The night was rough. The day already felt like a week, and the night threatened to stretch it into a month.

  Cultivation, enhanced metabolism, and hormonal regution, none of it saved me from thoughts and self-doubt.

  I y on the bed, eyes wide open. Darkness didn’t help me fall asleep; on the contrary, it fanned the fmes of my thoughts. They spun in my head like shrapnel from an explosion, ricocheting from thick skull walls. I caught myself nearly activating the Thousand Sparks of Awareness just to reflect on the Ka Federation.

  Thoughts that, here and now, would bring me absolutely no benefit.

  What I truly needed was a solid sleep, something to prepare me for the new day and the surprises it might bring.

  Not that I expected any active moves from either side, whether ours or the demons’. Both we and they would spend tomorrow analysing. Mendoza was already on it, but she was Fifth Stage and the brain of the entire ‘resistance’ in Yellow Pine, while I was a mere Second Stage. Truth be told, I hadn’t even made it to background character status.

  I finally fell asleep near dawn. No more than two hours. Then, I was up. No arm. No order. Just woke up because it was time. Fortunately, the Second Stage did have its advantages over the First, so I felt better than I probably should have.

  Breakfast was mechanical: packet omelette, soy porridge, and instant coffee. A triple portion. The coffee was as bitter as the past night, but it managed to shake me awake completely.

  I had pnned to head to the Bde Garden. But during those sleepless hours, and the brief nap I managed, my colleagues had likely got some work done. And that work could affect my pns. So far, no one had informed me of any changes, but I didn’t want to be caught mid-way and have to rush off for tea with Mendoza.

  Logic and experience told me it wouldn’t go ahead without the tea. So I took the initiative and messaged the master myself.

  She replied almost immediately, scheduling the tea, as expected, in an hour, in her quarters.

  At the entrance to those very quarters, I was greeted by a familiar scent.

  There was a lot in the air, but besides apple and pine, the smell of burnt wood, chocote, and caramel mixed with a faint hint of alcohol stood out. I knew that scent. It had met me more than once at the doorway to Novak’s quarters.

  I expected to find a new bottle on Mendoza’s table — bck, with golden embossing, but I hadn’t expected to find my master already seated at the table.

  Novak was sitting with his back to the window, facing the host’s armchair. In his hand was a big gss of amber liquid, the same as the one Mendoza held.

  The tall, lidded cup from which a tea scent wafted was clearly meant for me. It also partly dictated where I was supposed to sit. The cup was closer to the right-hand chair, while the left was occupied by a rge cylindrical container with a handle on its lid.

  I gave the masters a brief bow before taking my seat.

  “Master Mendoza. Master Novak.”

  “Jake,” Novak said, assessing my appearance. I thought I’d already pulled myself together, but he noticed. “Rough night?”

  “Too much new information, too few facts and too little opportunity to verify any of it.”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Novak said, deliberately shifting his gaze toward the container. “We’ve got someone to ask now.”

  I frowned.

  Clearly, my brain still wasn’t functioning as it should.

  I removed the lid from the cup and took a sip. It was wrong tea.

  “I miss the Clear Thoughts,” I said.

  “For conversation?” Novak crified. “That would’ve been a waste. You’ve got the Thousand Sparks of Awareness.”

  Thousand Sparks! Right!

  I activated the technique, looked at the container… and still couldn’t decipher his hint.

  “Still not getting it.”

  “Soul Save formation,” Novak reminded me.

  I squinted and looked at the container again.

  “My guest from st night… Is he in there?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Novak smiled.

  Well, that would be a surprise for him. Mendoza had far more control than those damned demons thought.

  In my eyes, she’d already redeemed herself. And the demons wouldn’t dare act so brazenly again, or question whether she was the kind of person to negotiate with. Who else would you negotiate with, if not someone who could steal your soul?

  “This is far more convenient than a comatose body,” I said.

  “Tell me about it!” Novak ughed.

  “Speaking of the body, what happened to it?” I asked Mendoza, meaning the former vessel of the now-trapped soul.

  “Broke his neck during training,” she gave me the official version.

  I didn’t dwell on it, just made a mental note that Mendoza, or her team, were capable of pulling off tricks like that.

  “Are you taking him to the Bck Lotus?” I asked Novak.

  I saw no other reason for the container to be here. Unless it had something to do with the technical details of the formation itself.

  “We’ve got spare bodies and a base where he can be pced and… ‘monitored,’” Novak confirmed. “Which brings us to the next question.

  “Maybe it’s time for you to return to the Lotus? You’ve done more than I expected. More than was asked.”

  It sounded like a compliment. But Novak never held back with compliments. When something truly mattered, he would immediately offer a reward.

  This time, the deed wasn’t weighty enough, or perhaps the reward didn’t lie with him.

  I shifted my gaze to Mendoza, assessing her, considering.

  “I’d be gd if you stayed,” she said frankly. “We can agree on payment.”

