Author's note: Thank you all for reading! Your support means a lot to me!

Garda II – Lukedonia, 26th November, 05:30

Once you've been through hell, hell will be forever inside of you. It became a part of you, consumed your thoughts and devoured your dreams. Is hell a place or a state of mind? Once you have set foot into hell, you could never leave. When Garda closed her eyes, the darkness sheltered monsters with suave smiles amd sharpened knives, yellow eyes, red blood, her own cries, her own tears, the silence rang loud with her screams. She would never be free. Her soul was still chained down below ground, where the light of day had become less than a faded memory.

Was she broken? Was she doomed to be trapped in these dungeons forever?
"You know the answer," Maduke said, softly, and Garda covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her own sob. "You'll never be free. Wherever you go, I will follow. Why don't you come back?"
His wolfish grin made her sick. You're a dream, she wanted to say. She wanted to scream and tell him he was nothing but a dream – but even in this dream, he was an overwhelming force of malice. The silence was broken by the sound of his steps. He was circling her, he closed in.

"Come on. Don't you want to fight?", he asked, and Garda did not dare looking at him. She could not bear to see that face that had tormented, defiled and destroyed her. And now he came back to haunt her dreams too and she could not do anything. "Come on. Fight me. Put up a fight. Show me what's left of your fire. Let me put it out."

Garda opened her mouth and she could do nothing but croak, as though her body refused to obey her own will. He reached out for her – and the second his fingers touched her throat, they dissolved into butterflies. Light flooded the dark room and revealed a clearing as the werewolf Lord dissolved into butterflies and flower petals, carried away by a gentle breeze. Her tears felt cold against her cheeks.

He will never hurt you again, a voice said, gently, and she recognized it as Raizel's. Garda woke up, far away from the dark dungeons in which she'd been tormented for centuries and far away from the sunlit clearing where no harm could ever come to her. The Noblesse sat on a chair next to her bed, such as he often did, and the corners of his mouth rose just enough to hint at a smile.

"Did you...?" Garda propped herself up on her elbows to have a better look at him and Raizel confirmed with a nod. She blushed. "... thank you."

Apparently, she required rescuing even in her dreams. Still, she did thank him in sincerity – she was grateful for not having to live through the horrors Maduke had inflicted on her again and again. Maybe, one day, she would be free of these hellish nightmares. Garda glanced towards the window – it was still dark outside, though now that the winter months came upon them, the darkness barely meant a thing.

Raizel often sat by her bed when she woke up from a nightmare turned into flowers. Darkness was chased away by light, screams faded into laughter. Briefly, Garda reached out and her fingertips brushed over the back of Raizel's hand. His smile saddened. "I used to do the same for Frankenstein," he said softly and she could tell that his mind had gone elsewhere. His gaze became distant, he was entirely absent. Frankenstein... a bonded was more than just a friend, she was aware of that. Maybe Frankenstein was to him what Muzaka has been to her. The sun and the moon, the one, the one who could never be replaced by anyone else. Was this what a bonded was like to a noble?

The rest of the morning was quiet, and she kept herself busy with dusting the many shelves and cupboards of the manor for the sake of having done something. Raizel had returned to his usual spot by the window and she did not wish to disturb him. Besides... the manor had gotten almost busy. Every other day, another noble came to see them. Sometimes just one of the clan leaders, sometimes several. Were they looking out for Raizel, or were they worried about their temporary Lord? Anyone could tell that his strength was fading.

In the afternoon, Claudia came to visit them, accompanied by Karias. Like the last couple of times, she brought fresh herbs – Garda was supposed to brew a tea from those and drink it. She recognized the scent of mint and valerian root, but the other components of this mixture were unknown to her. Claudia always emphasized that, while the herbs could not just undo the damage that has been done over centuries, they might as well give some relief. Garda often wished there was another way. A faster way.

Karias had handed her a bouquet of flowers and it had brought a blush to her cheeks. They were so caring towards her, a stranger, an outsider, someone who even fought one of their allies. She wished werewolves were even half as amiable as the Clan Leaders were towards her. Maybe then things would have gone differently.

