Erly opened her eyes. A yawn left her lips and she stretched her back while extending her arms. She counted the time she was asleep for. Nearly three hours. As a witch, she was used to sleeping very little, so a three-hour nap was nothing for her.  

What she was concerned about was Harlam. She looked at his bed and gasped. 

Some time while she was asleep, Harlam had turned over on his side. The Everstone had fallen out of his grasp and it lay on the bed. The magical time slow zone around him had disappeared since the Everstone was no longer in sync with his heartbeat. This was the perfect time to grab the Everstone. 

She crawled slowly over to the bed, careful not to wake him. If he woke up at any point, this perfect opportunity would fall flat on its face and she’d have to pay for it.  

When she was near the bed, she carefully moved her hand toward the Everstone. Her fingers extended toward the stone, now only inches away. She could only hope Harlam didn’t hear her heart frantically beating against her chest.  

Her fingers came closer and closer to the Everstone and then touched it. But then it went through the stone. Erly’s eyes widened as she saw her fingers disappear into it. That shouldn’t happen, she thought.  

Erly drew her hand back and then did something that she would regret if wrong. She stuck her hand out and touched Harlam’s chest. Except her hand and his chest didn’t make contact. Her hand went straight through and touched the mattress.  

That could only mean one thing. While Erly was asleep, Harlam had used the fourth ability and created a clone of himself.  

The moment she realized what had happened, the clone vanished into a misty cloud and evaporated. There was a speck of blood on the bedsheet that could only have gotten there when Harlam activated the ability. 

He had gotten away, and she had no idea when he left or how far along he was until reaching the Evergrave. 

# 

Harlam ran. He ran and ran and ran, his feet refusing to falter even a single step. If he misplaced a step and stumbled, he’d lose ground. He had been running for nearly twenty whole minutes, not daring to slow down in case Erly ever woke up. He couldn’t risk it. 

Tragedy struck. A random vine snagged against Harlam’s ankle. He fell to the ground, but before his face struck dirt, he held out his hands and dropped into a push-up position. He winced from the pain in his left hand. Blood trickled down his wrist originating from the long gash in his palm. In order to activate the fourth ability and create a clone, he needed to stain the stone with blood. The stone would then absorb the blood into it and a clone would form from mist and act out whatever the original commanded it to do.  

Harlam couldn’t hold the Everstone in his left hand anymore. If he were to hold it using his injured hand, it would suck out the blood from him until there was nothing left. He didn’t feel like dying from the vampiric stone, so he kept it in his right hand.  

Harlam pushed himself up and broke out into a run. He was well rested and relatively healthy, so he could run for however long he needed. All the fleeing built up his stamina to insane levels, meaning he could keep a steady run going for nearly an hour, the time needed to get to the Evergrave. However, he wasn’t running steady in the slightest. He regularly tripped on random vines and branches, sometimes even on a tree root breaking the surface. He needed to go through the Yellowbark Rainforest again to reach the Evergrave, so forest foliage acted as a roadblock, slowing him down enough so he couldn’t reach the Evergrave in record time. 

All of the mess-ups caused Harlam’s breathing to falter as well. His hyperventilating mess called breathing would only serve to tire him further. The Evergrave was guarded by four of the best soldiers in Teffer, so he needed to be in good shape when he reached it. Otherwise, he’d have to fight past them with a lack of energy and restraint. He’d want to get to the grave quickly, leading him to make decisions that would result in a messy affair.  

Suddenly, a circle glowed from beneath Harlam’s feet. He shouted and jumped back as an explosion of smoke and steam erupted from the ground, obscuring his vision. Some of the smoke entered his lungs and eyes, making his eyes water and forcing him to cough to expel the smoke from his body. 

He kept his eyes forward but didn’t risk taking a step until the smoke cleared. Through his faulty mystical third eye, he could sense two presences behind the smoke. Witches, and he had an idea which ones.  

Just as Harlam thought, when the smoke cleared, Miraca and the second successor stood some feet away. Erly was nowhere in sight. 

“Good morning,” Miraca yelled while waving at him. “If you were going, you should’ve told us!” 

Harlam laughed at the audacity of the woman. It was going to be hard putting his all into this fight. He actually sorta liked her. 

“As if I’ll just do that,” Harlam yelled back, clutching the Everstone even fiercer. “I’m guessing Erly’s heading to the Evergrave.” 

“Like we’ll tell you,” the successor said. 

“Yeah, she is!” 

The successor and Harlam looked at Miraca with wide eyes. In response, she shrugged and opened her mystical third eye. It wasn’t like there was a literal third eye on her forehead. It was a term used by witches when someone gets ready to use a spell or seek out if any spells were active. Everyone’s third eye was different, so spells weren’t normally shared between witches except for common spells used to teach. Harlam trained his third eye to preemptively see if a spell was active and discern what kind of spell it was. That way he could tell how many witches were near at all times and who was attacking him in what way. It’s a power born from a runner, not a fighter. 

“There’s no point in bluffing,” Miraca said. 

“Yes, there is! If he’s not fully aware where Erly is then he’ll be paranoid throughout the fight.” 

“No, I won’t,” Harlam yelled. “I can sense y’all. My third eye isn’t as advanced, but I can sense if a witch enters its radius!”  

He wasn’t lying either. It would be simple to tell how many witches were nearby by just a simple scan. There wasn’t a need for him to worry about some sort of ambush. 

