I kept waving the goblins goodbye with a stretched smile until the last one turned the corner.

  And then I crashed.

  My legs gave up and I fell on my knees, breathing fast and shallow, my entire body trembling.

  This last close call just pushed me over the edge. I was not physically hurt, but I was also not well. It was like my mind had given up on processing all that was happening.

  Eventually guards appeared looking for survivors. I was herded together with other civilians and directed to the hospital. I said nothing the entire time, barely aware of my surroundings.

  The hospital was another vision from a nightmare, overcrowded with wounded soldiers, bodies pilling near the entrance. People without life threatening injuries were just left waiting.

  One would think that healing potions would take care of any combat wounds, so bringing a soldier to a hospital would not make much sense, but the reality was more complicated than that. Not only were healing potions a precious and limited resource, but there were a series of restrictions about how and when you could administer one. I knew that because I had to let many soldiers die or take their chances in the hospital because of them.

  So many…

  Having to make those decisions was such a terrible thing.

  I stood there among a group of shocked civilians, sitting on the floor, looking at nothing.

  I felt confused, exhausted, drained. I was served a little tasteless food that I ate mechanically, unsure if I should stay there, find a place to sleep a little or get back to the ramparts. Probably I should tell someone what had just happened, but drawing attention, no matter the reason, was usually a bad idea if one is a slave.

  As I pondered about my predicament, I recognized someone striding in my direction.

  Uther.

  I got up with slow and tired movements, trying my best to keep proper demeanor, as the news that Uther was alive threatened to break the little that remained of my composure.

  “Master, I am so happy that you are …”

  He embraced me so tightly it hurt, breaking all protocol for how we should behave in public, but I didn’t mind. I desperately hugged him back, and in that moment, any pretense of self-control shattered.

  I cried like a child.

  His embrace made me feel protected for the first time in days. That moment of respite contrasted sharply with all the fear, anguish and guilt I had suppressed since this nightmare began, and all that flooded me.

  Uther patiently waited for me to calm down, but in my core, I knew it would be impossible to simply cry it all out.

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  Reluctantly, I let go of his embrace, wiped away my tears, and forced myself into a barely functional state.

  “Are you hurt?” His gaze lingered on the many bloodstains that marred what had once been my best dress. “They told me your team had died... I was so worried.”

  “I am fine, just tired…” I was not fine, not by a long shot, but at least I was not hurt. Uther didn’t press further. After all, it would be a challenge to find anyone that was actually fine in this city. “Master, I need to tell you something that happened.”

  As I tried to organize my thoughts into coherent speech, the enormity of what had happened hit me. How could I explain something I barely understood myself? Where should I even begin?

  My mind was still reeling from the shock, unable to piece together the fragmented events of the last few hours.

  I believe Uther sensed my confusion and less than ideal state of mind.

  “You don’t need to tell me now; you can tell me later if you prefer.”

  I accepted his offer.

  He stayed with me for a few minutes, until he had to return to the frontline, and I would only see him again after the siege’s end.

  Later that day, the rumors about the death of the Armored Sorcerer started to circulate, bringing the first glimmer of hope to the city that we might survive that forlorn situation.

  ***

  With the death of the Armored Sorcerer, things were not automatically resolved. There is no puffing an army out of existence just because the big bad had died.

  The siege continued for twenty more days. At first there was a steep decrease in the intensity of the attacks. After that, infighting in the besieging force started to get more and more frequent. Bigger monsters began to rampage, eating large chunks of troops before being put down. Entire groups dispersed to forage in the nearby regions or just to get back to the South.

  When the army from the North frontier arrived, they were weakened and dispersed enough so that the combined forces were able to scrap a victory, rout the monsters and lift the siege.

  Even then, I wouldn’t consider things truly over. The monsters dispersed in the region, making life in Central incredibly dangerous in the subsequent months and years.

  The Demonic Armor and the sword Breacher lost any hint of artefact powers and became just inert junk. The scattered rocks around the Armored Sorcerer were not recognized as the Seal of the Forgotten Gods, so it was still considered missing.

  As for me, my part in the siege ended after that day. I was most definitively not well. The medics considered that I was in shock due to my participation in the ramparts defense, and they were mostly right because for a few days I would panic at the mere sight of spilled wine or the sound of a strong bang in the door. I partially recovered after a week, but what I saw in the siege would still fuel my nightmares for several years to come. I would never be completely over it.

  But as far as consternation goes, all that paled in comparison with what had happened with the death of the Armored Sorcerer.

  I had not told anyone what transpired and the version of the story that ended being accepted was that Sir Gideon was able to strike down the Armored Sorcerer before succumbing to the poison. The detail that I was accompanying him was never mentioned.

  At the time I was not aware that the stone slab was the Seal of the Forgotten Gods, something that I would only be able to piece together later. So, I tried to rationalize what had happened. Maybe I had dreamed and the stress from those days made me think the wall of text was real. Maybe the goblins were just able to talk Imperial and were on retreat when I found them. Maybe I had hallucinated it all. Maybe. Maybe...

  As my memory became foggier in the weeks following my ordeal, with the end of the siege and the beginning of the capital’s reconstruction, I believed I would be able to get back to my old life of accompanying Uther on his shenanigans, practicing Imperial with Winter and working inside the castle with the other servants. I yearned to have that normalcy back, blissfully unaware that the long-term implications of what happened would make that impossible.

  But, except for a couple of lapses, I really did try to forget all that, so my talk with Uther had to wait several months until circumstances forced my hand.