The battle is still not over.

Timur is struggling with the operation. Now he notices what's been outside the radar's radius. They've come closer by now. It's even more Wasps. Flying in a tight formation.

They are trying something new, as it seems. Adapting to the altered circumstances. To me.

I must be back in the game. In one piece. Body and mind.

"I'm dissolving," I mumble, trying to shed some light on the problem. Just when I start to doubt the effectiveness of figurative speech in the case of soldiers, Master Auberon sighs, and he puts his arms around me. There's nothing affectionate about it, it feels like a safety belt, defining my physical body, holding it back from floating.

It makes me able to concentrate again. I clear my throat and address the soldiers. Their relief is like a chain of Christmas lights, flashing one after another on my internal landscape.

The task doesn't get any easier. Staying alive does. And it's enough. Despite the pain, I feel at the top of my game.

I don't need to fight fainting. I need to fight the Wasps only. And I do. After a short time, the number of dots starts to decrease notably. And it's not our dots. It's theirs. I need another thirty minutes to turn the difference into something critical.

It's a huge victory for us. Surpassing all our expectations. And it's unexpected not only for us, but for the Wasps too. I see the feelings of their retreating forces. They are at their wit's end. They still don't know what changed. They can't sense me the way I sense them. They are scared, desperate and clueless.

When it's all over, I let the dots disappear from my inner map. One by one first, then in masses, until my brain is totally empty.

Master Auberon, of course, can't see what I'm doing. He still concentrates on anchoring me with his breathing. He can't feel what I feel either, despite the illusion of our collective nervous system. He has no way of sensing the terrible loneliness, as my mind is evacuating. In other words, as everyone is abandoning me, leaving me alone, with the bitter memory of the deepest attachment that's possible between human beings. I'm falling literally out of their hearts. Thousands of them, at the same time. Dumped into a hopeless world, where all emotions are dead.

So, he obviously can't understand either, why I push his hands away with a disgusted snort.

His nerves must be in worse condition too than they seem. When I fail to react to his questions, even his usual cool leaves him. The last thing I was expecting from him is to march out of the control room, with a hurt look on his face, after grunting something like he thought that I needed his help, but it must have been just his god complex speaking.

The battle was probably even more stressful than the way I felt it. He's far more practiced in assessing military situations and tactical chances than me, no wonder it made his self-control hang by a thread. It was a close call indeed.

While I sympathize with him, it doesn't solve my problem. I can't get up from my chair. I kind of hoped that he would help me to get back to my room. Timur is still busy with supervising the landings. So I just keep trembling there, with a devastating headache, and vibrant colors swimming into my field of peripheral vision.

I try to concentrate on them, instead of the lingering feeling of loneliness. It's strange, it has never lasted this long after a mapping. Now it refuses to go away.

I only start to feel better when the pilots return, and they invade the small control room. They are too loud for my pulsing brain, but they chase away the feeling of being abandoned, surrounding me, thanking me for saving them. Most of them are crying. I start to cry too. It's such a relief, it makes my mental pressure a little easier to bear.

I also let them hug me. I faint the luckiest moment possible, in the tight embrace of an Australian pilot lady. She has the widest smile and the strongest arms of them all. So while she carries me to my quarters, I'm probably feeling better, finally. I am not in a position to know for sure, though.

I need a full day to regenerate.

My double vision stays with me even after waking up. That's a new record. And my poor brain needs even more time to set up and reboot.

When it happens, I get a full medical checkup, under orders from Master Auberon. I still function the way I should. I guess it's justified to say thanks to the nonexistent gods for it.

When the medical team is done with me, I get a visit from Timur. He thanks me for not giving in. Then I get a visit from Master Auberon. I thank him for not letting me give in.

"Your anchoring skills are exceptional," I tell him, right in the face.

He clears his throat, looking away for a second. But only for a second. After that, he just nods, simply acknowledging the fact that he excels at another thing, just like at so many others. But I'm not finished.

"You appeared on my map, you know," I inform him. "You were part of the game, so it couldn't be avoided."

He doesn't answer.

"You were bright," I tell him, with my throat going dry. Even the memory makes me a bit emotional.