“See, I told you.” Miraca stuck her tongue out at the successor.  

The successor smacked a hand against her forehead. She sighed and turned to look at Harlam. Both of their magical auras were immense, easily dwarfing his by a magnitude of a thousand. Miraca didn’t act like a witch in the slightest, but even her magical aura far exceeded the average witch.  

All was still. The wind blew, picking up a dead leaf and forcing it to dance in its clutches. Harlam’s grip on the Everstone tightened even further. Miraca and the successor held their hands out, pentagrams forming within their palms.  

Somewhere out in the forest, an animal stepped on a stick, acting as a trigger. The fight began. Harlam dashed to the side as a barrage of stones shot out at where he stood. Planting a foot on the ground, Harlam pushed himself forward and dashed toward the direction of the Evergrave. He managed to run past the witches, placing himself in front of them. It was thirty or so minutes away to the Evergrave, and hopefully, he could get away without having to kill anybody.  

A pentagram glowed on the tree to the right of Harlam. He saw it from the corner of his eye and ducked the moment he saw it shine. Tree bark shot out, morphing as a spike of wood right where his head had been. He may not have been wanting to kill them, but they weren’t holding anything back for him.  

Harlam corrected his posture and ran as fast as his legs could take him. He swerved and hid behind trees as many different projectiles launched at him at high speeds. Something clipped his ankle, causing him to stumble and nearly fall, but that was all. Harlam ran, zigzagging between trees, sometimes even breaking up the zigzag just so they couldn’t get used to his pattern. The result was favorable, though far from what he would have liked. He got sliced shallowly from many things that he couldn’t recognize except as blurs, but nothing so life-threatening pierced him. Thanks to his third eye, he could avoid most things that came at him. 

Witches preferred fighting from range compared to a soldier fighting up close. Because of that, there was a moment of lag between the attack and the actual impact. Abusing that moment of lag was crucial to staying alive against witches. His muscle memory at dodging witch projectiles was honed to a near-perfect edge. All he could do was hope that they didn’t make the same mistake that the other witches did. The mistake that labeled him a murderer. 

His hopes were soon dashed, however. In a puff of steam, the successor appeared right in front of him. She held her hand out, the pentagram on her palm glowing. There was no dodging it. She was too close to effectively jump out of the way. No matter how Harlam moved, he’d take a brutal hit straight on. He couldn’t avoid it. 

There was only one thing that Harlam feared above killing. That fear would drive him to kill in order to continue walking. 

Harlam scratched the Everstone and the barrier activated. As soon as he brought out the barrier, a light flashed instantly. Harlam covered his eyes just in time before he blinded himself. 

The light soon faded away, and Harlam opened his eyes. In front of him, the corpse of the successor lay flat on the ground. She cried blood. She smelled blood. Blood seeped out of every orifice of her body. 

What shocked Harlam the most wasn’t that he killed. No. He’s far beyond that point now. What really shocked him was how determined the witches were to die. When they learned that far-out attacks wouldn’t work, they’d always try and hit him from up close. That always resulted in their deaths. The fact that they could see that but still wouldn’t run away was what truly made Harlam hold his breath.  

It was beyond idiotic.  

Something stepped on a stick behind Harlam. He turned and found Miraca looking at him and then at the corpse in front of him. No one said anything. There just wasn’t anything that could be said. Harlam had killed someone that was probably her friend. But he had no choice. She would have killed him if he didn’t kill her. But telling himself that didn’t make him feel any better. It didn’t make him feel worse either. He just couldn’t feel anything regarding her. 

“Will you please just let me run,” Harlam reached a hand out, fingers curled in desperation. He didn’t want her to end up like the corpse in front of him.  

Instead of letting Harlam run off, or even running herself, Miraca held out her hand with the pentagram. Harlam’s eyes widened in shock at the threatening display, not because he feared her, but because he feared what would happen to her.  

“Why,” Harlam asked. “Why! Do you hate me? Fine! Fucking fine! Hate me, but choose life! You don’t have to get your revenge! You don’t have to force me to kill you too.” Harlam screamed. Screamed at the top of his lungs until all he could muster was a pathetic whimper. “Please. Please just run.” 

Miraca inhaled deeply, then exhaled. She looked at him with not a hateful look in her eyes. Instead, she smiled. Smiled while still holding out her hand.  

“No hard feelings.”  

That was all she said. Harlam couldn’t understand it. Was this some sort of suicide pact? If her friend died then she would throw herself at death in order to join her? Is that what being a witch entailed? If that was the case, then he didn’t understand. He could never understand! 

But there was something more, wasn’t there? Miraca didn’t act like a witch. At least, she acted very differently from them. She didn’t behave like she was being controlled by her superior’s whims and orders every moment of her life. She knew how to laugh and cheer, even with someone she considered an enemy. Yet here she was, still deciding to risk her life to take back the Everstone.  

Were the brainwashing oaths finally taking control of her after seeing her best friend die? It had to be, but then why didn’t it feel that way? That smile on her face wasn’t very witchlike. Every other witch he fought would either yell at him or show no emotion. But Miraca still carried herself like a normal human. But in that case, if she acted like a person and not a witch while still attempting to halt him… 

He just couldn’t understand. 

But what he could understand was that he was about to do something he’ll regret for the rest of eternity. 

Harlam wiped the tears streaming down his face and sniffed. He raised his head and tried to put on the best smile he could. He failed. 

“No hard feelings.” 

They clashed.