She could hear Karias talking in the tea parlour while she brewed the tea. Frankenstein had left boxes with various herbs he used for making tea, and there were many Claudia had given them too. Tea was still a strange concept to her – it was just hot leaf water, essentially. Garda was well aware of bitter medicinal brews that were supposed to be beneficial to one's health, but the concept of tea for leisure still eluded her.

Raizel had not complained about the way she made the tea, so she assumed that it would be alright enough. Four cups- one for Raizel, one for Claudia, one for Karias and one for her, even though she did not like tea much. Carefully, she placed the teacan and the cups on a tray of fine silver. She had visited them once, in another lifetime, and Frankenstein had presented the tea beautifully. Miss Seira made tea a couple of times as well, and Garda felt inadequate about the way her spoons did not align perfectly with the cups. Carefully, with the tip of her index finger, she nudged a small silver spoon into place. The nobles should not think of her as some sort of backward savage who was incapable of serving tea in an appropriate, aesthetically pleasing manner.

"I made some tea," she said with an awkward smile as she entered the parlour. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Claudia slightly wrinkling her nose. Stay cool. She had watched Seira pour tea countless times. First, she poured a cup for Raizel, and handed it to him. He gave a serene nod and sipped at the hot liquid without flinching. Next, one for Claudia, because Ladies first, as Karias had insisted on a couple of occasions. "Thank you," the purple-haired noble said with a king smile. Karias received his tea next, though he and Claudia both waited for Garda to sit before taking a tentative sip.

Their faces barely moved and they made no comments about the tea, though Garda could tell by their critical glance at the content of their cups that they did not like it. Well. It was good enough for Raizel. Or maybe... maybe Raizel was too polite to speak up and point out that he, in fact, did not like her tea either.

"That is a... unique blend," Claudia said after a few minutes of awkward silence had passed. "Do you remember what you used?"
"I used some of the lavender, some sage, mint, those green tea leaves, a few leaves of bay, licorice root and rose petals."

Karias and Claudia glanced at each other with raised eyebrows, and Garda felt awfully inadequate. She really was good for nothing. She has been a warrior, loyal to her Lord, and failed at that. She has failed her Lord, her beloved, her people, everyone, and now she could not even make a decent cup of tea. It's just tea, she told herself as she was taken by a sudden sob that earned her worried glances from the three nobles. She was not supposed to cry, and that made her cry even more. It's just tea, she told herself and she could not even apologize for this pathetic outburst of useless, inappropriate emotions.

Karias was the first one to get up, and he placed a hand against her back soothingly. "Claudia will prepare a blend that will always taste good," he promised, and Garda felt a strange sense of gratitude at the banality of his words. They matched the banality of her own feelings.

"Garda." Raizel spoke up softly and she almost did not hear him over her own breathless sobs – but something about his voice soothed her. She looked up and met his eyes, filled with a fondness that made her heart sink. His smile was sad. "I will always drink your tea, regardless of what it tastes like."

In this moment, these words meant the world to her.

Frankenstein IV – Werewolf Island, 26th November, 15:00

Frankenstein was alive even though he should have died. He probably would have taken down each of his enemies individually. Maybe even two at a time. But all four of them? He should not have survived this, but very clearly, he'd survived and washed up far away from the battle sites. The only theory he could think of was one he'd have dismissed under different circumstances, but he was sure: no earthly, physical power could have gotten to his body with the hell that surrounded them. Frankenstein never believed in God whatsoever – but was Dark Spear, in a way, not an unearthly power too?

He dreaded the possibility that the disappearance of the Dark Spear and his miraculous survival might be linked to each other.

The weight of something heavy on top of him pulled Frankenstein out of his slumber and his first instinct was to try to summon Dark Spear, only for his call to go unanswered. "Hush." The shaman woman's voice was low, and it had a sense of urgency to it. With a couple of deep breaths, Frankenstein tried to force his frantic breath back under control. The old woman had placed a heavy fur on top of the wool blanket he used as cover, and she adjusted it some more.

"A visitor is coming. Do not move, for your own safety," she warned, and Frankenstein gave a hum of agreement. While he had confirmed by now that this woman was, indeed, blind, he'd also realized her other senses more than compensated for her lack of sight. He could just about get up and help her skin her kills that fed them both and he knew that he had not regained enough strength to actually face an enemy – not if one of the hostile warriors were to discover him.

