An hour later the battle is almost over.

The Wasps are retreating. And my head is about to explode. At least it feels like it.

"Madame, your nose is bleeding," Timur says, gently wiping the blood away with a handkerchief.

He's sitting next to me, still watching the radar, following the same events I follow on my mental map.

Master Auberon is pacing behind my back. Following a line strictly two steps away from me, never coming any closer. I hear his heavy steps and his labored breathing. I don't understand why he's nervous now, at the end of the battle, when everything seems to turn out better than expected. But I don't have the capacity to spare a single thought to his strange timing.

The left wing is still fighting. They still need me.

I'm a bundle of pain by now. An empty sack, filled with agony. A lump of raw meat, molded in acid. A bruised mouth, floating in the air, still uttering orders to the rest of the body.

When I feel close to fainting, I grab Timur's hands. I hold onto them as if I was drowning. His fingers must go numb in a few minutes, yet he doesn't pull them away.

"It's the last one incoming," he informs me, in a very soothing voice, as if I didn't see it. I do. My internal landscape is exactly as crowded as the radar is. And I perfectly know what we should do. Just my brain can't translate it to words. Exhaustion takes over slowly.

"Timur, they need to go away from there," I mumble. "Give them the coordinates."

"What coordinates?" he asks. It's the first time he sounds tense today.

Of course, he doesn't have a way to know what I mean. I shake my head. I'm at the end of my resources. I see everything. Everything I need. And everything I don't, but I don't have the strength to close it out. Memories, for example. I don't need them for the operation. They are an excess burden to my mind.

Then, suddenly, just as if my brain would prepare for a last rush, everything stands together. The squad in danger. Their memories. Where they are from. The few words I speak in their language.

I speak them aloud, along with some gibberish words of warning. It's enough to alert them. They notice that I'm talking about them, and they duck the attack just in time. Then they make quick work of the remaining Wasps.

The battle is over.

I let go of Timur's hands, and I let my forehead hit the table.

I breathe in and out, trying to keep a steady rhythm. It always helps. The dots are slowly disappearing, one after another. The sudden emptiness in my mind fills me with sadness, as always. It's just a moment of overwhelming loneliness, quickly turning into a sense of relief.

I survived it again.

The pain fades slowly. The headache will stay with me for a few hours, even if I sleep. But it's a bearable one. Far from the crippling pressure, which goes with an overcrowded mind.

Timur pats my back. I raise a finger to say thanks for his help. I don't feel strong enough to do anything else at the moment.

I hear a suspicious noise from behind my back. It might be the trick of my tingling ears, but it sounds as if Master Auberon was moaning. A sound I never imagined he was able to emit.

"Do I look that bad?" I ask, still unable to raise my head.

He breathes out slowly, sounding a bit shaky. I take it as a yes.

"No worries." I shrug, putting my hands on the table, pushing myself to a sitting position. "It was still a good mapping. I didn't throw up. I didn't faint. I'm alive."

My peripheral vision is still nonexistent, so I slowly turn into his direction.

He's standing exactly two steps away from me, wringing his hands, in an absolutely uncharacteristic way. Being forced just to stand around made him super frustrated, probably. Being a passive onlooker doesn't sit well with god complex either, I guess.

"It's always like this," I explain to him. "Okay, maybe I went a bit too deep. I didn't know what memories are needed for, but my brain did."

He can't understand a single word of it, of course. He wasn't in my mind, after all.

"It's okay," I add. "We made it without major casualties. And I got some good news: the Wasps won't come back for a few days. They also noticed that something has changed. And it made them insecure."

"Good." He nods. "I suppose there must be some bad news too then. What is it?"

"I was a bit too quick with promising that I won't throw up." I grimace. "I guess I will."

Master Auberon holds a litter bin in front of me, without the slightest hint of disgust. Still standing two steps away. He's tall, and bending over he can reach my face. I find it somewhat funny. But I can't honestly laugh in my current state. My head still feels as if it was pierced with iron nails, and I'm slightly trembling.

"Your eyes are dilated," he informs me, after putting the bin out of the room.

"Yeah, my brain is still in pieces. But it's only temporary. If I'm lucky, that is. But I don't feel a permanent brain damage happening," I say, looking to the left, then to the right, up and down.

He sighs deeply.

"Okay. What's the worst that can happen to you? Can you die?"

"Probably. Many died before. But I'm still far from it."

"Are you?" he asks. I know it's a shocking sight, he just experienced for the first time, but still, I'm surprised how worried he sounds. I'm sure he saw worse. And survived worse. I know for a fact that he did. He went through some terribly painful things. Things you don't want to think about before going to sleep, because they cause nightmares.

"Yes." I shrug. "I'm quite good at not dying. And if I do, well, it's a calculated risk. What I'm not so good at, is... I don't know how to say. I tend to be stuck in my head."

"In your head?" he asks, with one of his usual disapproving looks, indicating that he finds my poor head a rather unpleasant place to be stuck in. Well, I have to agree with him on this one.

"Yes. It's scary. If it happens to be permanent, I become catatonic for the rest of my life."

"What can be done to avoid it?" he asks, regaining his natural commanding style. Now it's a solvable problem at last. Now he can do something. Now he's back to hero mode. It makes him 200% more annoying instantly.

"Well, I need things that have a grounding effect."

"Like what?" he asks. Or demands, rather.

"You know, things that bring me out of my mind. Sleep. Food. Sex. These work best. Or watching bad movies. Musicals, preferably. I hate musicals, still, I've watched them so many times when I was in training that I can sing along with all of them."

"It's manageable," he states sternly. "There will be plenty of food in your quarters, and as there won't be another attack soon, you can sleep as long as you want. We also have some movies. I'll look after that all your needs are met, personally."

"Personally?" I ask, feeling a bit giggly, which is also a frequent side effect of a successful mapping. "Thank you, sir. I'm afraid you forgot to mention the fourth item on my list though. Or does it go without saying?"

He's staring daggers at me. His posture also becomes more rigid, if that's possible at all. Just as if he was his own statue. Called the irate hero of the Gate, or something like that.

"I think we've made an agreement," he grunts, staring me down in a way that could make a rock tremble.

"Hey, there's only Timur around." I shrug. "He doesn't count. I bet he knows you better already than to worship you. What do you say, Timur?"

Well, he can't say anything. He's too busy at the moment with laughing his ass off.