction.
"Kancil—you’re in charge of Loy and Riri’s training. Harder than before. Not just shooting. Tactics. Formations. How to retreat without losing ground. You know survival better than anyone. Teach them everything you know."
Kancil nodded. No protests. No questions. His eyes burned with a rare seriousness.
"Dalgor—check every system in the castle. Sensors, shields, ventilation, everything. I don’t want any openings like we had yesterday. If you find even the slightest anomaly, report to imdiately."
Dalgor nodded, his hands already moving across the panel before Dayat had even finished.
"Lunethra—prepare the supplies. Food, water, dicine. More than usual. We don’t know how long we’ll have to hold out if sothing cos."
Lunethra gave a small nod. Her face was calm, but a flicker of anxiety remained in her eyes.
"We don’t know what’s coming," Dayat finished. "So we prepare for everything."
Kancil opened his mouth as if to ask sothing, but stopped. He closed it again. No one argued. No one questioned. Only small nods filled the room.
After the others left, Lunethra remained. She approached Dayat with cautious steps, like soone approaching a wounded animal—not wanting to startle him, not wanting to make him run.
"Do you truly believe the words of that demon?" she asked softly.
Dayat didn’t answer imdiately. He stared ahead at the black walls with pulsing purple lines that looked like the castle’s heartbeat.
"I believe in my instincts." A pause. "And my instincts say sothing is wrong."
Lunethra nodded. She wasn’t entirely comforted, but she understood. "I will prepare the dicines. More than usual. Perhaps..." she hesitated. "Perhaps we will need them."
She turned to leave but stopped at the doorway. Her shoulders tensed slightly. Her voice was softer when she spoke again.
"Dayat."
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For not blaming ."
Dayat knew what she ant. About the plants she brought from Elarwyn. About the anchor that gave Morbis a way into the castle. About everything that followed.
"It wasn’t your fault," he said. It was brief, but not rushed. "Now, all we can do is move forward."
Lunethra was silent for a mont. Then she nodded. "I will make it right. Sohow."
She left. But Dayat knew the guilt hadn’t truly vanished. Perhaps it never would.
Dayat headed to the dical Bay.
His steps were slow but steady. He had spent too much ti here lately. The door hissed open silently—Maiden technology still functioning perfectly despite the castle’s state of alert.
Dola was still in bed, propped up by two stacked pillows. The black stains on her arm remained—not spreading, but not fading either. They sat there like a stubborn blemish waiting for sothing. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, unfocused. Waiting.
Dayat pulled a chair to her bedside. The sa chair he had occupied for hours while she was unconscious.
"I’ve assigned tasks to everyone."
Dola turned her head. The motion was slow, but she no longer looked to be in pain. Her dim blue eyes t his. "You did the right thing."
Dayat looked forward, not at her. His hands rested on his knees.
"I just..." He stopped. His jaw tightened, then relaxed. "...I don’t know what’s coming. And that’s what scares ."
Dola didn’t respond imdiately. She lifted her hand—a move that still looked laborious—and reached for Dayat’s. Her fingers were cold, as they always were. But her grip was there.
" too."
She stopped to take a breath.
"But you aren’t alone. You were never alone."
Dayat stared at Dola’s hand gripping his. Those fingers were still pale, but no longer as weak as they had been yesterday. He squeezed her hand back. There was no answer. But it was enough.
The Binary Kitchen was in semi-darkness when Lunethra heard the door open.
She was slicing dried leaves—ingredients for the healing tonics she was preparing. The knife moved in a steady rhythm. The scent of herbs filled the room: lavender, rosemary, and sothing sharper known only to Elven healers.
"If you’re hungry, wait until noon," she said without looking back. "I’m still preparing things."
"I’m not hungry."
The voice made Lunethra’s hand stop. She recognized that tone. Too cold. Too calm.
She turned.
Dola stood in the doorway. Her silver hair was disheveled. Her white cape was rumpled at the hem. But she stood tall—unassisted. And her eyes, those dim blue eyes, stared directly at Lunethra without blinking.
"You should still be resting," Lunethra said.
"I’ve rested enough." Dola stepped inside. Her voice was steady, but carried weight. "I want to talk."
Lunethra set her knife down. She wiped her hands on a cloth hanging from her waist. "About what?"
Dola stopped across the kitchen counter. Between them lay the wooden board filled with cut leaves and dried roots.
"About you. And Dayat."
Lunethra didn’t answer. Her hands held the cloth, but she didn’t move. She just watched Dola.
"I am not blind," Dola continued, her voice level. "I see how you look at him. I see how you stand near him. And I saw how you risked your life down there."
Lunethra placed the cloth on the counter. "I have never tried to take him from you."
"I know." Dola tilted her head. "And I am not angry."
Lunethra frowned. "Then why are you here?"
"I just want you to know." Dola stared at her intently. "I will not let him go. Not for anyone. Including you."
Silence.
Lunethra searched for sothing behind those cold blue eyes—anger, a threat, perhaps a hint of malice. But she found none. Only certainty. Only a fact delivered without sugar-coating.
Lunethra nodded. "As you wish."
Dola watched her for a few more monts. Then she turned and walked out. Her steps were slow but unwavering. Her white cape fluttered slightly before the door closed behind her.
Lunethra stood alone in the kitchen. Her hand reached for the knife again. The vegetables and herbs were still waiting on the board. She took a long breath. Then she started slicing again. The movent was the sa. The rhythm didn’t change. But there was sothing different in her eyes—not sadness, not anger. Only acceptance.
Night fell over Castle Zero.
Dayat stood by his bedroom window. Behind him, Dola had been moved back in that afternoon. She was sleeping, but fitfully. Her breathing was irregular. Her hands occasionally clenched over the blanket, then relaxed. Dayat had learned to recognize the signs: Dola was having nightmares.
But he didn’t wake her. Not now. A restless sleep was still better than no sleep at all.
He stared outside. The Forest of Lantation was shrouded in fog—as usual. But this ti was different. The fog wasn’t still. It was moving slowly, flowing, as if a current was pushing it from the south. As if sothing behind it was gradually drawing closer.
Dayat narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He couldn’t be certain. And that uncertainty kept sleep far away.
He didn’t move from his spot. He didn’t blink. He just stared out, waiting for the thing that hadn’t yet arrived.
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