  Mendoza didn’t offer rewards upfront. Her approach was different, and I wasn’t sure how to proceed. Stay or go?

  It wasn’t the first time I’d asked myself that question. And every time, the circumstances were different. This time, no one was pressuring me. I wasn’t under siege, not in anyone’s sights, not in danger. On the contrary, I had a window. A safe one. Retively short, but real.

  And Novak had given the green light to leave. If he said that, no one would call it running away. And even if they did, it wouldn’t bother me in the slightest.

  The question was something else entirely.

  What would I gain from either decision? Could I grow here?

  Back at Bck Lotus st year, things were far more dangerous. Now, it’s my safe harbour. But growth? Right now, it’s a cosy loop of repetition and routine. No compints — routine is great! But honestly, when I feel danger, I push myself harder.

  And it’s not just me. All of humanity is like that. If not for the demons, there would be no cultivation bases on the Moon.

  The demons had become the driving force behind humanity’s path of cultivation and progress.

  It's frightening and unpleasant to admit, but I need that adrenaline. And honestly, going back home without making a choice on qi type just feels stupid.

  “Is there anything I should keep in mind when deciding?” I asked Novak.

  “You’re in it up to your scalp,” my master said. “And if you stay, it’s only going to get deeper. I’m deliberately leaving a trail for the demons. I appear openly whenever one of their flock vanishes. It’s too btant a hint for them to miss.

  “They won’t be able to get to me, but you…”

  I sighed. As always, he was right.

  “It’s not all that grim!” Mendoza interjected. “They took Soro from me, I took one of them. Attacking one of my students, or guests, especially after offering a truce, would be a terrible move. Most likely, they’ll just use you as a channel to contact me.”

  “Or they might decide contacting you is too dangerous altogether,” Novak said unexpectedly, and I raised a brow. He acknowledged it with a nod. “Yes, unlikely, but I think, when it comes to reaching out to you,” he said to Mendoza, “they’ll be looking for other channels.”

  “That’s assuming they even try,” I said, recalling the conversation with the demon. “What if they simply return to their original pn — observation and waiting?”

  “That’s possible,” Novak agreed. “But in that case, time works in our favour.”

  I didn’t see the logic. As far as I was concerned, time worked strictly against us.

  “That depends on how much truth was in the demon’s words,” I said. “I get that, at some point, the horned souls were going to betray us, and this whole thing might turn out to be complete fiction. But if the information about the third wormhole is true, then we’re running out of time.”

  “The same forty years,” Novak shook his head.

  “You don’t think the demons would accelerate their pns if they learned about the wormhole?” I asked.

  “Before coming here, I had time to consult our prisoners. First — yes, the first two wormholes do exist, the demon wasn’t lying there. But to travel between stars, you need a gate, a jumpship or a gateship. A jumpship travels alone. A gateship opens a wormhole for a fleet.

  “Take a guess which one the demons used for the raid on Earth?”

  “A gateship, obviously. Is there a reason they didn’t build a stationary gate?”

  “In the Cn Union’s territory, gates are rarely used. They’re massive, stationary structures that require stability to operate. And that’s precisely what the cns ck. Constant skirmishes over resources, sabotage, and often outright war, that’s their default state.

  “Imagine investing a fortune in construction, only for a rival to sabotage it so your gate colpses the moment it activates. You lose the structure, possibly damage the ships queued for transit, and the wormhole destabilises, making it too dangerous to use for years, decades, or even centuries.”

  I froze on the spot.

  “We can do that? Destabilise our wormholes so the demons can’t come through?”

  “I suspect we can destabilise it,” Novak replied, “but that doesn’t make the wormhole completely impassable. And we don’t really know how dangerous ‘too dangerous’ is. Is it enough to stop a raid?”

  “Unfortunately, our demons don’t understand the tech well enough for me to get anything coherent out of them. Same with the ones the army captured. Maybe this one,” he nodded toward the container, “knows more, but I doubt it. I doubt any of the ones left here had a clue.”

  “It’s not in a demon’s nature,” I realised aloud, “to leave even their own an escape route.”

  Novak nodded.

  “They have a different concept of ‘their own’ altogether.”

  “But what stops them from sending a signal?” I asked.

  “Laws of nature. Not even a signal can travel faster than the speed of light.”

  “To send a signal, they’d have to open a wormhole,” I concluded.

  “Which, among other things, is located about a light-year from the Sun. That’s one of the reasons they don’t raid us more often. Preparing the raid on their side takes decades, if not longer. They’re probably only now beginning to negotiate group composition.”

  “How fast do our ships travel?” I asked.

  “Maximum — 0.4 light speed,” Novak answered.

  “So just reaching the wormhole would take two years. With that kind of timeline, forty years isn’t enough to build gates and experiment with them,” I calcuted. “And the wheels of bureaucracy turn even slower, and I’m not just talking about ours. The demon’s pn to request protection from the Federation? Absolute rubbish.”

  MaksymPachesiuk