"Don't move," I told myself.

There had been two yesterday, but the order's novice had let it slip that they hadn't run far.

The old man's long beard flashed in front of my face. The old man froze in front of me and, leaning toward me, asked almost in a whisper:

"Should I choose you?"

I did not express any emotion. He stopped smiling and hesitated, "Aren't you afraid of me?"

He looked puzzled. He straightened up and looked behind me.

"Really, you're not afraid of me?"

I didn't move, "You can't."

"Then I'll show myself to you." His figure melted away. It was an obsession. And, oh, the horror of what I saw! At that very moment four novices carried out the withered mummy of an old man with his unnatural body parts bandaged around the poles. Huge wooden poles, smaller and smaller sticks. Like a rack, an endless torture. "Relentless guard," a mysterious whisper suggested, its voice seeming to echo from everywhere. Bandaged in the most ghastly of forms were hands to a tree. One finger to one side, the other to the other. One of his hands was free, but he didn't need to lift it – I met his gaze. His clouded faded eyes opened. "Is he really still alive!" An unexpected conjecture struck me. "Withered, but still alive," the space around me said benevolently.....

I woke up. Birds were singing outside the window, quiet music was playing somewhere. There was a woman's quiet laughter. I lay on the bed and looked at the ceiling. This dream torments me every time I fall asleep. Ever since I got my freedom. The memories are as fresh as the first day. It's as if it's the first time. That's why I try to exhaust myself before I fall asleep, so I don't dream about it. "Well, how are you? Still alive? I'm so handsome, aren't I?" came a voice in my thoughts. I jumped up. He was about to say something else funny, but the connection to the Fortress Keeper had dissipated, as had the remnants of the dream.

And I was left sitting. Alone in bed behind a wooden screen. The wind blew fallen leaves right into my bed. It was better to get up right away than to listen to it, especially in slumber. I put my hand to my forehead and yawned sweetly. "Where am I? How beautiful! Embroidered with colorful threads… a fabric blanket? Looks like I slept like a king tonight!" flashed through my mind, and the memories of the previous day came over me in a rushing wave that swept away all obstacles.

I was surrounded by an unfamiliar interior, but it gradually rose in my memory. There was that window with the thinnest white cloth, from which the whitish light streamed. The ancient stone walls. Opposite me hung a painting, or even an ancient, ornate tapestry depicting an ancient event – the landing of the Dawn expedition on the shores of Amber Island. A small but richly decorated room. There's my bedside chest, where my belongings lurk. Here was the plaster that had crumbled to the floor when K'Yoevghahn had slammed the door in his usual rude fashion yesterday.

I got up. It was unusual to feel unclothed as an undead assassin. After wrapping and securing the straps, I checked and set my crossbow forward. The locking mechanism was multi-shot. I lifted the crossbow's affix with my thumb, and beneath it was a branding with the Dwarven numeral three. A circle, symbolically representing the Titan, and three points in different directions. I see, so it's a three-shooter. It's the kind of fake that the dwarves of the Blue Mountains supply to the special guards of Kostegrad.

I shook it, "It's strong!" ran my eyes over the smooth wood once more and fastened it behind my back – it fit perfectly. I bent down. Sat down. It doesn't constrict movement – "just what you need". I took my hunter's bag from the back of the chair and left the room.