"The days are dark." the old woman said, pulling up another, lighter blanket to cover him entirely. Frankenstein breathed in. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. He exhaled. If he were to fool anyone into thinking he was asleep, he must control his breathing. For a couple of minutes, he lay perfectly still, focusing on his breath. His heartbeat had slowed down and tension turned into drowsiness. He wanted to turn around and see what the old woman was doing, but he did not budge. Werewolves had finer senses than humans, and could perceive someone even from miles away. If he remembered correctly, not even nobles could keep up with their range of detection. If the old woman was alarmed, then she surely must have a reason.

Eventually, he'd heard steps as well, and a minute later, a woman spoke up. "Good day, Wise Woman. It's me. Mirai. I need to speak to you."
The woman approached, then stopped. "Who's this?"
"A wounded guest of mine. Let him sleep and pay him no mind. Sit."

Frankenstein tried to decide whether this voice was familiar or not. He'd heard her somewhere.
"... I … this will be the last time I visit, wise woman," Mirai said after some hesitation. Judging by the sound of rustling fabric, she'd sat down. "Urne is dead. Kentas is dead. And Lunark is a traitor in prison."

Heavy silence settled in the hut as Frankenstein tried to process what he just heard. No. He must breathe. One two three four five. He exhaled slowly, fingers digging into the fur that served as bedding.

"What happened, Mirai? No word has reached me since the fights down in the coastal areas."
"The nobles tried to invade us. We pushed them back just about, and captured their Lord. Lunark was the traitor who led them here. Wise woman... did... Lunark and Kentas talk to you about this? About their intentions to turn on us?"
"No. They have not been here in a long time, child."
"... I see... anyway... I thought you should know. Given that Kentas and Lunark visited you often."

Frankenstein was seething, and he wished he could jump up and confront this woman right here and now. He remembered this voice. One of the twin warriors who'd accompanied the werewolf Lord. One of the four who almost managed to murder him. Then, they must have moved on to where his Master was facing off the chimeric abomination... He would kill this Mirai. Then, he would kill Ignes and Maduke. Maybe, when he was done with those three, he would kill even more werewolves. If they even managed to capture Raskreia... then he was right. The worst must have happened and vengeance was the last thing that stood between him and the pointlessness of continued survival.

However, in his current state, he could not hope to face a warrior of the werewolves, and he was not certain whether this shaman would choose his side if he were to attack this Mirai. Maybe she would even choose to turn on him if she knew that he was going to kill her Lord.

"Thank you for all the lessons you taught me, wise woman," Mirai said and Frankenstein could hear her getting up. "I will never forget then. But... it's too dangerous to keep coming here. I cannot risk getting suspected of treason because I keep contact with the mentor of two traitors."
"You do not need to justify yourself, Mirai. I am not entitled to be heard. As a last favour, will you deliver a message to Lunark?"
"..." He heard someone shifting uncomfortably and Frankenstein assumed it must be Mirai. "... What message?"
"Tell her to have courage, and that she must always remember who she is."
"... That... sounds like a bit of a garbage piece of advice for someone who's as good as dead, but alright. I... will tell her. Goodbye, Wise Woman. And... please be careful."

Frankenstein listened to the woman leaving. Raskreia has been captured and Lunark was imprisoned. He wished the woman had asked about the other nobles, but she could not possibly know about Raizel. He has been careful with what little he was willing to divulge about himself – if this old werewolf wished to be mysterious about herself, he would do the same.

"It is safe now," the woman said after another couple of minutes passed and Frankenstein sat up. His anger was still there, though it no longer felt scorching hot. Breathe in. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. He exhaled.

The woman's wrinkles seemed even deeper with sadness etched into her face, and she looked old and worn more than anything. Someone who has lived for too long. Her empty, blind stare was directed at the flame of the small fire in the middle of her humble hut.

"I can feel your rage," she said slowly. "If you can avenge those you wish to avenge by taking the Lord's life, please do it. Until then... rest. Rest until you recovered your strength. Rest for as long as you need to."