Ignis watched the body lying on the ground. The growing pool of blood crawled all the way to his feet; the motionless chest, the vacant stare, the hand that had been choking him just minutes earlier.

  His breathing began to slow, and the drumming in his chest started to fade. The world, which had only consisted of him and his opponent, began to expand. It was only then that he noticed the blue cloth hanging from his right arm was soaked with his own blood. His wounds had reopened, his head was bleeding, and pain throbbed in his leg.

  The world grew louder. The bandits, seeing their defeated leader, passed by him at a safe distance. Mirum was still taunting them: baring his teeth and mimicking how he would beat them up. He pulled out an apple, tossed it into the air, and tried to slice it into a million pieces with his hand as if it were a sword, but it fell to the ground in one piece.

  "This will be your fate if you mess with me," she said.

  "Become apples?" one of the bandits asked, frightened.

  "I think you're starting to get it. Now get out of my sight!" She stomped after them, throwing stones at the fleeing bandits.

  Vertigo approached Ignis, leading the dead bandit's bay horse. Ignis grabbed the reins, but his mind was still besieged by memories of the battle that had just ended. He saw the arm that had swung towards the bandit instead of him, giving him the chance to drive his sword into his opponent. Then he replayed the scene in his mind over and over: his double rushed from behind the tree in his stead, falling and splitting into two pieces. He was certain of one thing: he hadn't imagined these. If he had, he wouldn't be alive.

  Only two dead bodies remained. The leaves rustled and moved; one jumped onto the large mass of flesh. The tiny hero mice sniffed, shielding itself with its small shield. Tempting its luck, it took a bite, then jumped back in fright, raising its shield over its head. No retaliatory strike came. It bit again, still nothing. Then it stood up straight and began to squeak loudly. The leaves rustled, moved, and squeaked. Hundreds of tiny eyes glinted from beneath the leaves. They looked around, assessed the situation, saw their comrade who had brought down the giant. Throwing their shields up, they celebrated the hero's victory with squeaks, climbed onto the bodies, and then gnawed, gnawed, gnawed, gnawed, gnawed.

  ***

  Sitting around the fire, they drank to Ignis and roasted meat, most of which he received. Vertigo dropped a pouch full of coins into his hand. Mirum performed a shadow puppet show in his honor and displayed his belching talent as well. The latter was met with great applause and amazement from everyone except Ignis, who saw, heard, and even felt the performance, but his thoughts were stuck in the midst of the battle and would likely have remained there all night if a sound hadn't broken through his thoughts.

  He grabbed a lantern and left everyone behind. Mirum's bells jangled nervously behind him, growing closer and then suddenly falling silent. The masterfully released belches resumed, but Ignis kept walking. When the comb of trees had blocked all the camp's lights, the noise in his head faded. He swept the lantern's light around. Only trees, leaves, and the sounds of the night. Only himself. He swept the lantern's light around. Just trees, leaves, the sounds of the night. Only himself. And there was also himself, standing face to face with his own image. He moved to the left and circled himself with the lantern, while the other just stood there, following him with its eyes. It was him, even the clothes were the same, but something was off. It cast no shadow, and the lantern's light passed through it, illuminating the tree behind it. Ignis swung the lantern through it.

  "Didn't I tell you not to do that?" he shouted at himself. But the voice wasn't his, though he recognized it from somewhere.

  The figure split in half as if cut by a sword. Then the apparition dissolved into mist on the ground, only to reform and become humanoid again. White fingers, white hair, like a snowflake.

  "Do you recognize me now?" she laughed.

  "Why are you following me?"

  "We want to help you. I want you to be safe with us."

  "I've managed without your help so far. Go away and don't show yourself again," he swung the lantern through the air.

  "Is that what you think? Who do you think brought Vertigo to you?"

  "That was your doing?"

  "He always listens to what we say. And Mirum is with him too. We thought it would do you good to smile a little."

  "Who is 'we'?"

  "We are the spirits of the forest!" they said in unison.

  By then, two snowflakes were floating in the air. One had shorter legs, a thinner face, and curlier hair.

  "How many more of you are there?"

  "Besides our mother, no one. We are special even among the special."

  "Irreplaceable," one emphasized.

  The two of them swayed and danced around each other as if the wind played with their weightless bodies.

  "Come with us," one extended a hand.

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  "I have no business with monsters, I've already told you."

  "We are not monsters! I am Peculi, and she is Alba," she glanced at her shorter sibling, who drifted between Ignis and her.

  "There are many like you," Peculi playfully slipped under Ignis's clothes.

  "Many hide themselves, but they shouldn't."

  "Where we live, there is no fear, you don't have to worry about being caught."

  "Sold."

  "Killed, displayed as a trophy."

  "Exploited."

  "Enough. Leave me. I won't go anywhere with you."

  "But we have many strong warriors," their white faces lit up. "They can protect you."

  "Yes, and King Dolor would surely listen to you. We know what you desire. And until then..."

  "No! Stop wasting my time."

  "So we're wasting your time, are we?"

  "So we're useless, aren't we?" Both narrowed their white eyes.

  "Exactly."

  "We brought Vertigo to you," said Alba.

  "We watch the path," continued Peculi, stepping in front of her sibling.

  "Without us, no one would have found you!"

  "No one would have treated your wounds!"

  "No one would have given you a horse!"

  "We fought with you!"

  "We gave you the balls!"

  "Admit it: Without us."

  "You."