"What does that mean?" he asks, sounding mildly interested.

"I saw your feelings," I answer. "And they were unlike anyone else's."

He obviously has no idea what I'm talking about.

"You were not scared," I enlighten him.

He just nods again. As if it was nothing important. Just a normal condition, not even worth to be mentioned. Just like a proper savior of humanity should be, naturally.

"Has anybody, ever told you about how annoying you were, while being in hero mode?" I pout.

He raises his brows. That's all he has to add.

"Okay." I shrug. "You're really not scared of anything, are you? I thought it was just a pose."

"No," he answers sternly.

"I get it now," I admit.

"No," he repeats. "No one has ever told me about how annoying I was in hero mode."

He sounds very calm. But the look in his eyes promises a very serious lecture if I don't shut up immediately. So I open my mouth, as an obvious reaction. But he gives me no time for backtalk.

"In fact, there are things I'm afraid of," he goes on. "But they are not on your map."

The way he says it, takes my breath away. There's a whole story behind it. Something deeper than the feeble, ever-changing feelings I'm used to. It also sounds like a warning. Warning me about the fact, that I can try to bend him, but in the end, I'm going to be the one to break. When I look him in the eyes, I don't doubt it in the least.

His mental strength catches me unprepared. It shouldn't, because it's matching perfectly the quality of that little, bright dot I was so lucky to see. Still, I can't even look away, until he goes on, allowing me to blink finally.

"I also saw something," he says, "even if I'm not a Seer. I noticed that the very moment you snapped out of your duty, you couldn't stand me being around."

I open my mouth to protest, but he simply raises a finger, making me shut up.

"Now," he carries on, "you have the right to hate me. But there is something you also need to know for a fact. I would never hurt you on purpose."

I breathe out slowly.

"Okay. But you—"

"I didn't," he interrupts me.

"But you," I repeat, with much more emphasis, "have to tell me what happened then. Not the official version. The truth. You could easily convince the officers that you didn't hurt me deliberately. Now convince me."

He closes his eyes for a second. Then he nods.

"Alright. I tell you what happened. I was a rookie back then. Still wet behind the ears, and nervous as fuck. There were lives at stake. I was looking for terrorists, but you already know that. And you were at the wrong place. I didn't know you... I grabbed your arm... I wasn't aware of my strength... and it happened."

I sigh, still waiting for a better explanation. But he seems to be unable to come up with one.

"Okay," I snort. "You know what? I'm a Seer for a reason. Do you want me to help you with this? Do you want my version? Also, not the one I presented back then, but what I believe to be the truth now."

I can hardly believe it, but he closes his eyes again, and nods.

"I wasn't at the wrong place," I say, "I was at the right place. I got there following the same trail you followed. I was working on the same case. But, because of your well-known god complex, you simply refused to believe that anyone else could be as good as you were. So you presumed that I belonged to the enemy. And you wanted information."

"It's true," he admits, opening his eyes and looking at me.

"That's a start." I shrug.

"But still," he insists, "I didn't break your arm on purpose."

I can't help but snort.

"Just admit it. And we're done. I'm ready to forget it."

"I can't." He grimaces. "Because I didn't."

"Or, rather, it doesn't go well with your self-image."

Now it's his turn to snort.

"What self-image? You have no idea what you're talking about."

"The savior of humanity, what else?" I shrug.

"Savior?" he bursts out. "I think your tongue slipped. You mispronounced slave."

I just stare at him.

"Humanity doesn't need a savior," he goes on. "It can't be saved. Not by a human. It needs a slave. That's what I am. I'm serving day and night. It doesn't let me sleep. It doesn't let me connect. It doesn't let me live. It makes me want to disappear from the face of the Earth, or become invisible, at least."

My eyes must be like saucers. He doesn't seem to be fazed by it in the least.

"But it doesn't matter." He shrugs. "Soon we're all going to disappear. In a way, I look forward to it."

I slowly nod. I also smile warily, but I doubt it's enough to conceal my thoughts.

The last hope of mankind is not only low-key suicidal, but also pro-extinction.

Right. Good to know.