  "Wouldn't."

  "Be."

  "Alive!"

  Ignis's back hit a tree.

  "Leave me!" he turned back towards the camp.

  "You can still change your mind."

  "Get out of my head right now!"

  ***

  The rain hadn't turned the ground into mud under their wheels in recent days, nor had they encountered any bandits. Yet, they weren't making the progress or heading in the direction Ignis wanted. They had to make several detours, specifically to the villages of Aspero and Rubigo, where Vertigo replenished their dwindling supplies with meats, oil, wine, and everything else that might be important during the journey. And everything else beyond that.

  For Ignis, time turned to jelly the moment they entered the village gate. Anvils clanged in every direction, people shouted, loaded, and went about their business. The workshops belched smoke into the streets, and heavy carts brought in raw, unworked iron.

  After the silence of Snowland, he nearly suffocated in the cacophony there. Too many people, too many sounds, too many eyes. He felt like everyone was watching him. He even put on a cloak, which only made him feel more suspicious. It seemed like every guard was watching him. There was no corner to hide in, no escape route. The villages of Snowland, if you could call them that, were quiet. Even if there was noise, the snow muffled it. The houses were far enough apart that a shout wouldn't reach the nearest neighbor and far enough that if unnecessary, they wouldn't see each other. They didn't even cut down the trees, letting them obscure their houses. There was a market there too, but no one spoke louder or more than was necessary for the person in front of them to hear, and as soon as they bought what they needed, they hurried back to the silent solitude of their homes. There, he could never be suspicious to anyone, as he hardly encountered anyone. With each passing moment, Ignis's fear grew stronger that he would end up in a cage again.

  Meanwhile, the others were glad to be free from the choking darkness of the forest for a short while. The mercenaries enjoyed the aromatic air of the taverns, their smiles stretched by the wine. Thoughts of the balls gnawed into their minds, appearing in almost every sentence.

  They visited some blacksmith shops and the market, where Vertigo traded everything he had, even bartering a dagger for Mirum. The weapon's blade was decorated with swirls, and the handle was twisted. As Mirum brandished her new toy, they drew even more attention. Ignis tried to stay as far away from her as possible, using the silver Vertigo had given him to buy some bundles of rope, two canteens, a map, some tools for trap-making, and sacks.

  After leaving Rubigo, they continued their journey following the bends of a stream. Mirum didn't leave Ignis alone for a moment. He danced for him, jingled his bells, and occasionally juggled whatever he could get his hands on: his dagger, any nearby mice, and sometimes even the highly prized, mysterious balls for a trick or tongue-twisting feat. It seemed that he was unaffected by the charm of the balls, unlike the mercenaries, who would have otherwise melted at the sight of Mirum's tongue twisting, undulating, and playing with the balls like a dolphin.This time, however, they only saw the sacred balls, almost ready to embark on a less holy journey through Mirum's digestive system. The mercenaries watched Mirum with wide eyes, unblinking, and Ignis was sure it wouldn't take much longer for them to rip the balls out of his mouth along with his tongue and, after wiping them off, put them back in the box. When Mirum finally took the balls out of his mouth for a moment, Ignis placed them all in a pouch and tied it to his belt. This way, Mirum couldn't access them, and perhaps the mercenaries would be calmer. Their sacred relics were now under protection.

  After this, not only Mirum but also the mercenaries and Vertigo kept a close eye on the balls and Ignis. Because of this, his nights stretched almost until dawn, as he couldn't be sure if one of them was watching him. He didn't even dare to take off his clothes. Alba's words echoed more and more in his head: "Where we live, there is no fear, you don't have to worry about being caught." Wherever that place was, it sounded like a pleasant place to Ignis.

  In the distance above the trees, a reddish veil of mountains slowly appeared, stretching across the horizon. Ignis couldn't take his eyes off it. It was as if they were traveling inside a giant box, from one wall to the other.

  The mercenaries whispered among themselves, and whatever they were talking about, they immediately fell silent when he got close. One evening, Ignis crawled into his tent early, as if exhausted from the journey and wanting to sleep. Then he listened to their conversation outside:

  "Maybe they need to be put in fire or underwater. Something loyal might hatch from the balls."

  "No way, you probably have to swallow them. They give superhuman strength."

  "Nonsense, they must grant wishes. Anything you want, just think about it, then break or step on it. If only they were ours."

  In the following days, the mercenaries asked every traveler they met on the road, always casually, hypothetically, what they would do with some all-powerful balls, assuming they existed. But of course, they don't.

  Even the little Ignis overheard from these conversations was too much. To distract his mind and ears from these thoughts, he taught Mirum how to defend himself with that dagger if sticking out his tongue wouldn't be enough. Every time they camped somewhere, Mirum immediately pulled out his dagger and started poking Ignis's side with it, asking for more lessons. Despite his enthusiasm, his memory seemed unwilling to absorb the new lessons. No matter how many times Ignis showed him a move or stance, within an hour, he would forget how to hold the handle, often cutting himself with a swipe. By the end of so much practice, they always ended up back where they started. Ignis sat wearily by the fire:

  Mirum took a seat on the opposite side of the fire and tried to tame a stray hero mouse. Or the mouse was trying to tame him; it was hard to tell.

  Vertigo stepped beside him and laughed at his failure.

  "Don't try to turn a cook into a doctor, or every patient will end up in the pot."

  A reddish veil of mountains above the horizon claimed more of the sky with each passing mile.

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